Page 140 of Ten Day Affair

"Everything stays except a few personal items."

Like the Harvard sweatshirt she wore to bed that one morning. The one hanging in my closet that still carries the faintest trace of her perfume. That's what I really came for.

"Perfect. The buyers are thrilled about the furnishings. They're from Boston and won't be moving down until next year, so having everything staged makes the transition seamless."

I walk down the steps to the beach and sit on the bottom step to watch the ghost crabs scurry on the beach. "Glad it worked out for everyone."

"Any last questions about the closing process?"

"None. You've been thorough."

Too thorough. She probably knows more about this sale than I do at this point.

"Wonderful. I'll see you Monday at nine. And Mr. Houston, enjoy your time in Palm Beach. I hope your brief ownership has been everything you hoped."

The irony hits like a punch. Everything I hoped for and nothing like I expected.

"This was always an investment. But I did enjoy it more than I expected."

I end the call and set the phone on the step next to my warming beer. The house is different now. It's hollow, like it's already not mine anymore. I'm not sure if that's because she's not here to share it with, or if I've already moved on from this place mentally.

The ocean stretches out endlessly, same as always. I can't help but wonder what Sam is doing right now inAtlanta. She loved this beach so much. No doubt it is a big adjustment for her.

I wish I could pick up the phone and catch up. If only things hadn't ended like they did. If only my entire reputation and innuendo weren't printed in the Palm Beach Post for her to see without me being able to explain.

I dig my toes deeper and watch the waves roll in. The sand is still warm from the day's heat. The rhythm is hypnotic, constant. It's the same sand I felt under my feet the night I found her on her deck in that silk robe.

The night that changed everything and put both of us on a trajectory neither of us saw coming.

The bottle of Corona is essentially empty. I can finally understand the allure of a beer on the beach.

The foam from the last wave dissolves into the sand twenty feet away, leaving dark wet patches that catch what's left of the light. A small creak interrupts the silence. It's familiar, like the sound of Sam's sliding glass door.

I look up toward her house and freeze.

Sam.

She leans against the railing, hair damp and twisted up in a messy knot. That champagne silk robe, the same one from that first night when I stumbled onto her deck like an idiot tourist, catches the last rays of light. The fabric moves with the ocean breeze, and she's completely unaware that I'm here.

My chest tightens, and my stomach drops. Heat shoots straight through me.

Fuck.

I haven't seen her in almost two months. Two months of forcing myself not to think about her, not to imagine what she's doing in Atlanta, not to wonder if she ever thinks about what we had here.

And now she's twenty feet away wearing that goddamn robe.

I stand slowly, beer bottle forgotten at my side.

"Sam?"

She startles, spinning toward my voice. Her eyes search the darkness before locking on mine.

"Cole? What are you doing here?"

The breath catches in her voice. That tiny hitch that used to drive me crazy when I'd kiss her neck just below her ear.

"I didn't know you were still in town. I thought you'd moved."