Page 160 of Ten Day Affair
She doesn’t let the silence drag. “I’d love for you to join us and enjoy a glass of a really nice Vermentino. But if you’re uncomfortable, I get it. We can catch up tomorrow.”
His eyes move between us again. I'm still standing awkwardly with my arm strapped to my chest, and Sam is calm and collected with her chin lifted just enough to say I’m not backing down.
“I don't want to keep Hattie waiting,” he says finally, a note of something, resignation, maybe, underneath the formality.
He steps forward just enough to kiss Sam’s cheek. “I’ll see you at lunch.”
She nods. “Looking forward to it.”
He turns to me. “Good night, Cole.”
“Sir,” I say, my voice low.
Then he’s gone, retreating through the house, leaving behind an unmistakable sense of judgment.
Sam lets out a breath, long and quiet, once he's gone.
“Sorry,” I say, voice rough.
“Don’t be. That was mine to handle.”
She picks up the bottle, refills both cups, then gestures toward the lounge chair next to hers.
I settle back into the chair beside her, my shoulder stillthrobbing, not entirely sure if I should make a graceful exit. The silence stretches between us, but it's different now. Less charged, more thoughtful.
Sam's shoulders carry tension like armor. She stares at her wine glass, rotating it slowly between her palms. The confrontation with her father rattled her more than she's letting on.
"We don't have to keep talking, if you're tired of being emotionally wrung out. We could go for a walk or something easy. Or... do nothing."
She lets out a slow breath and finally meets my eyes. “Honestly? I was planning on catching up on the new season ofYoutonight. Ever seen it?”
I shake my head. “Are we talking romcom or period piece drama?”
Her lips twitch into the first real smile I’ve seen all day. “It’s about a sexy serial killer. Oddly cathartic, believe it or not.”
I give her a dry look. “Sexy serial killer. Okay. So I’m either walking into a psychological test or the most unsettling revenge plan ever. Still better than eating takeout alone next door, watching Food Network reruns. I’m in.”
She hesitates for half a second, then nods. “I’m not in the mood to go deep tonight. But if you want to stay and watch, you can.”
Relief washes through me. “That sounds perfect. Can I at least order pizza?”
She arches a brow. “Only if you’ll order Hawaiian.”
“You’re one ofthose,” I mutter, already pulling out my phone.
“Yep. And I put Nutella on my green apples. Just in case you want to know my food crimes up front.”
“Noted,” I say, looking up as I finish the order. One Hawaiian, and one pepperoni.
Sam opens the sliding door to her living room. “Come on. Don’t expect anything but couch time, though. No repeats of this morning.”
“Understood. My expectations are tragically low.”
Which is a lie. Just being here feels like winning the goddamn lottery.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Sam
