Page 60 of Ten Day Affair

“Yeah, that was pretty fucking awesome.”

“You think we’re going to make it through this night without doing something we’ll regret?” I ask.

She lifts her glass again. Her lips curve, but it's not quite a smile. “Nope.”

I laugh softly, then glance toward the entrance. “I'm starting to think this was all some elaborate setup by your friend.”

She follows my gaze, then smirks. “God, no. Arden’s not that subtle. Or that crafty. She just comes out and says it.”

“She was fun. I enjoyed last night. What came up for her, then? She said she was looking forward to this.”

“She had a client emergency, hence the last-minute exit to Atlanta.”

I lift a brow. “Did she say she worked in PR?”

“Crisis communications. She's essentially a fixer anddoes high-profile damage control for the rich and famous. She’s like Olivia Pope, but with better hair and a slightly less shady moral compass.”

“That explains a few things.”

Sam chuckles. “Yeah. She’s brilliant. Grew up here, actually. Palm Beach royalty, in a way. But her dad had a pretty public fall from grace when we were in college."

"Sounds intense. Maybe that's why she prefers chaos?"

"Yeah. He was a bigshot attorney and lost everything. Arden saw the mess from the inside and decided she’d spend her life cleaning up everyone else’s.”

“That’s an interesting backstory if I've ever heard one.”

“She thrives in dissarray, which is why we were made for each other. I prefer calm and predictable. She thinks my life is tragically boring.”

I glance at her glass, then her mouth. “Is it?”

Her lips twitch. “Not tonight.”

The band shifts into something upbeat. Laughter carries across the patio. A server drops a metal tray somewhere behind us with a clang and a curse. And still, we don’t move.

Her knee brushes mine again. It's not accidental this time.

I know, and so does she.

But neither of us pushes forward.

Not yet.

The conversation flows more easily now, the space between us charged but comfortable. I share a little about myself. Old habits die hard. But I give her just enough to satisfy her questions.

Her hand slides across the table, landing on mine. Deliberate. Warm. She doesn't pull away.

"You're not what I expected, Cole Houston."

My name in her mouth sounds different tonight. Softer. The breeze lifts her hair slightly, and the candlelight catches in her eyes.

I turn my hand, our palms meeting. Her pulse beats against mine.

"Can't show all my cards at once," I smile, realizing that has more than one meaning between us. I push that thought down, knowing I can't dwell on the hospital stuff anymore. This is about her and me tonight, nothing else.

The lights over the patio glow dimmer now, casting shadows across empty plates and half-drunk wine. The band plays its last few chords, followed by a swell of clapping and a shout from the singer.

“Thanks, Palm Beach! That’s our time!”