10. Cole
TEN
Cole
The steak and pasta are done. Bread’s warming in the oven. The table’s set. It's nothing fancy, just two plates, a bottle of wine, and a small vase with a clipped gardenia I debated tossing twice.
I run a hand through my hair and catch myself in the reflection in the glass door. My shirt’s rolled at the sleeves, open at the collar. Relaxed, but not careless.
The knock comes at eight on the dot. Shit. She's on time.
I take a breath, then open the door.
She’s standing there in a navy dress, barefoot on the mat, sandals dangling from her fingers.
“I figured heels were too much,” she says, smiling like she’s already halfway inside.
“They’d just slow you down if you needed to make a quick escape,” I say, stepping aside.
She walks in. “Is that garlic bread? It smells amazing in here. ”
“You looked like someone who could use carbs.”
Her laugh is low and real. “I'm not sure what to think about that. Are you saying I looked like shit?”
"Of course not. That came out wrong. I meant it looked like you'd had a busy day."
"Hmm. I'll let that one pass, but I'm keeping my eye on you."
“Wine?” I gesture toward the table.
She hangs her bag on the back of the chair. “Definitely. I earned it today. The carbs and the wine.”
I pour for both of us and hand her a glass. Her fingers brush mine, just enough to register. She notices it too. Her eyes flick up for half a second before she takes a sip.
We sit.
“So,” she says, looking around. “I have to admit, you outdid yourself. I didn’t expect all this.”
“Didn’t expect what?”
“Well, to start, your house is stunning. I expected that. But you cooking—the delicious smelling bread, the flowers? Nice job.”
“You expected something different?”
She shrugs. “More transactional. You strike me as a reservations-and-escorts kind of guy.”
I laugh. “Wow. Now I’m not sure if I should be flattered or offended.”
“I didn’t say it was a bad thing. Just an efficient one.”
“Efficiency is overrated,” I say, refilling her glass. She takes another long sip, and I can’t decide if that’s about the wine or me.
“Is that so?”
“At least for tonight.”
She studies me over the rim of her glass. “So, what is tonight, exactly?”
I hold her gaze. “Dinner. Like I said, I figured it was as good a time as any to test out that professional kitchen. I used to cook a lot, and I enjoy it when I can.”
Her eyes narrow slightly, but she doesn’t press. Instead, she tears a piece of bread and pops it into her mouth.
“God, that’s good,” she says around it. “What kind of butter is that?”
“Compound. Garlic, basil, a little lemon zest.”
“Showoff.”
“You’re the surgeon.”
She points her fork at me. “You saw my pecking order in the OR.”
We eat. Not rushed. No filler talk. Just quiet clinks of silverware and the occasional low hum of approval from her side of the table.
When she finishes, she sets her napkin down and leans back.
“I have to admit. I thought you’d be more guarded.”
“You mean cold and soulless?”
“I mean, you surprise me. In a good way. I've enjoyed getting to know my new, temporary neighbor.”
I sip my wine. “Okay. Thank you, I think.”
Her smile is tired. “It's a compliment.”
I nod once, slowly. “Want to sit outside?”
She lifts a brow. “Is that code?”
She smirks, sipping her wine.
“For fresh air,” I say, casually enough. But my mind’s already gone off the rails with the possibilities. The last time we were together under the stars on her patio, things couldn't have gone better.
She stands and grabs her glass. “Lead the way.”
I open the sliding door, letting the warm night spill into the room. She steps past me, and I catch the sway of her hips, the soft brush of her arm. The dress skims her thighs as she moves. My mouth goes dry at the sight of her bare legs and bare shoulders.
Jesus.
The pull is immediate and low. A punch to the gut kind of desire that tightens everything.
I follow her out, trying not to look as affected as I feel.
The patio’s quiet, wrapped in moonlight and salt air. Waves roll just beyond the dunes. She takes the chair to my right, sitting sideways, one leg tucked beneath her, the other bare and stretched toward me.
The dress slips slightly off one shoulder. She doesn’t fix it, but I know she knows.
“You are a great cook. I know I keep saying it, but that steak was perfection.”
I nod, sipping my drink. “I don’t do it often, but when I do, I go all in.”
“Of course you do. I should’ve known you’d be an all-or-nothing type.”
I tip my head toward her. “Something like that.”
“I’m observant. I’ve got you all figured out.”
I let out a low laugh. “Is that so? You're impressive, Dr. Samantha Taylor.”
“You’re the neighbor who shows up with gourmet food and top-shelf liquor. You set the bar high.”
Her eyes stay on mine long enough for the heat to settle between us. Whatever this is, it's slow, sure, and deliberate.
She shifts in her chair, her knee brushing mine. No apology. No excuse. Just that quiet signal.
“I should go,” she says, but her voice has no conviction.
I lean in just slightly, close enough to feel her breath catch.
“You should,” I murmur, trying to be supportive, hoping I'm right that she won't.
Sam doesn’t move away. Her gaze flicks to my mouth, and that’s it. That’s the moment. I lean in, slow and unhurried, letting her stop me if she wants to.
She doesn’t.
Her lips meet mine, soft and full of intent. The kiss starts slow, exploratory, but it deepens fast. My hand slides around her waist, her fingers thread into my shirt.
God, she tastes like wine and some kind of surrender. My mouth waters, and my dick hardens.
She shifts, straddling me now, dress sliding higher, mouth hungry against mine. My hands grip her hips, and for a minute, I forget why this is a bad idea.
Then she pulls back. It's slight, almost imperceptible, but I sense it.
I ease back just slightly, my breath rough. She clears her throat and stands.
“This is probably a terrible idea,” I say, even as my hand finds her waist and I pull her back to my lap. I’m a walking contradiction, and I know it.
“Yeah,” she breathes, nodding once. Her lips are still parted, her fingers brushing over them like she’s waging the same battle I am. Do we dive in, or use restraint to avoid things getting complicated fast?
We both know better. Neither of us moves.
“I’m not sure we can do this and keep it simple.”
Sam blinks at me, like I’ve said something she was already trying not to think. “You think I don’t know it’s a bad idea?”
I shake my head slowly. “No. I think you know exactly how bad this could be.”
We sit like that for a few seconds, neither of us saying a word. Her legs brushing mine, and my hands still on her body. Both of our breaths are still hard.
She leans her forehead against mine. “You throwing a wrench in this doesn’t make it any less complicated. ”
“It also doesn’t mean I don’t want it.”
She closes her eyes. “God, I hate that you’re right.”
I exhale a laugh. “Yeah. Me too.”
She slides off my lap and smooths her dress, cheeks flushed. “I should go now.”
“I’ll walk you back.”
“I think I can manage the twenty steps, thanks.”
I watch her cross the patio and disappear into the darkness down the steps.
What the fuck?