Page 141 of Ten Day Affair
She nods slowly, her knuckles white where she grips the railing. "I'm just here for a few days. Came to check on my dad and meet with a realtor."
Her voice tightens, more guarded now. The way it used to get when she'd catch herself being too honest, too open. She's selling the house.
"I should go inside," she says, breaking the silence.
The words hang between us like a challenge neither of us wants to accept. She doesn't move. Neither do I.
I watch her, taking in every detail I'd forced myself to forget. The way her robe gaps slightly at the chest when she leans forward. How her damp hair catches the porch light. The flush creeping up her neck means she's feeling everything I am.
I wasn't ready for this.
She turns back toward her house, and I catch the profile that haunted my dreams for weeks after I left. The curve of her jaw, the way she bites her bottom lip when she's fighting with herself about something.
"Sam. Wait."
She stops but doesn't look back. I stand and wipe the sand off my ass.
"It's good to see you."
She nods once and disappears behind the balcony door. But the light stays on.
I sink back onto the step, my empty, warm beer forgotten beside me. The waves keep rolling in, same as they have, but everything feels different now.
She's here.
I stare at that lit window, knowing she's just inside, only a few feet away.
There's so much pain between us, so much I need to say. Maybe the two of us being here at the same time means I have to say something. Anything. All of the things I've said and re-said in my head, to apologize for the shit with the Post, our last day, her father.
Everything.
My phone lights up with a text, but I don't check it. Whatever crisis needs my attention in New York can wait. I came here to say goodbye to this place, to close this chapter cleanly.
That task just got a hell of a lot bigger.
I walk back up my stairs without thinking, my legs heavy. The deck lounger welcomes my weight as I sink down, looking to my right at her empty deck.
My phone sits within reach on the side table. I could text her. Something simple to see if she would be willing to let me try to explain. I haven't reached out since all of the drama with the Post started.
Fucking Laural Harrelson.
But what's the point? She disappeared inside faster than she appeared once she knew I was there. The message couldn't be clearer.
The last real conversation we had ended with her walking away from me.I let her go. But I've regretted it since. I rub both hands over my face, frustration bubblingunder my skin. I close my eyes and exhale slowly. The ocean keeps its steady rhythm, indifferent to the chaos in my chest.
Just leave it alone, Houston.
She made her choice. She's moved on from all of this, isn't even living here, and probably hasn't thought about me in weeks. I should respect that.
I should do the same. Chasing her down would be crossing a line she's already drawn in thick red ink.
For the first time in weeks, I have no idea what the right move is. In business, every decision has data to back it up. Risk assessment. Projected outcomes. Clear paths forward. More than that, I have a gut instinct.
When it comes to Sam, I don't have a fucking clue. We are two people who hurt each other, standing on opposite sides of twenty feet of sand and pride.
Suddenly, the clear night has clouds. They drift across what little moon we have, darkening the sky further. The temperature hasn't dropped, but the air is thicker now. Humid. Heavy with the promise of rain that might not come.
I lie back on the lounger, letting my eyes find the stars still visible through the thin cloud cover. Just five minutes to think. To feel her presence next door, to let myself imagine what might happen if I knocked on her door.
