Page 139 of Ten Day Affair
$4.2 million. The number keeps spinning in my head.
It's freedom. It's possibility. It's also terrifying as hell.
I walk farther than I planned, letting the rhythmic crash of waves clear my mind. The beach is empty except for a couple walking their dog in the distance. This is why I'll miss this place. The quiet. The space to breathe.
When I turn back toward the house, something catches my eye.
Light.
Golden light streams from the kitchen window of Cole's house. I stop dead in the sand while my pulse jumps like I've been shocked.
It's not him. It's probably a cleaning crew or who knows who. But my body doesn't believe my brain. My chest tightens as heat flashes across my skin. My stomach knots up like I'm about to walk into surgery.
I haven't seen that light on ever since he left. The cleaners always seem to come during the day, so seeing it now like this throws me off kilter. It's more than the single lamp in his living room that is on every night.
My hands ball into fists at my sides. My thighs press together without me meaning to. Every nerve ending fires at once, flooding me with memories I've worked so hard to bury.
Suddenly, Cole's hands are on my skin. His mouth is against my neck. The way he looked at me, like I was the only thing in the world that mattered, fills me.
Stop it. Just stop.
I force myself to breathe in through my nose and outthrough my mouth. I do it just the way they taught us in residency to stay calm during trauma cases.
"It's not him," I mutter to the empty beach.
I turn and walk back toward my own house, but I can feel the warmth of his kitchen window against my back like a hand I can't shake off.
I thought I had finally gotten Cole Houston out of my system. It turns out ten days can leave more of an impression than I could have ever guessed.
This solidifies my decision to sell the house. I need to completely eradicate him.
It's time.
THIRTY-TWO
Cole
The deck chair creaks under my weight as I lean back, phone pressed to my ear. The inky black night is cloudless.
I've got a fresh Corona in my hand. I decided to do something different tonight.
My sunglasses sit forgotten in my shirt breast pocket.
"Monday morning at nine works perfectly. I'll sign in person," I tell Janet, the realtor.
Her voice carries that professional surprise I've gotten used to. "Oh, you're flying in for the closing?"
"I arrived about an hour ago. I'm in Palm Beach and will be until we close on Monday."
"I have to admit, Mr. Houston, I expected you'd overnight the original closing documents from New York. Most of our out-of-state sellers handle it that way."
"The trust documents make an in-person signature easier than coordinating with legal. Since everything happened so fast, I made it work for my schedule to come. Also, I wanted to pick up a few things I left behind."
That's the excuse, anyway.
The real reason sits in my chest like a stone. I wantedone last weekend in this house. One last time to sit on this deck and stare out at the water we enjoyed together.
"Of course. We'll have everything ready. The furniture conveys with the sale, correct? The inventory we discussed?"
