Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 52663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Then he speaks.
“Well, hello there, Emily.”
And I know that voice. Not the name. Not the face. The voice.
“I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while now,” he says. “Your mom brags nonstop about your writing talent.”
I shake his hand. “Nice to meet you too. You have a beautiful home.”
“Wait until you see the inside,” he says. “I’ll give you the full tour—and I’ll have my son grab your bags.”
“Oh, that’s right,” my mom says. “He has a son who’s a little older than you. So you’ll have a live-in friend until school starts.”
“Son!” Aidan calls through an open window. “Hey, son?”
Silence.
“Warning,” he sighs. “My son’s a fuckin’ hardhead. Hold on…”
He pulls out his phone and dials.
“Haul your ass to the front,” he says. “My girlfriend and her daughter are here.”
A deep, lazy voice crackles through the speaker:
“What does that have to do with me?”
Something in my stomach flips. My skin tightens.
“Don’t start this shit with me today,” Aidan mutters. “Just come grab their stuff.”
The call ends.
He turns back to us, gesturing toward the beach. “Make sure you take advantage of the sand and water every day. It keeps me grounded.”
I barely hear him. I’m still staring at the door.
Because a second later, it swings open.
And there he is.
Cole.
He steps onto the porch in gray sweatpants and a white muscle shirt, his hair messy, his jaw tight. He stops cold when he sees me, his expression unreadable.
I feel like I’m falling through the earth.
He blinks once. Slowly. Then starts walking.
My pulse spikes.
“Thank you for blessing us with your presence, Cole,” Aidan says.
“You’re welcome.”
“This is Hannah’s daughter, Emily,” he says. “Emily, this is my son, Cole.”
Cole’s eyes stay locked on me. “Your name is Emily?” He smirks. “That’s funny. You strike me more as an ‘Amy.’ I feel like that’s what you’d tell me if we’d met before, isn’t it?”
My cheeks burn.
“You’ll get used to his rudeness,” Aidan says, laughing. “Come on in, let me give you a tour.”
I follow him inside, my mind spinning. But just before I step over the threshold, I glance back.
Cole is still there.
Still watching me.
But the smirk is gone—replaced by something hotter, darker, and far more dangerous.
The house is gorgeous. I’ll give it that. But something about it feels... off.
Warm-toned walls, curated furniture, and just enough coastal charm—driftwood sculptures, pale linen curtains, seashell vases—to look like someone tried to make it feel lived in. But it doesn’t.
It feels like a model home. Pretty, perfect, and soulless.
“Babe, we’ll be in here,” Aidan says, guiding my mom toward the master suite. “And if you ever get mad at me, there’s a guest suite down the hall.”
She giggles like a teenager and stands on her toes to kiss his cheek.
“Is the guest suite where I’ll be staying?” I ask, keeping my tone even.
“Absolutely not.” Aidan shakes his head. “Come on, let me show you upstairs.”
The staircase creaks under our steps. He stops at a white door and pulls out a key like he’s revealing a prize on a game show.
“This is your room.” He flips on the lights. “I told the designer you’re a writer, so she tried to reflect that.”
I step inside.
And stop.
A queen bed sits against a navy accent wall, ivory bedding tucked tight. A floor-to-ceiling bookshelf spans one wall, already filled with titles I’ve read and loved—and some I’ve never seen before. A writing desk with gold trim glints in the corner. There’s a tufted chaise by the window, a soft throw tossed over the edge, and a glass lamp shaped like a wave.
“Is something wrong?” Aidan asks. “If you hate it, I can have it redone tomorrow.”
“No, I—” I shake my head. “I get this whole room to myself?”
“You do,” he says, grinning. “And you even have—” he opens a set of doors, “your own private balcony that overlooks the garden. Well, and the beach, of course.”
Tears sting, but I blink them back.
Even if this doesn’t last—and deep down, I know it won’t—I’ll remember this. A room that’s mine. A door I can lock.
“The only thing you do have to share is the bathroom suite,” he adds, gesturing to a door. “HOA won’t let me rework the plumbing, but your private bath at the main house will be ready after renovations.”
“You have another house?”
“This is just the summer place,” my mom says proudly as she steps in. “They’re remodeling his real one until autumn.”
Aidan pulls out his phone and shows her something. I go invisible. Again.
“Dinner will be around six,” Aidan says over his shoulder. “You’re welcome to join us—and get a better impression of Cole. If not, no pressure.”
The moment they’re gone, I close the door and lock it.
Shoes off. Straight to the bed. Face-down into the comforter.
I repeat it again and again:
This isn’t real.
This won’t last.
Don’t get attached.
Eventually, I move to the balcony. I pull open the doors and step out, letting the breeze roll over me.