Chapter 16 #2
“There’s actually an apartment in my building,” he said.
“Technically part of the original structure. The previous owners knocked through a wall, then… never really finished anything. Kitchen is old, bathrooms work, I mean it’s clean, not a biohazard…
” He rolled his eyes. “I’m not selling this, am I?
” He chuckled tiredly. “Look, it’s cozy and small, but it needs some work—paint and fixing things that were poorly done initially, since I was planning to use it for visiting family,” he went on.
“But it’s just sitting there. Two bedrooms, and I know for a fact the small bedroom was the only one they worked on, and it’s very yellow, but… ”
I waited, holding still, like any movement might break whatever this was.
My pulse thudded too loud in my ears, every second stretching as I watched him, braced for the shift—for him to change his mind, to pull away.
But he didn’t. He just stayed there, steady, and somehow that made it harder to breathe.
“But what?” I prompted.
“You could fix it up and live there while you’re doing it,” he said first. “Make it yours for as long as you need. Or just somewhere safe for you and Gabbi to land.”
Something eased in my chest.
“You wouldn’t be moving in with me,” he went on, steady and clear. “You’d just be borrowing space. For as long as you need—or not at all. You’d both be safe. No expectations.”
He shifted a little, softer now. “I’d be upstairs if you ever needed a break. Built-in babysitter. And we could still do date nights.” A small pause. “What do you think?”
Safe.
I exhaled slowly, the word settling in my chest without setting off alarms, without tipping everything sideways. Not Guardian Hall. Not Cole’s life. Something in between.
Something that didn’t take anything from me.
Something that I didn’t expect me to be more than I am right now.
A place I could breathe.
There was a flicker of something new beneath my ribs—I was nervous, yeah, but also I felt as if I was moving toward something instead of waiting for it to break me. And maybe it was the way he was looking at me, but for the first time, I didn’t feel like I was just guessing. I was seen and wanted.
“I’d like to see it,” I said.
Cole smiled and seemed excited. “Now?”
I smiled at him. “Can I finish my tiramisu first?”
“Sure, sorry, I’m just excited.”
I’ve never eaten a dessert so quickly.
We drove the short distance to his home, and Cole fumbled with his keys at the front door that was just down from his—a side entrance into the building, muttering, dropping them once and swearing softly before finally getting the right one into the lock.
“Sorry,” he said, half-laughing. “I swear I know how doors work.”
“It’s fine,” I said, and meant it.
The stairwell into the apartment smelled faintly of dust and old paint. Solid. Lived-in. We went down one level instead of up, and Cole unlocked another door, hesitating as if he were about to apologize for the space before I’d seen it, then pushed it open.
The bones were there, just as in his apartment. Thick walls. High ceilings. The kind of place that had been built to last, even if it had been neglected for a while.
The living room was bigger than I’d expected, the kitchen off to one side was dated—oak cabinets, tired laminate counters, a faucet that had seen better decades—but everything worked. I tested a cupboard door; the hinge squeaked but held.
The bathroom was clean but basic. Beige tile. A vanity that needed replacing. Grout that could be scrubbed back to white with a little effort.
Then the bedrooms.
The first was fine. Neutral. Plain. Wooden floors that needed sanding and polishing. The second—smaller, clearly an afterthought—was painted an aggressive sunshine yellow that made me blink.
“You weren’t lying about the yellow,” I said before I could stop myself.
Cole groaned. “I know. I was going to get it repainted. Eventually. It sort of… attacked me every time I opened the door, so I stopped opening the door.”
I smiled despite myself.
In my head, a list started forming. Patch the holes in the walls. Sand the skirting boards. Replace the cracked outlet cover. New handles for the kitchen cabinets. Paint—definitely paint. The yellow went first, and then I could make this one Gabbi’s room for however long we were here.
None of it felt overwhelming.
It felt doable.
“This would take some work,” I said.
“Yeah,” he agreed quickly. “Which is why—” He ran a hand through his hair. “Look. I don’t want this to feel weird, or like I’m… I don’t know. Buying something. So, here’s what I was thinking.”
I waited.
“I’ll cover the materials,” he said. “Paint. Bathroom stuff. Kitchen bits. Whatever you need to make it functional. You do the work—only what you want to do, at your pace—and we’ll call it even. No rent. No clock. No pressure.” He looked at me. “What do you think?”
Something in my chest loosened. Not all at once. Just enough to breathe.
“I think,” I said, “that I can do this.”
His smile was soft, careful, as if he didn’t want to spook the moment.
“Good,” he said. “Because I really wanted it to be yours to fix and live in for as long as you need to.”
For the first time, the thought of crossing Elena’s bridge from my past life to a new one didn’t terrify me.
It felt… possible.