Page 5 of Make You Mine

Chelsea

From: [email protected]

Subject: Welcome to the Keating Family—Nanny Position Confirmation

Hi Chelsea,

We’re pleased to offer you the nanny position with our family! After meeting you and seeing how well you interacted with Willow, we both felt confident you were the right fit.

The position will be for four days a week at ￡22/hour. We’ll finalize your schedule together once you’ve settled in. We’re happy to provide whatever supplies or materials you might need to make your time here smooth and enjoyable.

Thank you again for taking the time to meet with us—and for the Band-Aids! Willow hasn’t stopped talking about her sparkly stars and purple butterflies.

We’ll see you soon!

Warmly,

Amerie in a few days time, I’ll be starting at the Keating’s home.

Scrambling off my bed, I rush across the room to slip on my boots and grab my bag. I’m out the door within seconds, ignoring the slurred protests from Claire. By the time she even thinks about getting up from her lounger, I’ll be long gone.

It’s drizzling out, colder than I expected, but I couldn’t care less. I tug my cardigan tighter and hop on my bike.

The tires splash over puddles as I bike along the winding roads. My calves and thighs ache the steeper the incline, but I don’t ease off. The library shuts in forty minutes, and I’ve still got two towns to get through.

I cycle through patchy streetlights, some flickering dimly, others dead altogether. The countryside closes in. A car swings around the bend behind me, its headlights glaring. It rushes past me, drenching me with a sheet of icy rainwater from a pothole.

I gasp and swerve slightly, momentarily losing control of the bike handles.

But I don’t stop. Not tonight. Not right now.

The library emerges into view, glowing from a distant hilltop. I’m shaking and soaked through as I press down harder on the pedals and push past the pain and discomfort.

There’s no one else out this way.

Just me, the wind, and the rain at this hour in the evening.

I don’t bother with the bike rack.

I fling myself off and let the bike flop into the grass, boots squelching as I dash across. My cardigan clings to me like a second skin, sleeves sodden and heavy. I’m taking two steps at a time as I make my way up and then push open the doors.

The library is dingy and small, a cramped space that’s loaded with bookshelves upon bookshelves and that smells like dust and paper. The ceiling lights flicker ominously, as though in warning they’ll cut out at any second.

Behind the front terminal sits the librarian. Some brunette with gray hairs she doesn’t bother dying who barely looks up from her computer as I enter. Her fingers punch at the keyboard, the clacking noise a loud echo in the otherwise empty library.

I’m not here to browse. I’ve been here enough times to know exactly where it is.

Fiction section. Row eleven where the Ks are located. Fourth shelf from the top.

My fingers trail the spines automatically until they pause— here it is .

I stroke the golden embossed letters almost reverently, then gently slide it out into the palm of my hands.

The sight of her name across the front makes my insides flutter.

Amerie Grace Keating

It’s like seeing someone you’ve only ever admired from afar suddenly smile at you. I cradle the book as though it’s made of glass and then carry it up toward the front.

The librarian finally breaks eye contact with her computer screen when I slide the book across the counter.

“ What She Left Sleeping ,” she says, reading the title aloud. Her eyebrows lift, vaguely amused. “Again?”

Heat floods my cheeks. I force a polite smile. “It’s a comfort read.”

“Amerie Keating. I might have to give one of her books a go myself. Due back in two weeks. No renewals this time. It’s been on your card six times already.”

“That’s fine,” I say, clutching the book to my chest. “I won’t need it that long.”

She purses her lips but doesn’t press the matter. She simply returns to her typing like I was never there.

Outside, it’s wet and miserable.

I collect my bike from the grass and toss my leg over the side. The roads are slicker thanks to the rainfall.

I ride for miles, until I’m so sodden and cold I don’t feel any of it anymore.

The numbness has taken over.

It drives me forward until I’m cycling past the village sign for Rosethorne. I chain up my bike at a tree outside a local pub, then walk the rest of the way.

Their house glows like something out of a dream.

The dining room window is in perfect view, the four of them appearing through the rain-streaked glass.

Declan passes something over to Amerie. She laughs at what he says, her shoulders quaking and her head tipping back. A loose curl falls over her cheek.

He just can’t help himself; he reaches out to tuck it behind her ear. His hand lingers and their eyes connect. The laughter fades from her face and they focus on each other.

Then he slowly leans across the table to kiss her.

All of this as their two children are at the table, seated to observe how in love their parents are.

It isn’t showy. It’s intimate and earnest.

It feels like a punch to the chest.

Emmett is in his highchair, flinging mashed carrots onto the tray with tiny, sticky fists. Willow is on the other side, adjusting the bib on her doll instead of eating her dinner. She’s chattering away in a way that makes Declan chuckle and Amerie glance over with a fond smile.

They look so… perfect .

I’d say it’s scripted, but I know it’s real. They have no idea how lucky they are; she has no idea how lucky she is.

I step back, disappearing among the shadows and sheets of rain.

Tonight, I’m stuck watching from a distance, but I’ll be back soon enough.

Amerie said it herself in the welcome email. I’m part of the family now.