Page 13 of At First Flight (Coral Bell Cove #1)

Exhaustion and exhilaration duel behind my eyes as I pull into the small grocery store just within the town lines of Coral Bell Cove.

Originally, I’d planned on stopping halfway during the fifteen-hour drive from Miami, Florida, to this small coastal town, but I was too keyed up to sleep as it was.

Dusk turned to sunrise, and before I knew it, I was crossing the Virginia state line and headed for my new home.

Did I have reservations about packing up my entire life and moving? A bit. Do I regret the decision? Absolutely not. Not if it meant I was giving my niece and nephew their best shot at a normal life. One far more conventional than the one I’d been handed.

Thankfully, being a billionaire made purchasing a home and filling it with everything I’d need easier than snapping my finger. In less than a week, I had picked up my life and was ready for the new change.

I park the car between two faded lines, my hands still gripping the steering wheel like I’m trying to anchor myself to something solid.

The leather creaks beneath my palms, the quiet tick of the engine cooling the only sound filling the cab.

I stare blankly at the polished dashboard of the Lamborghini, sleek, clinical, and expensive, and feel… nothing.

The truth of it is that it still hasn’t fully landed.

That Genevieve is gone. That my sister. My bright, complicated, fiercely stubborn sister isn’t just on the other end of a bad argument or sulking through one of our regular disagreements.

She’s not answering my texts because she can’t. She’ll never answer them again.

I grit my teeth, feel the grind of tension along my jaw and the ache behind my eyes. I’m holding on too tightly, trying not to shatter.

The worst part isn’t the funeral I had to plan alone. Or the will that felt more like a slap than a farewell. It’s the fact that my parents treated it all like a scheduling conflict. Something to be solved, delegated, pushed to someone else who wasn’t them.

The moment the ink was dry on the death certificate, they were already boarding their private jet, bound for their summer estate in the South of France.

Like grief was a bad business deal they could simply opt out of.

Like Genevieve’s death was a nuisance rather than the earthquake it’s been in my life.

My knuckles go white as I loosen my hands from the wheel, one finger at a time.

They didn’t even stay for the kids. Not that I expected them to.

Two children, confused and grieving, shuffled off to with their previous nanny while I tried to make sense of what was left behind. Evelyn and Oliver don’t know yet how much has changed. They’re too little to understand the permanence of loss. All they know is that their mom isn’t coming back.

And somehow, I’m supposed to step in and fill the void.

The thought tightens something deep in my chest, but not in fear. In responsibility. In fury. Because I never expected to be the one holding Evelyn’s hand when she cried herself to sleep, or explaining to Oliver why he won’t see his mom again.

Instead, I’m the one making plans to uproot my life.

To move just inside the Virginia state line where I could give the children a place to grow.

Far from where Genevieve had been hiding out in the city she called home.

At least I can give the kids some sort of familiarity.

Stability. Something my parents seem pathologically incapable of providing.

I exhale through my nose and force the rage down. It simmers just below the surface, but I’ve gotten good at masking it. At least, I thought I had.

Until now.

Because for all their money and elegance and champagne-drenched indifference, they surprisingly left their daughter’s legacy to me.

And I’ll be damned if I let them erase her memory by pretending she never mattered.

I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

They’ll want something sooner rather than later.

I close my eyes for a beat, my hand fisting once against my thigh before I climb out of the car.

Let them rot in France. I have two little hearts depending on me now. And this time—I won’t fail.

“Fuck,” I shout, slamming my hand against the steering wheel.

The other cars in the lot start to blur, and I quickly pinch the bridge of my nose with my forefinger and thumb.

Now is not the time to let my emotions get the best of me.

In just a few short hours, I’ll be in charge of the well-being of two little ones.

“Oh, Gen,” I mumble, thinking of my sister and her death, which still didn’t seem real.

“I really need your help right now.” This wasn’t some situation I could pay my way out of.

I want to be there for my niece and nephew, and I know I’m the best option for the kids, but it’s still a lot to take on when I spend most of my days working with the companies I invest in.

But Gen knew what she was doing, knew how my parents never cared for us the way we cared for each other.

Taking another deep breath, I roll my shoulders and step out of the car, heading toward the entrance to a small grocery store.

The moment I slip across the threshold of the automated doors, I immediately feel a different sense of dread.

Outside of grabbing something at a convenience store, I’d never gone grocery shopping before.

It was easy enough to pay someone to stock my pantry and fridge.

And now it’s easy enough to order what I need on an app and have it delivered.

What kind of things do a five- and three-year-old eat? Hell, I can cook, but I’m not sure the kids want to eat steak and chicken every day.

“I’m so screwed,” I say to no one in particular as I grab a cart and step toward the produce. The damn front left wheel wobbles back and forth as it tries to catch the floor, reminding me of my current state of mind, fully capable but barely hanging on.

“You need any help?” a gentle voice says from behind me as I block the walkway.

“I’m sorry.” Moving my cart to the side, I gesture for her to pass. “It’s nothing.”

“Well, I’m pretty certain a lot of nothings end up being big somethings.” She smiles kindly at me, her blond hair with speckles of gray catching the fluorescent lights above us.

Suddenly, I find myself spilling my secrets as I push my wobbly cart in tandem with hers. “It’s my first time grocery shopping, and I’m a little overwhelmed.”

“Oh, well. What kind of things do you like to eat? Picking out your produce and meats is easy enough.”

“It’s not just me. I recently gained guardianship of my niece and nephew. I have no idea what I should be feeding them.”

“Are you Mr. Harrington?” she asks, her eyes sparkling as she hands me a container of strawberries.

I take them hesitantly and place them in my cart as I nod.

“Oh, wonderful. You just hit the jackpot, my friend.” At the tilt of my head, she continues. “Sorry, I forget you’re not from here, so you have no idea who I am. I’m Claire, and I own CBC Nanny Services.”

Elation courses through me. Not only is her business highly recommended with so many five-star ratings that I lost track, but she was able to accept my last-minute request.

“Wow, what a small world,” I tell her with the brightest grin I could muster over the last two weeks.

“It really is. Now, if there is one thing I’m good at, not just as a nanny but as a mom to five, it’s shopping for kids.”

The mention of five kids immediately takes me back to the plane ride with my ghost girl. Lila had said she came from a big family, and I’d been so jealous. Even knowing that Claire is the matriarch of five kids leaves me with a bit of envy.

“I’ll take any help I can get if you don’t mind.”

As Claire laughs and adds more fruits and vegetables to my cart, I instantly relax.

Something makes me think I can actually do this.

With Claire’s bits of advice and an open-ended invite to her humble abode, I leave the grocery store feeling like I’d climbed Mount Everest. She answered all my questions and assured me the nanny, her daughter, coming to stay with me, was the absolute best. Who knew a mother-like figure could make everything seem okay?

As I load the items into my car, I realize I never asked for her daughter's name, not that it mattered. Truthfully, I should have asked for a lot more information, like the nanny’s age and what I should expect, but I had been so overwhelmed that all those things slipped my mind.

Which worries me because, with all my investments, I’m always on top of my game.

But I feel like a fish out of water here in Coral Bell Cove.

Hell, I hadn’t even seen the house I’d purchased.

I made a simple call and requested a stately home at the end of a neighborhood with a lot of land.

Following the GPS in my car, I make my way to the house that reminds me of something I’d have loved to grow up in.

As I pull into the tree-lined drive, my lips part in a grin as I take it all in. The real estate agent had truly found me a gem, and though I’d seen pictures of the large, restored Victorian Farmhouse, they were deceiving. It’s the most stunning home I’d ever seen.

And I know a dock around the back leads to a small channel of Back Bay before feeding into the larger body of water. I’ll have a place to fish and dock my boat—two of my favorite ways to relax.

Not that I expect to do a lot of that with the small kids.

Fuck, thinking of the dock as I park the car in the garage using the code for the automated door, I realize I’ll have to call someone to install a fence in the backyard. I don’t want the kids wandering back there without me.

I’m so not made for this job, but I’m their best shot right now.

As I load the grocery bags across my arms, because I spend enough time in the gym that I do not want to make more than one trip, my phone buzzes in my back pocket.