My throat tightens again, that same lump from dinner coming back, but softer this time. Cautious. Like if I let myself feel the full weight of it, I might shatter or worse, I might never want to leave.
“You okay?” he murmurs, voice low, one hand stroking slow circles on my back under the water.
I nod against his chest. “Yeah. Just… processing.”
He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through me. “Was the pool too much?”
“No.” I lift my head, meeting his eyes, those steady ones that always see right through my bullshit. “The pool’s perfect. You’re perfect. That’s the problem.”
His brow furrows a little, thumb brushing my cheek. “Talk to me, Layla.”
I bite my lip, searching for the words without sounding like I’m already halfway out the door. “I’m not used to this. To someone… doing things like this. Not just the big stuff, the pool, the breakfasts, the way you look at me but the little things too. Staying when you’re exhausted. Listening when I ramble about plot holes at 2 a.m. Making me feel like I belong here without ever saying it out loud.”
He doesn’t interrupt, just watches me, hand still moving in those soothing circles.
“I keep telling myself this is temporary,” I whisper. “End of August. Deadline. Seattle. Tour. All of it. But then you do something like this, and I start wondering if I’m lying to myself. If maybe… I don’t want to go back as bad as I thought.”
My voice cracks on the last word. I look away, embarrassed at how raw it sounds. Cole’s quiet for a beat, long enough that my stomach knots, then he tilts my chin back to him.
“You think I built that pool just to be nice?”
I blink. “Well… yeah?”
He shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “I built it because I want you to have a place here that’s yours. Somewhere you can sit with your laptop, feet in the water, and write without feelin’ like you’re borrowin’ space. Because I like seein’ you here, Layla. In my yard. In my house. In my bed. And yeah, I know August is comin’. I know you’ve got a whole life waitin’ somewhere else. But I’m not askin’ you to decide tonight. I’m not asking you to decide anything, ever. Maybe you’ll come visit and when and if you do it’s here. And maybe I’m also just… showin’ you what it could look like if you wanted more than temporary.”
My eyes sting again, happy-sting, scared-sting, all mixed up. “You’re making this really hard, you know that?”
“Good.” He leans in, presses a soft kiss to my forehead.
I laugh, wet, shaky and wrap my arms tighter around his neck.
We stay like that a while longer, floating, talking in low voices about nothing and everything. How he used to sneak out to this same spot as a kid and stare at the stars. How I once cried in a Seattle coffee shop because a barista remembered my order and it felt like the closest thing to home I’d had in months. How maybe, just maybe, we could figure out a way to split time, Seattle for launches and meetings, here for writing and quiet and him. No big promises. No ultimatums. Just honest, cautious hope. We are not even a couple and I have a whole career waiting for me. My heart has never been tugged so many ways before. How crazy would I sound if I gave up my entire career for a man I’ve known less than a year? Less than six months? That thought scares me a little.
Eventually the water starts to feel too cold, goosebumps rising on my arms. He walks me out of the pool, wraps me in a big towel like I’m something fragile, and follows me back to the guest house. Same routine, dripping, fingers brushing, me pausing at the door.
“Are you coming in?”
He rubs the back of his neck, tired but soft. “I’m really tired tonight. But I’ll see you in the morning.”
I grab his hand. “Please stay.”
And he actually does. We climb into bed, dry clothes, damp hair, no rush, no heat. Just us tangled up, my head on his chest, his arm heavy around me. We talk until our voices get slow and sleepy, about dumb stuff like what animal we’d be, he says bear, I say fox, about how he secretly loves when I steal his T- shirts, about how I’ve started dreaming in ranch rhythms instead of city noise.
I fall asleep listening to his breathing even out, feeling wrecked in the gentlest way. Not broken. Just… cracked open. Cautious, hopeful, terrified, happy. All at once.
Chapter 17
Texas Hold em’
Cole
Damn, she looks so fucking good sitting out by the pool like that. Legs stretched out on the lounge chair, laptop balanced on her thighs, fingers flying across the keys like she’s chasing something only she can see. The sun’s hitting her just right, skin glowing, that purple-and-pink one-piece hugging every curve, the cutouts on the sides showing off the soft dip of her waist, the swell of her hips.
It’s been a few days since she finally got to see the pool. The thing I built for her. She loved it, kissed me stupid right there in front of everybody, squealed when I tossed her in and I’m starting to think she might’ve loved it too much. Maybe I freaked her out a little with how big the gesture was. But she’sbeen down here every single day since. Writing, typing, whatever the hell authors do in their creative spaces. Sometimes she just sits with her feet in the water, staring at the page like it’s talking back to her. I keep catching myself staring through the main house kitchen window, coffee gone cold in my hand, just watching her exist in my yard like she belongs there.
We’re packing up today for Texas. Dad, Luke, and me, hauling the horses down for the show. It’ll be just Maggie, Nancy, and Layla here for the next week, plus the few extra ranch hands who come daily. The ranch will be closed for classes—no lessons, no trail rides—only folks stopping by for eggs, maybe some of Nancy’s baked goods or Maggie’s tallow. Layla’s taken a real liking to that tallow; rubs it on her hands after writing all day, says it smells like earth and honey. Makes me want to bury my face in her neck and breathe her in.
“We’re about loaded up,” Dad says, stepping into the kitchen, wiping his hands on a rag.
