Page 159 of Ten Day Affair

"It was. Through this, I also realized that I don't want to do that type of business anymore. Absorbing companies, or hospitals, and reorganizing for profit don't take into account the people behind them. I never saw it that way before you." I lean forward as much as the sling allows.

She's quiet for a long moment, watching the horizon. "What do you want, Cole? Is this a long-winded apology?"

"I'm saying I want another shot, to do it right. I want to show you I'm different than who I was three months ago. Maybe a clean slate."

"You live in New York. I live in Atlanta. This was never going to be anything other than temporary." Her voice is matter-of-fact.

"So?"

She actually laughs. "You're crazy."

"Undoubtedly. But I can't stop thinking about you. About us. About what we could be if we actually gave it a real chance. I want to date you without an expiration date."

"A real chance," she repeats.

"Yeah. No lies, no holding back, no half-truths. Just?—"

The sliding glass door opens behind us with a sharp whoosh. Sam's father steps onto the deck, still handsome in his seventies, silver hair catching the fading light.

My entire body goes rigid.Shit.

"Dad." Sam's voice is carefully neutral.

"Dr. Taylor," I nod at him. He doesn't acknowledge me.

"I didn't know you were stopping by."

Samuel Taylor's eyes lock on mine with laser precision. The last time we spoke, he'd asked point-blank if I was sleeping with his daughter. The conversation that followed had been a nightmare for everyone involved.

"Cole." His voice could freeze ocean water.

I stand to shake his hand awkwardly with my left hand. He puts his hands in his pockets.

He looks between us, taking in the wine glasses, the intimate seating arrangement, and my presence on his daughter's deck. His mouth forms a thin line.

"I came to check on you before lunch tomorrow. I didn't realize you had company. I'll let you get back to it."

The tension could be cut with a knife. Sam shifts in her chair, and I can see her calculating how to handle this.

Sam stands slowly, wine glass still in hand, but her posture is straight. She's measured, not fidgeting or shrinking. She stands beside me, and we make quite the trio standing here.

“Dad, you don’t have to go. You’re welcome to join us.”

His brow lifts, but he doesn’t step forward. “I'm meeting Hattie for dinner. I was just stopping in to see you."

He flicks his gaze to me again, and I brace myself for the verbal blow I’m certain is coming. The sling, the soft lighting, the fact that I’m onherdeck and not the other way around—it all looks bad. Or worse, intimate.

I clear my throat. “I was just heading out anyway. Good to see you.”

I set my plastic cup on the railing.

“No,” Sam says firmly. Her voice cuts clean and quiet, but it lands. “You’re staying.”

I freeze. So does her father.

She turns toward him, not confrontational, but resolute. “Dad, I appreciate you checking in. And I’m looking forward to lunch tomorrow. But I’m not sixteen, and this isn’t a high school rebellion. If I want to spend time with someone, I’ll evaluate what that means for myself.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t speak.