But then Aria jumps out of the passenger side, and my heart softens.
“Miss Ella!” she cries, running toward me.
I crouch to catch her, scooping her into a hug. “Good morning, sweetheart.”
“Daddy couldn’t find a babysitter, so he made me tag along,” she reports matter-of-factly.
Cole steps forward, rubbing the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically apologetic. “I can come back later if you want. I didn’t want to bring her out here, but I didn’t have—“
“It’s fine,” I cut in gently. “Really. She can hang out with Daisy. You know Daisy, right?” I ask Aria.
She nods. “Yes, we go to the same school but in different grades.”
“Perfect. You two will have loads of fun.”
Cole’s shoulders drop in relief. He looks tired. Not physically, more emotionally. What happened between us yesterday did something to him. Something good, but terrifying. I feel the echo of it low in my belly.
He clears his throat, adjusting the strap of the equipment bag slung over his shoulder. “We should start early. Storm’s coming in later.”
I nod. “Let’s go.”
We set Daisy and Aria up at the main house first, with crayons, snacks, and supervision from Tessa, who threatens to call Jace if they misbehave, which means neither of them is going to move an inch.
Once they’re settled, Cole and I head out to survey the land and pick a spot where the proposed development site will stretch across multiple acres of untouched land.
The walk is quiet at first—comfortable, but a bit charged.
I walk beside him, hands in my jacket pockets, trying not to stare at the way his forearms flex when he rearranges equipment. He keeps glancing at me like he wants to say something but can’t decide if he should.
Eventually, he does.
“About yesterday,” he starts quietly.
My stomach flips. “I know.”
“We probably shouldn’t have—“
“Cole.” I look at him. “We’re adults. We knew what we were doing.”
He looks away, jaw tight. “Still.”
“Still what?”
He shakes his head, exhaling hard. “I don’t want to screw this up.”
I stop walking. “Screw what up?”
He doesn’t answer. Because he can’t. Because saying it out loud might make it too real.
I step closer, lowering my voice. “I’m not asking for anything from you.”
His eyes snap to mine, sharp, intense, searching. “Shiloh…”
“I mean it. We can keep it separate. Keep it clean and professional.”
He studies me for a long, heavy moment. Then he nods once, slowly, but his eyes tell a different story. Because nothing about what we did was professional or clean. And we both know it.
We’re halfway through the field survey when I hear it—an engine approaching, tires crunching gravel in a rhythm that sets every hair on my arms on edge. Cole hears it too. He stiffens, shoulders tight, posture shifting. His entire aura changes—controlled but coiled.
