1. CozyBust
1
COZY OR BUST
KRUZ
I’m lugging a mountain of blankets into Quinn’s living room when I hear her laugh—loud, unfiltered, the kind that always makes me want to laugh too. There’s something comforting about my best friend, especially when I need to forget how the world feels like it’s about to spin off its axis, which is often these days.
“Cozy or bust,” I declare, dropping the pile of blankets onto the couch before flopping down dramatically. The plush cushions swallow me up, and I let out a satisfied sigh. “This is the only way to spend Christmas break.”
Quinn rolls her eyes but smiles at me, already reaching for the bottle of wine. “Honestly, I was afraid you were going to suggest something insane, like hiking.”
“Who do you think I am?” I gasp, clutching a blanket to my chest in mock horror. “Hiking? In December? Please. That’s something you’d suggest.”
Kronk, her dog, barks from the backyard as if he knows we’re discussing his favorite activity.
“Okay, valid,” she says, pouring the wine. “I just don’t trust your family not to have some spur-of-the-moment bright idea like ice skating at midnight or a Christmas-themed 5K that you beg me to rescue you from.”
“You are not wrong,” I retort, grinning. “Midnight ice skating sounds kind of magical, though.”
“It sounds kind of freezing,” she shoots back, handing me a glass. “Blankets, wine, and snacks are the only correct answers. Plus, I think you earned the rest.”
“I did earn it,” I agree, grabbing a pillow to hug dramatically. “My survival was an act of divine intervention. Finals week was a battlefield, and I barely made it out alive.”
“Pretty sure the only divine intervention you experienced was your caffeine supply,” she quips, smirking as she shoves the cork back into the bottle of wine. “I saw those selfies you sent me. You looked like a cracked-out gremlin.”
“A fashionable cracked-out gremlin,” I correct, pointing a finger at her. “That sweater-leggings combo was on point, and you know it.”
Quinn snorts. “If by ‘on point,’ you mean ‘one coffee mishap away from looking utterly unkempt,’ then sure.”
“Wow,” I say, putting on an expression of mock betrayal. “And here I thought we were best friends. My mistake.”
Her laugh is teasing as she hands me a glass. “We are. That’s why it’s my job to keep you humble.”
I sip from my glass with an eye roll in her direction.
Her husband, Jack, is in the other room, taking care of their little one. Sienna’s barely 20 months old, but she’s a little ball of chaotic energy and sunshine.
I watch Quinn’s face soften as she glances toward the playroom.
Sometimes I think I might want that too, and it’s hard not to daydream about a future in which I’m a mom.
It’s also hard not to picture a toddler with jet-black hair and ice blue eyes when my mind wanders to that particular daydream, and it makes me wish someone would shake me until my brain rattles loose inside my skull.
“She’s the sweetest, but I bet you’re exhausted,” I say, propping my feet up on the coffee table, pointedly ignoring my traitorous, borderline bizarre thoughts. “Running around after her all day? I’d pass out by 8 p.m.”
Quinn snorts. “Yeah. But Jack’s amazing. He handles so much, and honestly, he makes it all so easy.”
“Of course, he does,” I say, shooting her a look of mock annoyance. Jack is perfect for Quinn in every way, and if you ask her, he’s just plain perfect.
And honestly? I can’t say he’s ever given me a reason to believe otherwise.
Before Quinn can reply, Sienna toddles into the room, her tiny hands clinging to Jack’s shirt as he scoops her up. She giggles and wiggles in his arms, reaching for Quinn with a wide, innocent grin.
“Momom!” Sienna’s voice is sweet as she reaches for her mama. It’s just as cute when she repeats every single curse word uttered in front of her, which happens most often when Uncle Ezra is around and shit, fuck, shit, why can I not go three seconds without thinking about him?
Jack chuckles, as he leans down to kiss Quinn’s cheek, and Quinn hugs and kisses Sienna goodnight.
“Night, night, Sienna!” I wave as Jack carries her toward the staircase.
It’s amazing to me, the way Jack has this balance of being the dad, the husband, and still so, so effortlessly the person Quinn needs him to be.
He looks at her like she’s the reason he breathes.
It’s both so comforting knowing my best friend has someone who adores her this much, and also a bit jealousy-inducing, mainly because the only person I have ever wanted a relationship like this with is simply out of the question. But, damn, the way they fit together is something special.
“Ezra is such a pain,” I grumble, my mood turning sour as I flop back against the pillows. I don’t want to think about why my mind immediately goes to him every time I think of the word relationship , because it’s obviously something I will never have with him. Nor is it something I think him capable of with anyone.
That thought makes me want to barf, imagining what it would be like if I had to see him around town with someone he was truly in love with. Someone whom he felt comfortable opening up to. Someone he didn’t feel the need to keep a secret.
Someone who was not me .
Quinn smirks, clearly ready for this conversation. She knows how I really feel, what I really want beneath all my many complaints. “He’s always a pain. What did he do this time?” She knows how I feel, but never pushes me about it.
“Ugh, what didn’t he do?” I groan, gesturing dramatically with my wine glass. “First, he hit the class with this absurd groupthink assignment, like they’re mind readers who can conjure deep analyses out of nowhere. Then he made me stay late to grade papers—again. It’s like he doesn’t even pretend to have a reason anymore. He just says, ‘Oh, Kruz, you’re so good at this,’ and then dumps half the stack on me.” All of that was weeks ago, and we both know that neither of those things is the reason why I am currently a mess over him.
Who am I kidding? I’m always a mess over him.
Quinn raises a brow. “He said you’re good at it? Sounds suspiciously like a compliment.”
My stomach flips when I think of all the other things he’s told me I’m good at, but I don’t go there.
“Don’t even start,” I warn her, pointing my glass at her. “That’s how he gets you. He compliments you, and then bam! You’re stuck grading papers for three hours while he critiques your ‘methodology.’”
She laughs, taking a sip of her wine. “Maybe he just likes having you around.”
“Yeah, right,” I mutter, a bit grumpily. “If by ‘likes having me around,’ you mean ‘enjoys watching me suffer.’”
Quinn leans back, looking entirely too amused. “So, what you’re saying is... Ezra’s your nemesis and your biggest fan?”
“Exactly,” I say, pointing at her. “Finally, someone gets it… Wait, what?”
She grins. “Glad to be of service.”
We both end up laughing so hard that we can barely breathe, the wine making everything feel lighter, like the whole world has softened around the edges. Every little thing sets us off—half-finished sentences, exaggerated gestures, the way Quinn nearly tips over reaching for her glass. Eventually, Jack checks on us, leaning against the doorframe with that emotionless face of his. But I catch it—the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, the way his eyes linger on our ridiculous state. He’s definitely trying not to laugh at how absurd we’ve gotten.
He makes sure we’re comfortable, adjusting the pillows behind us with the kind of patience that makes it clear he’s used to dealing with chaos, though probably not the kind that involves two wine-drunk idiots slouched on his couch. “You two need anything else?” he asks, his voice still soft, even as I can tell he’s itching to get back to whatever work he left behind in his office.
“Maybe just keep the wine coming?” Quinn suggests with a grin, holding out her glass like a queen making a royal decree.
Jack raises a brow, clearly unimpressed. “How about a cheese board with fruit and crackers to soak up some of the alcohol so you two aren’t miserable tomorrow morning?”
We groan, halfheartedly protest that we’re fine, but he disappears into the kitchen anyway and returns minutes later with a tray like some kind of responsible adult.
And, of course, we devour every last crumb.
Eventually, Jack helps us both up, his steady hands keeping us from toppling over when our legs threaten to give out beneath us. He’s completely unbothered—this is just what he does, slipping into the role of caretaker like it’s second nature. There’s no exasperation, no teasing, just quiet patience.
I lean into him slightly as we shuffle toward the bedroom, my body feeling light, almost weightless, like I’m floating instead of walking. The wine hums in my veins, turning everything hazy and warm.
I blink hard, the world tilting just slightly, and suddenly, a thought wedges itself into my mind, unexpected and unwelcome.
I wish I had someone who felt that sure, who showed up, stayed, and made love feel effortless instead of fleeting.
But every time I try for something real, I end up with men who only want something superficial. A quick fling. A casual thing that’s thrilling in the moment but leaves me feeling hollow once it’s over.
Maybe that’s all I’ve ever really wanted, too.
But… I don’t know. Lately, it feels like something’s missing, like I’m outgrowing the version of myself that was always fine with keeping things casual.
Before I can fully process that thought, Quinn leans over and presses a sloppy, affectionate kiss to my forehead as Jack tucks us both into their bed. My limbs are heavy, my mind is swimming, but I catch the last thing I need to see before sleep takes me—Jack brushing Quinn’s hair behind her ear, kissing her softly, like it’s instinct, like he couldn’t not do it even if he tried.
He looks at her with a tenderness I don’t have words for, and for a moment, his wedding band glints in the low light, catching my eye like a quiet promise.
Something inside me pulls tight.
Yeah… I could be okay with having that.
“Goodnight, Kruz,” Quinn murmurs, her voice already slipping into sleep.
I let the darkness take me under, my mind fuzzy, my heart feeling full and empty all at once.