Page 16 of At First Flight (Coral Bell Cove #1)

For a moment, we just stand there, the space between us charged with an energy that’s hard to ignore. The playful banter, the teasing, the flirting—everything suddenly feels a little more real. And though I’m not entirely sure where this is going, something tells me it will change everything.

I nod, trying to steady my racing heart. "Yeah. We’ll make it work."

And just like that, something shifts. There’s an unspoken understanding between us, a quiet acknowledgment that what’s happening here, whatever this is, feels like more than just a job. It feels like a beginning.

“I should probably go grab my things from my friend’s house. I had planned to stay with her for a bit until I got back on my feet.”

I slither past Dean and descend the stairs without gazing back at him.

“I’ll be back before dinner.”

Closing the front door, I take a deep breath, my first since arriving at the house.

What the hell have I done? I have zero desire to take this nanny job. My passion is in science. But I don’t think Einstein himself could have turned down Dean and those two adorable kids.

Now I just have to figure out how to keep my heart in check around him. Because watching him step into fatherhood with such quiet strength, unwavering devotion, and a kind of fierce, selfless love? It’s hands down the most dangerously attractive thing I’ve ever witnessed.

My grip on the steering wheel is so tight, I’m surprised it hasn’t cracked under the pressure.

My other hand is locked around my phone like it might fly away if I let go.

I can feel my pulse in my throat, hammering against my skin as I press Ashvi’s contact.

The second it starts ringing, my breath catches, and when she finally picks up, my voice comes out shriller than I want.

Too loud. Too desperate. But I can’t help it.

I’m hanging on by a thread, and she’s the only one who might be able to remind me how to breathe.

“Ashvi! I’m headed to your house. I need reinforcements.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end, then a rustle like she’s scrambling for her other earpiece.

“Lila? What the hell happened? Are you okay?”

“No,” I groan, weaving through the roads like it’s personal. “Well—yes. Sort of. I mean, I haven’t spontaneously combusted or driven off a cliff, so that’s something. But I need your help.”

“Breathe, babe. What’s going on?”

I exhale, forcing the tension from my chest, but it barely budges. “I just agreed to move into a single father’s place. As in, full-time. Living there. Nannying. All of it. And I have to pack up the little bits of my life before we head back over there.”

Another pause, then, “Wait. Why are you freaking out right now? What aren’t you telling me? Do we know him?”

“I do. Sort of. He… we met on the plane to Scotland.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re moving in with him?”

“Yes, Ashvi. I don’t have time to process all that right now. I need to pack, and I can’t even remember where I left my shoes, let alone where I shoved my favorite bra. So unless you want me showing up with nothing but a duffel bag full of expired granola bars and mismatched socks—”

“I’m on it,” she cuts in, voice full of motion now. “Do you want backup leggings or distraction wine?”

“Both. Obviously.”

“And Lila?”

“Yeah?”

“You can do this.”

Something catches in my throat. Because even though I’m spiraling and flailing and maybe making a huge mistake, there’s something comforting about hearing her say that. Like I’m not completely losing it—just slightly.

“Thanks, Ashvi,” I whisper.

“I’ll see you in twenty. And you better spill everything while we sort your life into laundry piles.”

And just like that, the chaos feels a little less loud. Because I have my best friend, a wild plan, and the tiniest flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, this is the beginning of something real.

Wasting no time boxing up the few things I’d unpacked at Ashvi’s house, I spend the next two hours trying to field all of my best friend’s questions. It’s not until I promise she can follow me over to his house that I get her to shut up.

The only morsel of information I give her is that I met Dean on the flight to Scotland and that he might be gorgeous.

As we arrive at his house, the lights on the main floor twinkling in the dusky sky, my nerves bubble to the surface like a volcano about to erupt.

I jump from my car, diverting Ashvi as she gleefully exits her own car.

“Ashvi, best behavior, please.”

“Aw, I just want to meet the kiddos, Lila. And maybe snoop around the house.”

Hitching my arm through hers, I nearly tug us to the ground as I walk up the porch. “No snooping. You’re here to help me unload, and that’s it, Vi.”

“Aw, but the journalist in me loves to snoop. It’s part of my amazing personality.”

“No. Now behave.”

My knock goes unanswered, the soft echo swallowed by the quiet.

I hesitate only a moment before wrapping my fingers around the brushed metal knob and twisting slowly.

The door creaks open on silent hinges, and I step inside, my breath catching at the stillness that greets me.

The entryway is immaculate. Dark hardwood floors gleam beneath my shoes, offset by warm cream walls and crisp white trim.

A narrow console table sits beneath a circular mirror, its surface bare but for a small ceramic bowl and a single, unlit candle.

It’s beautiful. Understated. Masculine without being cold.

But something tugs at me, subtle and hollow.

There are no shoes by the door. No school bags tossed to the side.

No family photos smiling back from the walls.

No tiny fingerprints smudged on the glass.

Just curated stillness. A house waiting to be lived in, to be claimed.

To be made into something more than just square footage and good taste.

It’s a snapshot of someone who knows how to survive, but maybe hasn’t quite figured out how to stay.

“This house is awesome,” my friend mumbles, her head moving in all different directions.

Just as I’m about to force Ashvi to slip her shoes off with me, Dean comes around the corner wearing a black apron and holding a mixing bowl in his hands.

“Oh good, you’re back. I thought you’d be gone longer,” he says. The grin I’m learning is his signature grows by the second as our gaze’s lock.

“I didn’t have much to pack. Dean, this is my friend Ashvi. She’s come to help.”

“Oh great. Ashvi, it’s nice to meet you,” he says, walking forward, extending his hand in greeting. My friend stands frozen in place, mouth parted like a blow-up doll. I’m not even mad at her reaction because I know full well how enticing my new boss is.

“Ashvi.” Nudging her in the side, my friend finally comes to her senses and shakes Dean’s hand but remains silent.

“If you give me a minute, I can set this batter down and grab your things.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I can grab it.”

“Lila,” he says forcefully. “Let me do this.”

“Okay,” I reply, shuffling behind him as he heads toward the kitchen. I don’t check to see if Ashvi follows. “What are you making? I didn’t know you could bake.”

Dean glances over his shoulder at me, and I feel my core clench.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me. But I thought some brownies would be a nice treat in our new home.”

Our home. I hate how much I enjoy the way it sounds.

The kids are busy at the kitchen table coloring in some books Dean must have brought down for them. Ashvi and I sit with them until Dean returns fifteen minutes later.

“All you had were four boxes?” he asks as he takes some chicken breasts out of the fridge.

“Like I said, I didn’t have much. If you don’t mind, Ashvi and I will start putting things away and then I can prep dinner.”

“I can handle dinner. You and your friend relax. There is some wine in the pantry you can help yourself to. Your mom said it was a good one.”

My still speechless friend follows me dutifully as I grab the bottle and two glasses, taking in our fill of the first floor layout with a quick glance down the dock.

Ashvi’s on her phone the entire time while I marvel at the surroundings.

Thankfully she follows as I make my way up to the second floor.

I head to the bedroom next to the kids’, assuming Dean will want me sleeping close to them, and luckily I’m right when I find my boxes on the floor in front of the fourposter bed.

The door swings open with a soft click, and I step inside, stunned into stillness, thankful my boxes are already placed inside, otherwise I’d have dropped them.

This isn’t a guest room.

It’s a sanctuary.

The first thing I notice is the light. Golden beams filter through gauzy white curtains that billow just slightly from the open window, filling the space with a warmth that feels almost unreal.

The walls are painted the softest shade of sage, fresh and calming, like something pulled straight from a high-end spa catalog.

It’s subtle, elegant, the kind of color that instantly settles the chaos in my chest.

A king-sized bed sits against the far wall, dressed in layers of plush white linens and an oversized tufted headboard upholstered in cream velvet.

At the foot, there’s a soft bench, the same neutral hue, topped with a folded knit throw in pale blush.

The rug beneath my feet is thick and buttery, all texture and luxury, warming the dark wood floors with every step I take.

There’s a full seating area tucked beside a built-in bookshelf, with two pale gray armchairs and a round marble-top coffee table between them.

One corner boasts a writing desk, antique, by the look of it, with brass handles and a perfectly arranged tray of stationery and fountain pens I can’t imagine ever using but love the thoughtfulness of.

And then there’s the bathroom.