Page 11 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

By the time I reach the edge of the town, my phone has lost signal, and my gas light has been on for five miles.

That feels about right.

The highway narrows into something that looks more like a suggestion of a road than a real one, trees closing in on both sides. Moss hangs from branches in lazy curtains. The air feels damp, thick with pine and wet earth, as if the forest is breathing around me.

“Redwood Run.”

I say the name out loud, just to hear it.

It doesn’t sound real.

Two months ago, I thought my life had ended in a school hallway under fluorescent lights. Then it ended again in my apartment bedroom. After that, things didn’t end so much as thin out. Days blurred. Places changed. I learned which motels don’t ask questions if you pay cash, how to sleep sitting up in my car without waking up feeling like my spine’s been replaced with barbed wire. I learned how far a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of cheap bread can stretch if you’re careful.

I learned not to think too hard about whether I had a future... and how quickly you can become invisible when you stop belonging anywhere.

The job in Redwood Run isn’t a dream. It isn’t even a hope. It was the only email that came back with Yes instead of We’ve decided to move forward with other candidates, or nothing at all.

Live-in nanny.

Room provided.

Small town.

References required.

I’d almost deleted it, assuming it was a scam. But then Mr. Calder followed up. Polite. Brief. No weird questions. No red flags. He needed help, and I needed a job, and the world actually aligned those things without any sign of cruelty attached.

I’d cried after the call, the relief hitting me so hard it physically hurt.

Still, driving into a town I’ve never heard of, to live in a stranger’s house, with nothing but my clothes and a box of half-finished wooden toys rattling in my trunk… yeah. Terrifying.

Denise’s voice echoes in my head as I slow at a hand-painted sign nailed to a post.

WELCOME TO REDWOOD RUN

Drive slow. Stay kind.

“I’m taking a live-in nanny job,” I’d told her over the phone. “Up north. In case… I don’t know. In case anything changes. Or mail comes. Or⁠—”

“Oh, June,” she’d said softly. “I’m glad you’ve found something.”

She hadn’t said I’m sorry, but she gave me her personal email and told me to stay in touch. Told me I deserved better.

I didn’t tell her how close I’d come to not finding anything at all.

The road curves, and suddenly the town opens up like it’s been waiting.

A cluster of buildings tucked between trees. A main street that probably hasn’t changed much since the fifties. Brick fronts, big windows, hanging signs. A café with warm lights glowing even though it’s still early evening. A diner farther down with chrome trim that catches the fading daylight. Pickup trucks parked crookedly. A couple of motorcycles rumbling past.

I park outside a low, clean-looking motel with a welcoming wooden sign that reads THE SWITCHBACK INN.

Inside, the lobby is warm and softly lit. There’s a rack of brochures by the door. A bowl of mints on the counter. A woman with dark hair pulled into a neat bun looks up from her computer and smiles.

“You must be June,” she says.

I blink in surprise. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Cora,” she says, standing and coming around the desk to shake my hand, as if this is a real place and I’m a real person and not someone who’s been living out of a car for weeks. “Welcome to Redwood Run.”