Not Ready

It was the kind of rain that didn't fall. It poured-in sheets, in waves, in punishment. Callie James was soaked through by the time she stumbled into the bus station, dragging her suitcase behind her like a dead limb.

Twenty-four years old. Forty-eight dollars in her bank account. A cracked phone and a barely-healed bruise along her ribs. A wound she sustained from her toxic ex-boyfrienf.

She was starting over. Again.

She dropped onto a cracked plastic bench and exhaled, pressing her forehead to her knees. Her whole life had been a series of bad choices and worse luck. But this time, she wasn't running to anyone. No boy with a crooked smile. No best friend with good intentions and no stability.

Just her. Just escape.

She checked her phone again. The ad was still there:

> Live-in assistant/nanny. Seaside town. Discretion, reliability, and patience required. Room and board included. One child. Single parent. Immediate hire.

A little too vague. A little too perfect. But what did she have to lose?

She texted the number again:

"Still available?"

---

The reply came before she could second-guess it:

> Yes. Come tonight.

Then an address. No name. No details.

Maybe stupid. Probably insane.

But the pit in her stomach wasn't fear.

It was hope.

The bus came. She got into the bus and stopped at the address sent to her. She looked at the address again to confirm if she was at the right place. The rain was still pouring heavily by the time she got there. she was dripping rain water.

She rang the bell at the gate of the house and a few minutes later the gate opened and she walked into the compound. She climbed the stairs that led to the front door and knocked the door with her trembling fingers. She was feeling cold because of the rain she was soaked in.

The door opened and a man appeared...

---

Grayson Wolfe stood at the entrance of the house, a black t-shirt hugging his broad frame, a scotch glass in one hand as he stared down at the woman dripping rainwater all over his entryway.

She was smaller than he expected. Big green eyes, soaked curls clinging to her neck, wearing a threadbare hoodie that didn't belong to her and sneakers that had clearly lost a war with the sidewalk.

He should've shut the door.

Instead, he said, "You're early."

She looked up, startled. "Sorry. I didn't think the bus would-"