"You're good at reading people too?"
"Numbers are easier than people." I turn back to the view, surprised by my own candor. "People lie. Numbers don't."
In the distance, a hawk circles lazily on thermal currents, and the wind whispers through the trees. It's peaceful here, removed from the constant noise and hustle of Atlanta. I can see why Cole chooses solitude.
"Your ex," he says suddenly. "He lied?"
I whip my head around, startled. "How did you—"
"Jim mentioned something." Cole has the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "Said you'd been through a rough time recently."
"Ah." I grip the railing tighter, unsure whether to be annoyed at Jim's oversharing or grateful for Cole's directness. "Yes. Classic story—workaholic girlfriend, bored boyfriend, pretty assistant. Tale as old as time."
Cole's hands clench on the railing, and for a moment, I swear I hear a low growl, though it must be the wind. "His loss."
I don't know how to respond, so I deflect.
"Anyway, ancient history. Six months ancient, to be precise." I straighten up. "We should get back to work. Those expense reports won't categorize themselves."
Cole doesn't move, his eyes still fixed on me. "You deserve better."
There's such conviction in his voice that I feel momentarily unbalanced, like I've missed a step on a familiar staircase. "You don't even know me."
"I know enough."
The intensity is back, that strange connection I felt when our eyes first met yesterday. Like he can see parts of me I keep hidden. It's unnerving and exhilarating all at once.
The moment stretches between us, taut as a wire, until a phone rings inside the cabin, breaking the spell. Cole blinks, then turns toward the door. "Need to get that. Probably the site foreman."
I watch him go, trying to make sense of what just happened. Of what keeps happening between us. This strange electricity, this feeling of recognition that makes no logical sense.
Numbers are reliable. Predictable. Cole Blackwood is neither of these things, and that should worry me more than it does.
A few hours later…
By late afternoon, we've fallen into a productive rhythm. Cole brings me files as I need them, answers my questions about the business, and keeps me supplied with coffee and snacks. When he's not helping me, he works on his laptop at the kitchen table, close enough to hear if I call but giving me space to concentrate.
The system works, and we're making progress, but my mind keeps wandering to our moment on the porch. To the way he looked at me. To the strange comfort I feel in his presence despite having met him just yesterday.
"Ruby?" His voice pulls me from my thoughts. "You've been staring at that same invoice for five minutes."
I blink, refocusing on the paper in my hand. "Sorry. Just trying to make sense of this supplier code."
Cole sets a plate beside my laptop—a sandwich, apple slices, and what looks like homemade potato chips. "Eat. You missed lunch."
"I did?" I check my watch, surprised to find it's after 3 PM. "I lose track of time when I'm working."
"I've noticed." He pulls up a chair, turning it backward to sit with his arms folded across the backrest. "How's it looking?"
I take a bite of the sandwich. Turkey, avocado, and some kind of tangy spread that makes my taste buds sing. "Better than I expected, actually. Your business is fundamentally sound. It's just the documentation that's a mess."
Relief softens his features. "So, we'll pass the audit?"
"If we finish organizing everything? Yes." I point to my laptop screen. "You maintain healthy profit margins, pay your taxes on time, and your equipment depreciation schedule makes sense. The IRS might have some questions about these cashwithdrawals, but if we document them properly, it should be fine."
Cole nods, some of the tension leaving his broad shoulders. "Thank you. For doing this."
"Don't thank me yet. We've still got a mountain of paperwork and less than two days."
