Page 25 of Back in the Bay

His eyes, serious now, search mine. "No, it doesn't. But it's a start."

The sincerity in his voice chips away at my defenses. This is the problem with Cole Bennett—he's never played games. Even as teenagers, he was straightforward, reliable. The guy who showed up early and stayed late. The one who built me a bookshelf when my collection outgrew my room, who learned to dance just so he could take me to prom.

"I've changed," I warn him. "I'm not the girl you knew."

His smile is slow, devastating. "I'm counting on that. I want to know the woman you've become."

My phone buzzes from somewhere on the floor, breaking the moment. Cole sighs, rolling off me but keeping one arm draped across my middle.

"Real life calling?" he asks.

"Probably my mother," I groan, making no move to retrieve it. "She's going to have questions."

"Tell her I said hello." His grin is mischievous. "And that I still make her daughter's favorite french toast."

The domesticity of the comment startles me. "You remember my french toast addiction?"

"Extra cinnamon in the batter, not on top. Warm maple syrup and Nutella on the side." He shrugs as if remembering such details for thirteen years is perfectly normal. "Some things you don't forget and your sweet tooth is one of them."

I swallow hard. "Cole..."

"I know, I know." He raises his hands in surrender. "Too much, too soon. I'll dial it back."

But I'm not sure I want him to. That's what terrifies me. One night, and I'm already imagining weekend mornings with french toast, lazy kisses, and—no. I need to get a grip.

"I should shower." I sit up, clutching the sheet tighter.

"Need help washing your back?" His eyebrows waggle suggestively.

I throw a pillow at him. "I think you've helped enough for one morning."

His laughter follows me as I gather my clothes and retreat to his bathroom. Under the hot spray, I try to sort through the jumble of emotions. Physically, I feel incredible—satisfied in ways I'd forgotten were possible. Emotionally? I'm a wreck.

I've spent years building my career, establishing myself as someone to be taken seriously in Portland's legal community. The idea of complicating that with a long-distance relationship makes my stomach knot. But the alternative—walking away from Cole again—feels equally impossible.

When I emerge, wrapped in his towel, he's made the bed and is standing by the window in just his jeans, phone to his ear. Themorning light plays across the planes of his back, highlighting muscles that definitely weren't there in high school.

"Yeah, I'll be there by noon," he's saying. "Just need to check the foundation first." He turns, spots me, and his entire expression softens. "Gotta go, Fox. I'll call you later."

He ends the call, tossing his phone onto the bed. "Work," he explains. "Nothing urgent."

"I should get going anyway." I clutch the towel tighter. "Let you get to your day."

"My day started perfectly." He crosses the room, hands settling on my hips. "But if you need to leave, I understand."

The temptation to stay is overwhelming. To crawl back into bed with him, to pretend the outside world doesn't exist. But that's not who I am anymore.

"I do." I step back, creating necessary distance. "But what about dinner tonight?"

His eyes light up. "Yes?"

"I'll call you in a few hours." I need an extra dose of Cole, before I return to Portland.

He nods, accepting this. "I'll be waiting."

Twenty minutes later, dressed and marginally more composed, I'm gathering my purse when Cole hands me a travel mug of coffee.

"For the road," he says. "Still take it with cream, no sugar?"

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