Page 51 of Ten Day Affair
“Said thanks for the tour. That’s all. Simple. Professional. And yet...”
“You’re spiraling.”
“I’m spiraling. The words are neutral, but the timing isn't. He sent it right after I got home. He probablyknewI just got home.”
“And you’re wondering what it means.”
“I’m wondering if I’m reading too much into it. I’m wondering if I ruined something that wasn’t even supposed to be anything. And I’m wondering what the hell to text back, if I should text back, and why I feel like I need to lie down and scream into a pillow.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then Arden says, “I’m coming over.”
“No, you don’t have to?—”
“This calls for an intervention.”
“Arden.”
“I’m bringing a cold bottle of Santa Margarita. And the emergency brownies. We are going to untangle this madness before you either sleep with him again or ghost him into oblivion.”
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 surewe'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?”
