10. Cole

TEN

Cole

8:18 pm

I'm wiping down the counters and loading the dishwasher, grateful for the quiet that's settled over the house now that Madeline is finally asleep. My little firecracker had her bath, dinner, and bedtime routine earlier than usual tonight.

Two full days of preschool without a nap have really taken their toll on her. I can see it in the way her eyes drooped, and her usual chatter slowed to a mumble.

It's becoming clear that it's time to phase out her daily nap altogether. Although she doesn't sleep during the day every afternoon anymore, this transition is still an adjustment for us both.

I find myself torn between relishing the extra time I get with her when she's awake and missing those quiet afternoon moments when I can catch my breath. But that's parenthood for you—constantly changing, always keeping you on your toes.

Just as I'm about to plop on the sofa and turn off my brain to scroll aimlessly through Netflix, a knock on the door startles me.

I open the door, and there stands Buster, his broad shoulders filling the doorframe. He's holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a business card in the other. My heart skips a beat, and I'm suddenly aware of how disheveled I must look after wrestling Maddie through her nighttime routine and then cleaning the kitchen.

He must think I'm always a chaotic mess.

"Hey," I manage, trying to keep my voice steady. "What's all this?"

Buster flashes that disarming smile of his. "I know you like a glass of wine, so I thought I'd bring this by with this," he says as he holds out a white business card.

I catch a glimpse of the card in his hand. It says Alabama Department of Health & Human Services.

"Huh?" I ask, at first confused, and then connect the dots, remembering that I told him about my saga this morning. That's right, he offered to help, but I blew him off.

I hesitate for a moment, then step aside to let him in. The scent of his cologne wafts past me, and I'm hit with a flash of memory from our encounter the other day. I push it away, focusing on the present.

"Maddie just went down," I explain, leading him to the kitchen. "It's been a long day."

He nods, setting the wine on the counter. "I won't stay long. I just wanted to drop this off for you."

He hands me the business card. It's for a health inspector named Aric Hankel.

"My cousin," Buster explains. "He might be able to help with your cafe situation."

I stare at the card, a mix of emotions swirling inside me. Gratitude, surprise, and a touch of embarrassment that he went out of his way for me.

"Buster, I can't believe you did this. You didn't have to go to this trouble, but I am so grateful," I start, but he cuts me off before I can finish.

"No need to thank me. I know how much of a pain the whole process can be, the red tape, bureaucratic shitstorm. It always helps when you have someone that can walk you through everything. Sometimes, the inspectors are just checking boxes, so having a real person on the inside is nice."

Our eyes meet, and for a moment, I'm lost in the warmth of his gaze. I clear my throat, breaking the spell.

"Well, thank you, anyway. This will help me more than I can tell you."

He shrugs, a boyish grin playing on his lips. "A health inspection can almost be as painful as a tax audit."

"You're telling me. This has been a nightmare. My manager is helping as much as he can, but most of this falls on my shoulders. And it's stressing me the hell out. I won't bore you with the details, but it's a lot."

"You couldn't bore me. But I am going to let you relax. I just wanted to drop it off for you. I've already contacted him, and he pulled up your case, so he is expecting your call."

"Wow. Buster, thank you."

He holds up his hand. He sweetly seems shy about being showered with gratitude. Enchanting, for sure. I'm so grateful for the gesture and the connection. Hopefully, this will help me get through this whole nightmare as quickly as possible.

Buster turns toward the door and heads out. God, he has a fantastic ass.

"Wait. You aren't going to leave me to drink this wine by myself, are you?"

He stops and swings back around to face me. I was hot on his heels, so our faces are only inches apart. I don't want to, because I am enjoying the scent of him so close to my nose. But I step back so I'm not invading his personal space.

"I would hate to leave anyone to have to suffer through that torture all alone."

"Perfect. I'll get you a glass."

"Well, that settles it, then," he says as he follows me into the kitchen. I grab two stemmed glasses that hang under my cabinet. I place them both on the counter with a familiar clank and uncork the bottle.

I was so exhausted only moments ago, my eyelids heavy. Suddenly, I have a burst of energy.

I fill our glasses about half full and then offer him one. "Here's to having an inside man at the Health Department."

"Cheers."

I take a sip of wine, letting the rich flavor settle on my tongue before swallowing. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I turn to Buster.

"You know, for all our... encounters, I realize I don't know much about you. Tell me more. Where are you from? What's your family like?"

Buster looks surprised for a moment, then settles back into his chair. "Well, I grew up in Mobile. I have a younger brother, Neil, who lives in Tuscaloosa. My dad was a general practitioner, which is probably where I got the medicine bug from."

"Was?" I catch the past tense.

His eyes cloud for a moment. "Yeah, he passed when I was in high school. Abdominal aortic aneurysm. It's part of why I chose surgery as my specialty."

"I'm so sorry," I say softly, touched by the personal revelation.

He nods, taking a sip of wine. "It was tough, but it drove me. I went to UAB for undergrad and med school. Stayed for my residency, too."

"So you're an Alabama boy through and through," I tease, trying to lighten the mood.

He chuckles. "Guilty as charged. What about you? How'd you end up running a cafe?"

"Oh no, mister. We're talking about you right now," I counter playfully. "How'd you decide on surgery specifically?"

Buster's eyes light up. "I love the immediacy of it—the challenge. Every case is different, and you're right there, hands-on, making a difference. It's intense but incredibly rewarding."

As he speaks, I can see the passion in his eyes. It's captivating, and I find myself leaning in, eager to hear more.

"Any crazy surgery stories?" I ask, genuinely intrigued.

There are a few. He goes on to tell me about some gross things he has had to do and some super weird medical issues. "You wouldn't believe the number of odd items I've had to surgically remove from people's colons. I'll just leave it at that…"

And I let him. I don't think I want to be enlightened on that fetish.

As Buster talks about the surgery he had earlier today, I notice a shift in his demeanor. The playful glint in his eyes fades, replaced by a more somber expression.

"I had a patient today," he begins, swirling the wine in his glass. "Abdominal aortic aneurysm. The same thing that took my dad."

I feel a pang in my chest, understanding now why this particular case affected him so profoundly.

"It was touch and go for a while," Buster continues. "The aneurysm was massive, irregularly shaped. We almost lost him a couple of times on the table."

He pauses, taking a sip of wine. I wait, sensing there's more.

"Usually, I'm pretty good at compartmentalizing. You have to be in this job. But this one... it got to me. The guy, he's got two teenage daughters and a wife. All I could think about was my dad and how it felt to lose him so suddenly. I was only eighteen, and my brother was seventeen."

I reach out, placing my hand on his arm without thinking. "That must have been incredibly difficult."

Buster nods, his gaze distant. "The thing is, he's not out of the woods yet—the patient. Normally, once the surgery's done, my part is over. The post-op team takes over. But I can't stop thinking about this one. About his family."

I squeeze his arm gently. "It's okay to care, you know. It's what makes you human."

He looks at me, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, I guess you're right. It's just… Death fucking sucks, you know?"

We sit silently for a moment, the weight of his words hanging between us. I'm struck by this softer side of Buster, which is so different from the goofy, silly guy I've come to know him as.

"Thank you," I say softly. "For sharing that with me."

He nods, his eyes meeting mine. For a moment, I feel a deeper connection than I expected, an understanding beyond our complicated history.

As we sit on the balcony, the night air cool against my skin, I'm struck by how easy it is to talk to Buster. The wine has loosened us both, and I genuinely enjoy his company.

Suddenly, Buster leans in. His lips meet mine, soft and warm. For a moment, I'm too surprised to react. Then, just as quickly as it begins, he pulls away.

"I'm so sorry," he stammers, his eyes wide. "I didn't plan that. I swear I didn't come over or help you out, hoping for something to happen. I don't know what came over me. I'm really sorry, Cole."

He's rambling now, clearly flustered. It's endearing to see this usually confident man so off-balance. And if I'm honest with myself, I'm not upset at all.

Without thinking, I lean in and kiss him back. It's gentle at first, then deepens as he responds. When we finally break apart, we're both a little breathless.

"You don't need to apologize," I say softly, my hand resting on his chest. "I'm not upset."

Buster looks at me, relief and something else, I'm not entirely certain what, in his eyes. "You're not?"

I shake my head, smiling. "No, I'm not. In fact..." I trail off, pulling him closer for another kiss.

This time, there's no hesitation. His hand cups my face, and I melt into him. It feels right, somehow. It's like we're picking up where we left off years ago but with a new understanding of each other.

When we finally pull apart, I'm breathless and a little dizzy. Buster's looking at me with an intensity that makes my heart race.

"Cole," he murmurs, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. "What are we doing?"

I laugh softly. "I have no idea. But I like it."

The night air is electric around us, charged with a tension that's been building since our paths crossed again.

Buster's eyes are dark pools, reflecting the city lights below as he stands before me on the balcony—my heart hammers in my chest, a rhythm that matches the urgency of his gaze.

"Buster," I whisper, my voice low against the distant hum of the city. It's not a question or an invitation—it's a surrender to the inevitable pull between us.

In an instant, his hands are in my hair, his lips claiming mine with a hunger that sends a shiver down my spine. The kiss is deep and emotional, a mingling of breath and desire that leaves me dizzy. My fingers grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as if I could fuse our bodies together.

We embrace, stumbling blindly until my back meets the cool metal of the balcony railing. Buster's body presses against mine, the firm contours of his muscles an intoxicating contrast to the softness of my own. I can feel the heat of his skin through the thin material of our clothes, a brand that sears my flesh.

His hands roam my body, exploring with an urgency that ignites a fire within me. I arch into his touch, craving more, needing the connection as much as I need air to breathe. The fabric of my dress bunches under his fingers, hiking up to expose the lace edge of my panties.

With a growl that vibrates through me, Buster breaks the kiss just long enough to yank the dress over my head, leaving me bare to the night and his hungry gaze. His eyes rake over me, their raw appreciation making me feel beautiful and powerful.

"You're exquisite," he murmurs, his voice rough with need.

Before I can respond, his mouth is on mine again, devouring me with a passion that's both wild and sweet. His hands cup my breasts, his thumbs teasing my nipples into hard peaks that ache for his touch. I moan into the kiss, my hips rocking against him, seeking friction and release.

In one swift motion, Buster lifts me onto the railing, the cold metal a shock against my heated skin. My legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, the hard length of him pressing against the place where I need him most.

With deft fingers, he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of my panties and tugs them down. I kick them off, completely exposing myself to the night air and his voracious gaze. His hands slide down my thighs, gripping them tightly as he positions himself at my entrance.

The world seems to hold its breath as he thrusts into me, filling me completely. A gasp escapes my lips, the sensation of him inside me overwhelming. It's intense, almost too much, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

Our movements are frenzied, a dance of desire and need that builds with each passing second. The railing creaks beneath us, a reminder of how precariously we're balanced, but I don't care. All that matters is the man in front of me and the pleasure that's quickly spiraling out of control.

Buster's lips find the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder, nipping and sucking as he drives into me again and again. My orgasm builds, a tidal wave of sensation that threatens to consume me.

"Buster, I'm close," I pant, my nails digging into his shoulders.

He groans in response, his pace quickening, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. "Let go, Cole. I've got you."

With his words as the final push, I shatter around him, my body convulsing with wave after wave of pleasure. Buster follows me over the edge, his release pulsing inside me as he buries his face in my neck with a guttural moan.

We stay like that for a moment, our bodies joined and our breaths gradually slowing.

The world around us returns to focus, the city lights twinkling below as if nothing out of the ordinary has just happened.

But everything has changed.