9. Sam
NINE
Sam
I wrap my hands around the warm ceramic mug, letting the heat seep into my palms. The café smells like fresh pastries and coffee beans, a welcome distraction from my scattered thoughts.
I've got exactly twenty minutes before I have to be at the hospital. I have four surgeries today, which is both exciting and daunting.
Arden leans forward, elbows on the table, chin propped on her folded hands. Her grin spreads wider with every detail I reluctantly share.
"So let me get this straight. You had dinner with the billionaire beach house guy, but you let it end there?"
"It wasn't like that."
"You were at Seaside Terrace. That place can turn a platonic friendship into a hot roll in the hay in half a cocktail."
"It's just a restaurant."
"Hmm. If you say so. I'm just saying that took effort."
I sigh. "And your point is?"
"My point is, why the hell didn’t you jump him? "
I blink. "Arden."
She shrugs, totally unapologetic. "He’s hot, clearly into you, and only in town for a week and change. That’s a limited-time offer, babe. What do you have to lose?"
"I didn’t want to make it weird. Somehow, our conversation went deep. It just didn't feel right."
"You live next door to the transient guy, not in a shared studio apartment. If it gets awkward, you can just wave politely from your driveway until he disappears back to New York. Getting into deep conversation is the best foreplay."
"Good point. He said he’s flipping the house, actually, so it’s temporary. And I was definitely attracted to him."
"Even better. No complications. Just a little off-the-books cardio."
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea. There are so many red flags. Maybe we both just keep that one crazy night we had and let sleeping dogs lie.”
Her grin turns devilish. "What's happening here, Sammy? You catching feelings or something? Red flags? He's not going to be your boyfriend, just some recreational sex."
The question hits harder than it should. My stomach tightens.
I don't answer.
Arden sits back. "Oh shit. You are. You like him."
"I don't." The denial sounds thin, even to me.
She slurps on her coffee and looks up over her mug, teasing.
"Arden, he’s on the board of the hospital where I work, and it’s under pressure. He’s my neighbor. And whatever might happen between us would be a dirty little secret at best. There are just too many things screaming at me to walk away. ”
"What about the whole manna from heaven shit you gave me?"
I force a laugh and stir my already-mixed steamed milk and coffee. "Oh, yeah. Forgot about that."
Weekend brunch-goers fill the tables around us. A young couple shares bites of avocado toast. Two older women compare photos on their phones.
Arden's grin fades just slightly. “Okay, but real talk now. What's the word on this hospital vote? Do you still need me to try to PR-fix this?"
"I haven't heard anything more. I wouldn't even know how to tell you what to fix. Cole explained a little why, money, profit, margins, blah, blah, blah."
"Did he tell you when?"
"Next week sometime. That's why he's here. He said he has several meetings this week and next before the big board meeting."
"You can’t go into it blind.”
I glance at her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, whoever’s behind this concierge care push, they’re going to hire someone like me. A fixer. A PR team. Someone to spin it like it’s progress instead of gutting the foundation your mom helped build.”
I lean back in my chair. “And I’m supposed to what? Start a counter-campaign?”
She lifts a brow. “I’m saying don’t sit on your hands and hope the board sees the light. Start gathering stories, talk to patients, families, and anyone who benefited from your mom's efforts, and subsequently, the wing. Create pressure points. Emotional leverage.”
“And then what? Email it to the board with a hopeful subject line?”
"Yes, exactly. I can help you with it."
"That isn't my position in all of this. I'm a resident at the hospital. I'm not even a full-time employee, technically. I'm like a second-class citizen."
Arden rolls her eyes. “Sam. I love you. But you can’t keep pretending you’re just a surgeon in this. You’re Evelyn Taylor’s daughter. Whether you like it or not, you’re the face of that wing. If this gets ugly, you need a narrative ready. Before they give you one.”
I swallow hard. “You think they’ll cut it?”
She doesn’t answer immediately, watching me instead. “I think someone’s already decided the math makes more sense without it. Otherwise, they wouldn't have all of this chatter and be calling a vote."
"Shit."
"I think you need to decide how far you’re willing to go to fight that. Before the fight, if you catch my drift.”
I nod slowly, rolling her words around in my head. “I don’t know. It just seems so much bigger than me.”
Arden shrugs. “Most things feel like that until you step into them.”
I go quiet, picking at the corner of my napkin. For a second, all I hear is the hum of the espresso machine and the low murmur of the brunch crowd.
My thoughts swirl. The meeting. The fight. My future.
And then—Cole.
It slips out before I can stop it. “His mouth twitches when he’s trying not to smile.”
Arden looks up, caught off guard. “What?”
“It’s just this little thing he does. Barely noticeable. But it’s there.”
A beat passes. She lifts one brow, smug as hell. “Right. And you’re not into him.”
I sigh and drop my head back against the booth. “We were doing so well, staying on topic.”
"Cole Houston is so much more interesting, though. "
My phone vibrates against the table. I grab it, grateful for the interruption. As if I summoned him again, it's Cole.
"You're in luck. He just texted."
"Give it to me. What did he say?"
Good morning. Been thinking about our conversation. Would you show me the Taylor Wing sometime? I'd like to get a tour of it through your eyes.
My thumb hovers over the screen for a second too long.
Arden leans in like we’re debriefing classified intel. “Don’t just sit there. Read it to me if you're not going to give me the phone.”
I turn it toward her.
Arden’s brows shoot up. “Oh, damn. That’s good.”
I shrug, but my pulse betrays me. “It’s thoughtful, I'll give him that.”
“It’s a text that starts with 'Good morning' and ends with 'through your eyes.' That’s flirting disguised as business.”
“It’s neutral at best. But it's sweet.”
“It’s romantic adjacent, and don’t you dare pretend you don’t feel it.”
I exhale, biting back a smile. “You're exhausting.”
I stuff my half-eaten protein bar into my pocket as I push through the hospital's sliding doors into the breezeway.
The afternoon sun hits my face. It's a welcome change from the fluorescent lighting that's been burning my retinas for the past eight hours. My shoulders ache from standing in surgery all day .
Three more hours. Just three more hours and I'll be able to leave.
I freeze mid-step.
Cole Houston walks toward the exit, phone to his ear, dressed in a navy suit that makes me irrationally jealous of Italian wool. It hugs his body like it was tailored just to show off. His hair catches the sunlight, casting gold through his waves.
My pulse trips. It isn't a full spiral, but enough to know I’m still not immune.
He hasn't seen me yet. I could duck behind the concrete pillar, pretend I never?—
His eyes find mine across the breezeway. He stops talking mid-sentence. Lowers his phone, smiles, and slides it into his chest pocket.
I'm stuck, unable to think clearly, as he changes direction and walks toward me. My pulse thunders in my ears, drowning out the beeping pagers and staff conversations around us.
"Sam." The way he says my name makes my skin warm.
"Cole. Another board meeting?" I manage to sound casual despite the heat crawling up my neck.
"Budget review. How's your day been?"
"Oh, you know. Just saving lives, being brilliant. The usual." I push my hair behind my ear to try to seem casual.
His smile reaches his eyes, crinkling the corners. "I don't doubt it."
People move around us, a river parting for a boulder. We stand too close for professional acquaintances, not close enough for whatever we are.
"Did you get my text? About the Taylor Wing?"
I nod. "Yeah. Sorry I didn't respond. I was in back-to-back surgeries until literally just now. "
"No apology needed." He steps even closer, lowering his voice. Now we are certainly too close for business protocol, if there was ever any doubt.
"We could probably do it tomorrow. I have a quieter day."
"Sounds good, if that works for you. I have another thought. Would you have dinner with me tonight? My place. I've got this fancy kitchen, and it would be a shame not to use it once before I sell."
My pulse jumps. His place. Dinner. Alone.
"Yes." The word escapes before I can think.
His eyebrows lift, surprised by my quick answer.
"I mean—" I backpedal, attempting nonchalance.
He raises an eyebrow. I'm an idiot.
"I don't get done here until seven. Is that too late? I'll need to go by my house and wash off, get out of these scrubs."
That totally sounded like I was trying to be sexy. I'm so not.
"Of course." His lips twitch, fighting a smile. He knows exactly what I'm doing.
"Perfect."
"Eight o'clock, then?"
"Eight works."
My on-call phone vibrates on my hip. I glance down and see the text.
Level 1 Trauma - ETA 10 - MVC, 22M, unstable vitals
"I have to run."
"Sounds good. See you tonight."
I’m already stepping backward, pulse kicking up, adrenaline rising when I wave with a pursed smile. I pause just long enough to catch the look he gives me. It's steady, unreadable, and somehow still a little amused.
“Eight,” I say, tossing it over my shoulder as I turn toward the trauma bay.
I scrape my hair into a high ponytail, kick off my sneakers, and collapse onto my couch. I need to jump in the shower and head next door. But I need a second to breathe.
The evening sunlight filters through the blinds, painting stripes across my hardwood floors.
My body aches from all the standing I did today, but my mind won't stop turning.
It's the first time I'm thinking about dinner, at his house, just the two of us. This time, I can’t just hop in my car and drive away when it’s over.
Oh, my God. My heart races with nervous excitement. What am I doing?
The thought sends a flutter of something through my chest that I refuse to name.
It's just dinner, I remind myself. I'm just his friendly neighbor in a town where he knows no one.
I push myself off the couch and head to my bedroom, stripping off my scrubs as I go. Maybe I'll cancel. I should cancel. I could text him that I'm just too exhausted after today. That would be the smart move.
Instead, I'm standing in front of my closet, sliding hangers across the rail with more force than necessary. T-shirts, jeans, scrubs, and workout clothes. Nothing appropriate for whatever this is.
What is even appropriate for a non-date with my neighbor whom I've already slept with ?
Then I spot it, tucked in the back. The midnight blue dress I wore to an outdoor concert last summer. It's simple and elegant, without going overboard, with a neckline that shows just enough skin to be interesting without screaming desperate.
I pull it out, holding it against my body as I look in the mirror. Not too formal. Not too casual. Perfect for a neighbor dropping by for dinner. Or a date that isn't a date.
This is ridiculous, I mutter, tossing the dress onto my bed. It lands in a silky pool of fabric. I stare at it for a long moment. I'll decide after my shower.
Arden's voice echoes in my head: If he's only here for a few days, enjoy the ride.
She's right. That's all this is. It's a temporary distraction. A gorgeous, complicated distraction with great hands and a mouth that?—
Shit.
After my shower, I wrap a towel around my head and slip on my robe. The sliding glass door in my bedroom sticks a little as I push it open and step onto the porch. The concrete is still warm beneath my feet.
The night air wraps around me, thick with salt and that heavy stillness that always comes before a storm. My robe clings to my skin in the humidity, useless against the heat.
I grab my phone off the bed and hit call.
"Can't get enough of me?"
“He invited me to dinner. At his house...”
She sucks in a breath. “Shut up.”
“I ran into him at the hospital after surgery. It caught me off guard, and I said yes before I could think better of it.”
“That was the only logical response. I'm proud of you. ”
“And then immediately regretted it.”
“No regrets.”
“I just, I don’t know. Are you sure I should be throwing caution to the wind like this? I don't think rationally when I'm around him.”
“He’s here for a finite amount of time, nerd. You’re single. He’s hot. And you’ve already seen each other naked. This is not a high-risk scenario. Hot sex can just be hot sex.”
“Then why is it making me into a crazy person?”
"That's not him. You've always been crazy."
I sigh. “This is a bad idea.”
Arden lowers her voice. “Just go. Eat, drink, and enjoy him. And if it leads to more, well, I won’t be mad at a midnight play-by-play.”
I laugh, but the nerves still tingle under my skin. I thank her and hang up.
Inside, the navy dress waits on my bed.
I stare at it for a few seconds, then pull the towel from my hair and start getting ready.
It’s not a date.
It’s a damn problem.