After a quick shower, I dress in jeans and a soft blue sweater, twist my damp hair into a loose bun, and head toward the kitchen. The coffee pot is full, but Cole is nowhere to be seen. A note sits beside a clean mug: "Went for a run. Help yourself. Back soon."
Cup in hand, I wander to the front door, drawn by the golden morning light. When I step onto the porch, the mountain air hits me—crisp, invigorating, smelling of pine and earth after yesterday's rain. The forest glistens, droplets of moisture catching the sunlight like scattered diamonds.
Movement draws my eye to the side yard. Cole stands with his back to me, shirtless despite the morning chill, going through what appears to be a series of stretches. My breath catches at the sight. The broad expanse of his shoulders, the defined muscles of his back tapering to a narrow waist, the dark tattoo between his shoulder blades that looks like some kind of tribal design.
His movements are fluid, not the typical post-run stretches but something more deliberate, almost meditative. I should look away, give him privacy, but I remain frozen, coffee mug halfway to my lips, watching the play of muscles under tanned skin.
As if sensing my presence, Cole turns suddenly, his green eyes finding mine. For a moment, neither of us speaks. His chest rises and falls with slightly elevated breathing, sweat glistening on his skin despite the cool air. The morning light catches in his tousled black hair, highlighting strands of silver at his temples I hadn't noticed before.
"Morning," he finally says, his voice rougher than usual. "Sleep well?"
I nod, trying to appear casual rather than caught staring. "The mountain air helps. You're up early."
"Needed to burn off some energy." He reaches for a towel draped over the porch railing, wiping his face. "We've got a long day ahead."
"That we do," I agree, taking a sip of coffee to hide my discomfort. "But we're making good progress. I think we can finish the essential documentation by this evening."
Cole nods, climbing the porch steps. Up close, I notice scratches on his chest—thin red lines that look fresh. "What happened?" I ask before I can stop myself.
He glances down, as if surprised to see the marks. "Branch. Trail running in these woods can be hazardous."
"You should clean those."
"They'll be fine." He moves past me toward the door, and I inhale his scent—fresh sweat, forest, and that musky masculine essence that's becoming startlingly familiar. "I'll shower and make breakfast. Any requests?"
"Whatever's easy," I say, following him inside. "I should get started on those quarterly reports."
In the kitchen, I rinse my coffee mug while Cole pulls ingredients from the refrigerator. I can’t help but wonder how comfortable this has become in just two days, how natural it feels to move around each other in shared space.
"I was thinking," Cole says, cracking eggs into a bowl, "after the audit tomorrow, you should stay an extra day. See some of Cedar Falls before heading back to Atlanta. There's a waterfall hike that's worth the trip."
The invitation catches me off guard. "I don't know... I usually have to rush to the next crisis."
"Any crisis scheduled for Tuesday?" He glances up, a hint of teasing in his eyes.
"Not yet, but in my line of work, emergencies pop up without warning."
Cole turns to the stove, his back to me again. "Think about it. Mountains will still be here if you can spare the time."
The offer tempts me more than it should. An extra day in this peaceful place, away from the constant demands of my work. An extra day with Cole, exploring whatever this strange connection is between us.
"I'll think about it," I promise, meaning it.
While Cole showers and prepares breakfast, I return to the office, diving back into work. The numbers soothes me, providing structure and certainty that my thoughts about Cole lack. By the time he calls me to eat, I've already made significant progress in the quarterly reports.
We eat at the kitchen island, reviewing the day's priorities. Cole seems more settled this morning, the restless energy of yesterday somewhat diminished. He's fully dressed now in jeans and a henley that stretches across his broad shoulders, hair still damp from his shower.
"I was thinking about those cash withdrawals," I say between bites of perfectly fluffy scrambled eggs. "We need better documentation for the audit."
Cole nods, his expression neutral. "What did you have in mind?"
"Receipts would be ideal, but since those don't exist, we need to create expenditure reports. Detailed descriptions of how the cash was used, dates, purposes. All signed and dated by you."
"That's doable."
"Good. And I'd like to create a more systematic approach for the future. Digital record-keeping, maybe an app for tracking expenses on job sites."
A shadow crosses his face. "I prefer paper records."
