Chapter 31
JULES
It was a good thing the cottage was stocked with toothpaste and a toothbrush. I only wished it had food, too.
I was starving.
I pulled on the same bra and underwear I’d worn yesterday and padded back into the bedroom, still slightly dazed, like my body hadn’t quite caught up with my brain yet. Cole hadn’t moved.
Unlike Italy, where he was up and out the door on a run every morning, he looked perfectly content to stay exactly where he was. Hands folded behind his head, covers low on his waist, hair mussed in a way that felt dangerously intimate.
A man completely at ease after a very long, very hot night.
“Are you blushing?” he asked.
If I was, it hadn’t been intentional. But an image of myself from the night before had flashed through my mind at the worst possible moment.
“No.”
He patted the bed beside him.
It was tempting. Too tempting. My stomach growled loudly enough to save me.
“If I come any closer,” I said, sitting on the edge of the mattress instead, “I’m pretty sure what’s going to happen.”
By the look on his face, Cole knew exactly what I meant.
“And what do you think is going to happen, Juliette, if you come sit beside me?”
This version of him felt different. Not the old Cole. Not even the Italy Cole. This was the “we slept together and somehow survived the night” Cole.
And he was my favorite so far.
“I think you’d probably ruin me.”
“Smart girl.”
It was Sunday, and I had the whole day off. A part of me wanted to ask if he wanted to get breakfast, but another part of me knew last night could very easily have been a one-off. And somehow, that thought didn’t scare me the way it should have.
Sometimes you just want something badly enough that logic never even gets a vote.
“What’s on tap for today in Juliette’s world?” he asked.
“Well, I was going to try to get some writing in. Maybe the gym. I have an article due Wednesday, so that can wait.” I shrugged. “You?”
“I was planning to head back this afternoon. I’ve got a standing meeting about my fall schedule tomorrow at noon.”
I felt it before I saw it. The way my shoulders dropped. The split second where my body reacted before my brain could put up defenses.
I straightened, forced my expression into something neutral. Like it didn’t matter.
It did.
That should have been my cue to make an excuse. To let this end cleanly. To pretend last night hadn’t shifted something I wasn’t ready to deal with.
But I’d already crossed that line.
“If I move the meeting,” he said slowly, like he was thinking out loud rather than making an offer, “I don’t have anything pressing until Thursday. I could stay in town a few more days.”
I didn’t answer. I just watched him.
“Should I move the meeting?”
The question hung between us, heavier than it had any right to be. It wasn’t really about logistics. Or even about spending the day together.
It was about whether I could accept him staying without asking for more.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
I hadn’t lied when I told him the sex was incredible. It had only gotten better as the night went on. But great sex didn’t insulate me from heartbreak. I was painfully aware of that.
“You should move the meeting,” I said quietly.
He didn’t hesitate. He reached for his phone, muscles shifting as he leaned forward, and for a very unhelpful moment, all I could think about was how unfair it was that he looked like that.
I probably should have gotten dressed before I accidentally climbed back into bed with him.
Somehow, we made it all the way to the front porch without touching again. When he finally pulled me into him, I didn’t resist.
He tipped my chin up and kissed me softly, nothing rushed, nothing demanding. It felt different from the night before. Tender in a way that made my chest ache.
Best not to overthink that.
We broke apart at the same time and looked out at the lake.
“I could get used to that view every morning,” he said.
“Same.” I smiled. “There’s something about writing near the water. It does things to my brain.”
An idea hit me suddenly. “Hold on.”
I pulled my phone out of my back pocket, ignoring a text from Delaney, and jotted down a few words in my notes app.
“Had to write that down before I forgot it.”
“Want to share?”
I usually avoided talking about my work. Not because I didn’t love it, but because once I started, I tended to ramble. I warned him.
“Maybe over breakfast,” I said. “Because I am officially starving.”
He laughed. “You did mention that once or twice.”
He took a step toward the stairs, then paused when I didn’t follow.
“Are you forgetting something?” I asked. “We don’t have a car.”
That didn’t seem to faze him at all. He headed down the steps anyway, turning back just long enough to catch me staring.
“I see you staring.”
I wasn’t going to deny it.
Cole gestured for me to join him. “Have some faith.”
On the way back toward the tasting rooms, he mentioned that he had called Cosimo Grotto and asked to borrow one of the vineyard trucks. He disappeared briefly into one of the buildings and came back out with a set of keys.
“I didn’t realize you knew him so well,” I said.
“We’ve been friends for years,” he replied.
The whole drive into town, we talked about the guys. How they were more family than friends. Cole filled in details about how he’d met each of them, and I even learned a thing or two I hadn’t known before. The conversation was effortless. Easy.
Too easy.
Since I couldn’t avoid Delaney all day, I finally texted her back as Cole parked in front of the diner.
Jules
all is well, will update you later
Delaney
did you guys seriously stay at one of the grotto cabins last night
Jules
kind of
Delaney
OMG
Jules
gotta go. chat soon
If I hadn’t been so hungry, I might have asked Cole to take me back to my place to change first. But I had priorities. Looking like I was in day-old clothes took a firm backseat to food.
It wasn’t until we slid into a corner booth that it hit me.
Word would spread. Not that it really mattered, but in Cedar Falls, nothing happened without everyone knowing.
I almost asked him if that was a problem, then stopped myself.
That felt like venturing too close to a conversation we were very clearly not having.
“Morning, Jules.”
Our waitress was a college student I’d taught in a writing class her first year at the local community college. She didn’t know Cole, but her eyes flicked toward him with open curiosity.
And so it began.
“Morning,” I said.
We ordered. We ate. We talked about my story. It was surprisingly nice to walk him through the plot and hear his thoughts. His questions were thoughtful and, not surprisingly, intelligent.
“You have a knack for this,” I told him. “Maybe fiction is in your future.”
“Who knows?” he said. “I do like a good historical fiction book now and again.”
It felt so right, sitting there with him, that I had to remind myself not to let it go on too long. I couldn’t pretend this was nothing, but maybe for today I could let myself enjoy it.
Cole’s phone buzzed just as our coffee refills arrived.
I watched his eyes flick down to the screen, the way his jaw tightened before he turned the phone facedown on the table. He didn’t say anything, but I knew that look. I’d seen it in Milan. The shift. The quiet step backward.
“You can take it,” I said, lifting my mug. “I won’t be offended.”
He hesitated, just long enough to make it obvious he didn’t want to, then nodded. “I’ll be quick.”
He stepped a few feet away, turning slightly so his back was to me. I focused on my coffee.
Still, pieces of the conversation slipped through.
“Hey.”
A pause.
“No, I’m here.”
Another pause, longer.
“Yes, Friday at nine works. I can move the prep call.”
He exhaled.
“No, I’ll be back Thursday night.”
Thursday night.
I didn’t look up. I didn’t need to.
“Because I am,” he said quietly. Then he stopped himself, lowering his voice. “I’ll explain when I’m back in the office.”
When he sat down again, he looked like old Cole. Put together. Composed. Like something had clicked back into place.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said immediately. “Just work.”
We sat there for a moment, quiet.
“I forget sometimes,” I said finally, staring at my plate, “how far away your real life is. Sometimes it feels like you still live in Cedar Falls.”
His gaze sharpened. Not defensive. Not annoyed. Just honest.
“Not anymore,” he said. “Not for a long time.”
The words landed exactly where I expected them to.
“Right,” I said.
“I don’t want to pretend otherwise,” he added. “That never ends well.”
Neither does hoping it’ll change, I thought. I didn’t say it.
“I’ll head back Thursday night,” he continued. “Back to meetings and deadlines and a calendar that doesn’t care what I want.”
I smiled because it felt easier than saying what I was actually thinking. “Sounds glamorous.”
He let out a quiet laugh. “It’s not. Just a bunch of stuffy, self-important professors who think far too highly of themselves. Not one of us is curing cancer.”
I asked him about his work, what his research focused on, and we talked until it felt like the right time to leave.
And somehow, the normalcy of breakfast made everything feel heavier instead of lighter.