12. Cole
TWELVE
Cole
I glance up from the living room window just in time to see a woman climb out of a car, juggling two bottles of wine and what looks like a bakery box.
She hurries up to the door like she knows it well, and lets herself in. There's no knock, so I'm guessing she is a friend.
Reinforcements, if I had to guess.
I go back to my scotch, not because I’m avoiding the thought, but because I already knew I wouldn’t get a response.
The text didn’t ask for one. It was a courteous follow-up, that's all. Clean and polite, sent right after I saw that she got home. I wanted to interact with her, and that was the only thing that came to mind.
If I'm being completely honest with myself, it might have been sent with the hope of opening up the chance to wind down after our long days. But I also knew that might not be in the cards for us.
With so much simmering between us, I'm not sure we're capable of unwinding together. If anything, I'm always more wound up after I'm around her.
After brooding for a moment, way overthinking all of this, I decided to head out to the deck. It's half out of my evening routine to sit out and watch the waves roll in. And half because I want to feel her closer.
Laughter, light and unfiltered, floats over from the patio house. Sam’s. It's hers and her friend’s. Apparently, she and her friend had the same idea.
For the first time today, I feel something close to regret for sending a message that didn’t say what I actually meant.
I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but her laugh’s impossible to miss. A second one joins it. Sharper, higher-pitched. Probably the woman with the wine.
The wind’s kicked up just enough to carry voices across the dunes.
“You didn’t tell me he looked like that,” the second voice says. “Jesus, Sam. No wonder your brain’s short-circuiting.”
I raise an eyebrow. Then footsteps move across the deck.
A woman I recognize as the one who arrived just a bit ago appears. She's blond and confident, with a wine glass in hand like it's an appendage. She looks my way without missing a beat.
“Well, hey there,” she yells over to me.
I wave with a sheepish grin, feeling the heat rise up my neck. Busted.
“Aren't you a cutie?”
I straighten a little, keeping my voice casual, but project it loudly enough for her to hear over the wind. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. I heard you two, so I was about to go back inside and give you the beach. ”
“You’re not. This beach is big enough for all of us. You must be Cole.” Her smile’s easy but curious, like she’s already putting the pieces together.
Sam appears behind her, face slightly flushed, and eyes wide.
I give her a nod. “Evening, Sam.”
She walks forward, glass in hand. “Cole, this is my friend Arden. Arden, Cole.”
I nod my head, glancing back at the blonde. “Nice to meet you, Arden.”
Arden gives a knowing smile. “Likewise. Heard a lot about you.”
Sam mutters something into her glass and then tips it up. Arden ignores it.
“We’re having a bit of a wine-and-wisdom night over here,” Arden says.
"Great night for it. Enjoy." I push myself off the banister.
“You’re welcome to join if you’re interested in some company.”
Sam starts to protest, but I catch the hesitation in her eyes. Perhaps it's less protest, more uncertainty.
I lift my glass. Part of me knows that is just her being nice, but I don't care. “If you're sure I'm not intruding.”
Arden shifts her stance and gestures to the open chair. “If you were, I wouldn’t have invited you. Come on. I need to get to know the mysterious Cole Houston.”
Sam doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t stop me either. I watch her before I head down the steps, and I see what I think is a smile.
That’s all the permission I need.
I refresh my drink and take the stairs down from my deck and cross over to theirs, lowball in hand. Sam watches me come up the steps, her expression unreadable but not closed off.
The empty chair across from them has a throw draped over the back. I settle into it, nod a hello, and set my glass on the table.
Arden shifts slightly, eyes sharp but friendly. “So, Cole. What brings you to Palm Beach? Besides, obviously, the sunshine and hot real estate market?”
Sam exhales like she’s been bracing for this. “Arden.”
Arden just lifts a brow, innocent. “What? I’m making conversation.”
I smile. “I’m on the board at Good Samaritan for now. It's a short-term role. I was brought in to assist while the hospital evaluates some structural changes.”
Arden nods slowly, taking a sip of her wine. “Ah. Very official.”
"I guess you could call it that."
I can't tell if this woman is mocking me or feeling me out. Or both. Surely she already knows I'm on the board.
I let myself glance at Sam. “The tour today, thank you again. It meant something, seeing it with you.”
Her lips part like she might respond, but she only nods once and looks down at her glass.
Then Arden claps her hands once. “Perfect. We've gotten that out of the way. Now we drink.”
Arden tips the bottle of wine toward Sam’s glass, topping it off. Then she lifts the bottle in my direction. “Can I get you a glass of wine?”
I hold up my glass. “I’m good.”
The conversation shifts. It's lighter, easier.
Arden tells a story about a bachelorette weekend gone rogue in Miami. Sam laughs and seems more relaxed now. The tension that was obvious when I walked up is finally unclenching from her posture .
She tucks her feet up on the chair, bare toes peeking from beneath her loose pajama pants, glass cradled against her chest like armor and comfort in one.
The waves roll in below us, steady and soft. The kind of rhythm that lulls you into thinking maybe everything’s fine after all.
“Alright,” Arden says, setting down her empty glass.
"Oh, shit," Sam says, like she's bracing for her friend to embarrass her.
“Tomorrow night, there’s a Dave Matthews Band cover playing at Swifty’s. We’re doing it. What do y’all say?” Arden looks at me.
I cock my head and look to see how Sam reacts. She runs a hand through her hair but doesn't say anything.
“I already told Sam I’m dragging her along since she gets off at a decent hour. But it’d be fun if you came too, Cole.”
Sam raises a brow. “I haven't committed, yet, Missy. I need to make sure I'm not on the brink of death. This week has been brutal.”
Arden shrugs. “Unfortunately, you don't have a choice. I need a wingman, plus, you need more music in your life.”
Then, to me, “Cole, are you around tomorrow? I’ve heard this band before, and they’re amazing.”
Her tone stays light, but her gaze flicks between us like she knows exactly what she’s doing.
“I’m still around,” I say. “I'd love that. Count me in. What time are you going so I can make sure I'm done with work?”
"It's early, which is nice. I think he starts at seven. Sam, didn't you say you're done early tomorrow, at five?"
"Yes, but."
"No 'buts.' How about we meet at 6:30? That will give you enough time to come home and clean up and change. No scrubs allowed. Does that work for you, Cole?"
"Yeah, I can get myself done by then."
Sam rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t argue.
My phone comes alive on the table beside me. I glance at the screen and see Angela's name.
I rise, slipping the phone into my palm. “That’s my assistant. I need to grab this, so I’ll let you two finish out the night without your nosy neighbor crashing girl's night.”
Neither of them stands, which I appreciate. No need to overdo the goodbye.
“Thanks for letting me crash your night. It was a nice change. Looking forward to the band.”
Sam meets my eyes, and for a second, everything quiets. There’s something there. It's unspoken, but not uncertain. The current between us hasn’t gone anywhere.
Arden lifts her glass. “Anytime, neighbor.”
I nod once. “Swifty’s, right?”
“Yeppers,” Arden says. “Hammon Avenue.”
“Cool. Thanks again for the invite. I’ll see you both there.”
I head down the steps, my empty glass in hand, not bothering to check the message.
It wasn’t urgent.
Back inside, I toss the ice from my glass into the sink and rinse it out like that’ll give me something to focus on. The house is quiet, save for the faint hum of the Dyson air purifier the designer insisted upon and the occasional shuffle of footsteps next door.
Women’s laughter filters through the open window again. Softer this time. Like they’ve sunk into the part of the night where everything loosens.
I pull off my watch and set it on the counter, resisting the urge to check the time again like it matters. It’s not even that late, but the edge of something is still with me. Still electric under my skin.
Sam didn’t say much. But her eyes did.
And that look she gave me, just before I walked off her deck, that stuck. It lingered. Not confused, or regretful. But something tells me we aren't done pushing these lines, no matter how both of us are trying not to.
I stretch my shoulders and flip open my laptop on the dining table, more out of habit than necessity. Emails. Updates. Logistics.
Angela’s already sent the final agenda for the week, flagged the vote date, and asked if I want to see the revised property valuations before Thursday’s call. That's probably why she called to let me know she's sent it. I don't need to talk to her.
I skim the rest but barely absorb it.
Tomorrow, I’m supposed to meet them at Swifty’s. Sam didn’t say no. Arden orchestrated it. I guess time will tell if that was a bad idea. But what could go wrong with three of us?
If we can't be mature enough to keep our hands to ourselves, at least we will have a buffer.
By noon, I’ve taken six calls, rewritten two deal memos, and fielded one thinly veiled threat from a board member who thinks I don’t understand the soul of this hospital.
He’s wrong. I understand it better than he does.
My laptop camera blinks on automatically, and there’s Angela, already mid-sentence.
“—and the zoning estimates came in lower than expected,” she says, flipping through a thick folder I don’t need to see .
"You cut out for a minute. You said something about valuations."
“Oh, sorry. I said I flagged a few potential leverage points in Palm Beach County’s tax district valuations, but nothing urgent.”
I nod, dragging a hand through my hair. “Email me the full breakdown. I’ll go through it at some point.”
Angela narrows her eyes. “There aren't many changes from what I sent yesterday, but I'll highlight the edits.”
“Perfect. I'll send over any notes I have after reading.”
She smirks. “Alrighty, I think that does it.”
"Let me look through this with you on the line before you go."
I scroll through a few new messages, trying to focus, but the screen might as well be blank. The longer the silence stretches between me and Sam, the more I start to question if I imagined the shift last night.
She hasn’t texted. No confirmation. No excuse. Just silence.
I look up at her squarely. “Do I have anything after five?”
Angela’s already checking her tablet. “Not officially. I rescheduled your 6:30 with the California developer to tomorrow, as requested. Do you still want the evening blocked off?”
“Keep it open.”
She pauses. “Want me to clear it entirely?”
“Yeah.”
She taps once, then looks back at the screen. “Is this a ‘potential acquisition’ kind of night, or a ‘you might actually enjoy yourself’ kind of night?”
I glance out the window. The beach is calm, and sunlight hits the dunes just right. “Hopefully the second one. ”
“Happy to hear that.”
I don’t answer.
Angela leans back in her chair, satisfied. “Alright, boss. I’ll hold the fort. Text me if anything changes.”
I close the laptop without replying. I’m not sure what tonight is.
But I want to find out.