Chapter 3 1,178 days before the breakup
At twenty-two, we were all technically adults but just barely.
Fresh out of college and clinging to the illusion that we knew what we were doing.
Grace had Tucker, Savannah had Demi, and then there was me: single, sweaty, and juggling boxes alone while their significant others hauled couches and dressers like we were on an HGTV show.
I didn’t want to be the one needing help. I liked being independent or at least pretending I had everything handled, because I wasn’t about to call my parents. I was determined to prove I could do this on my own. But after a few hours, even I had to admit dressers weighed more than they were worth.
Grace found us a three-bedroom duplex downtown that was walking distance to our favorite dive bar, a very convenient Trader Joe’s, and the kind of trendy restaurants that made us feel mature until we saw the bill.
Even though none of us made much money, we landed on a house that, according to Zillow, checked every box: big bedrooms, great natural light, a spacious back deck perfect for summer barbecues and the sporadic house party.
And most importantly, it was within budget.
We signed the lease sight unseen, which was probably our first mistake.
But one month later, we were officially moving in.
From the outside, the two-story house seemed inviting enough.
With its well-maintained brick and newly painted white shutters, it had its own kind of curb appeal.
But once you stepped inside, reality hit and it hit hard.
The hardwood floors were scratched and uneven, the crown molding, which I’m sure was once beautiful, was cracked and crumbling in places, and the popcorn ceilings hung so low, it felt like we were in the basement of a fraternity house.
“Did they even clean this place?” Savannah’s voice echoed from the kitchen, carrying through the entire first floor. “Not only can you smell that it’s a hundred years old, you can see it too.”
I wrinkled my nose and nudged a dust bunny with my brand-new white Hokas. “Four years of exams and research papers, all to land entry-level jobs that barely cover rent in a house that smells like mildew. Gotta love adulthood!”
“Oh my god,” Grace said, stepping softly over a creaky floorboard. “Y’all are being so dramatic. I think it’s kind of charming.”
“That makes one of us,” Savannah muttered, eyeing the chipped paint along the baseboards. “And by charming, do you mean haunted?”
Sav’s always been the blunt one. The quickest to spot flaws and never one to sugarcoat the truth. Grace, on the other hand, is the eternal optimist. She’s the kind of girl who smiles even through her lowest moments. I’ve always stayed somewhere in the middle, preferring to keep the peace.
“It’s nice to live in a place with character for once,” Grace insisted, arms crossed like she was prepared to debate it. “It’s got way more personality than those sterile gray-walled college apartments we lived in before.”
Savannah let out a theatrical sigh. “I already miss our granite countertops and walk-in closets. I was meant for a better life.”
“Okay, but imagine how cute it’ll be once we clean it up,” Grace pushed. “Throw down a few rugs, light a candle, maybe a fresh coat of paint—”
“Or a wrecking ball,” Savannah cut in.
I grinned. “Great idea, Sav! Let’s christen the place with some Miley Cyrus.” I rummaged through my tote bag until I found my Bluetooth speaker and turned it on. The music reverberated through the empty rooms, bringing them, in some way, to life.
“This might be a hot take, but I genuinely think Bangerz was peak Miley,” Grace said serenely.
“Not a hot take.”
“That’s one thing I won’t argue with you on,” Savannah added, finally cracking a smile.
The three of us met during sorority recruitment at the University of North Carolina, and despite how different we were, we somehow made it work. We survived three years as roommates without killing each other, so naturally, we thought, why not try it again?
Savannah’s a fiery redheaded Leo who very much fits the strong, independent, natural leader stereotype.
She majored in political science and spent more time in local campaign offices during college than she did in class.
Sav uses her voice for those who can’t and will stop at nothing until she’s gotten what she wants.
It’s not only the thing I admire most about her but how she met her girlfriend, Demi.
Then there’s Grace. Grace is your typical Southern belle sorority nursing student, born and raised in a North Carolina suburb. She’s dreamed of a white-picket-fence Lilly Pulitzer life with a husband, two kids, and a golden retriever since she could talk.
Somewhere along the way, our trio expanded.
Grace started dating Tucker sophomore year, and his best friend, Drew, quickly got folded into the mix.
Now, we’re one big messy postgrad friend group with strong opinions, unhinged group chats, and way too many photos from football tailgates and all-nighters, finally embarking on our adult lives together.
I trudged up the creaky wooden stairs, making my way down the hall to the bedroom at the very back of the house.
Grace had mentioned that the boys offered to help with most of the heavy lifting, and I had to admit they were doing a great job.
I wasn’t going to complain, but I couldn’t help but feel a little weird about it.
Like I was imposing. Like I should’ve had someone to call too.
I peered into my room. My bed was already against the far wall, my nightstand sitting to the left, and the ceiling angled oddly in the back corner where my dresser fit snugly into a nook.
Two enormous bookshelves, my pride-and-joy thrift find, stood empty across from the bed, waiting to be filled.
I itched to finally unpack my books, organizing them just how I liked, but unfortunately endless boxes still beckoned to me from the car.
“Tucker and Drew really got a lot done this morning,” I said to Savannah as I passed her in the hallway.
“Finally making themselves useful for once,” she joked with a shrug. “I think they took a break, but they should be back any minute to keep helping.”
I pushed open the front door and stepped onto the porch, blinking against the sunlight.
It was so different from the off-campus streets I was used to—no peeling flyers for frat parties taped to the light poles, no beat-up sedans parallel parked half on the curb.
Instead, the neighborhood looked almost too picture-perfect, every lawn freshly mowed, every driveway lined with an SUV that probably had a car seat in the back.
Looking into my car, I sighed. I hadn’t even made a dent. Who knew I had so much stuff? Slinging tote bags over each shoulder, I grabbed a lighter box marked KITCHEN and started toward the house.
That was when I saw him.
A guy—tall, broad-shouldered, dirty blond hair, very not one of us—standing in the driveway. With a box. My box. The one clearly labeled AINSLEY’S VERY IMPORTANT STUFF (SERIOUSLY, BE CAREFUL).
I froze, panic coursing through me. Was this guy seriously just walking off with my things? Was I being robbed in broad daylight?
“Hey! Stop right there! You thief!” I shouted, the box I was holding slipping from my arms and crashing onto the gravel.
The guy stopped mid-step, turning around slowly. He didn’t run, didn’t dash for the street. Instead he just stood there, looking mildly confused, a bemused smile on his face.
“Drop the box! I swear, you won’t even want it. It’s just a bunch of books!”
“Uh,” he said, lifting the box slightly. “Books, huh? So no expensive jewelry or electronics? Rats.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Don’t get any ideas.”
He let out a laugh, shifting the box in his arms, and wow, hello biceps. “I’m Cole. Tucker’s roommate. I’m just here to help you guys move. Not steal your very important box full of novels.”
Ah. Of course. This was Tucker’s Cole, the guy he’d been mentioning recently that he swore we were all going to love.
The realization hit hard, like that full-body embarrassment you feel when your brain catches up five seconds too late. My cheeks burned, my pulse still racing from the minor meltdown. Did I really just accuse this hot guy of theft?
“Right. Cole,” I said. “Just making sure you weren’t walking off with my most prized possessions.”
He smiled, slow and amused, like I was already entertaining. “Smart move. You never know these days.”
Before I could dig myself any deeper or overanalyze the exact tomato-red color of my face, Savannah and Grace stepped out of the house.
Grace spotted him and waved. “Oh, hey! Thanks for coming to help. Ains, I see you’ve met Cole.”
“Yes.” I nodded. “In a very calm, nondramatic fashion, I might add.”
“No harm done,” Cole said easily. Then he winked. “Now, want to show me where to set down your very important stuff, seriously be careful? I have a feeling you won’t let these books out of your sight ever again.”
I laughed but was still trying to shake off the embarrassment. “Right this way.”
I turned toward the house, wishing I’d handled that whole interaction differently.
Wishing my palms weren’t sweaty and my heart wasn’t racing.
And wishing he wasn’t so fricking cute (but also not wishing that at all).
It wasn’t my most graceful first impression.
But unfortunately, it was definitely a memorable one.
* * *
As the day wore on, Cole and I settled into a rhythm.
He took the heavier boxes from the U-Haul, lifting them like they weighed nothing, while I handled the smaller stuff from my car.
Every now and then, I’d catch him smirking while I wrestled with something awkward, but unlike Tucker or Drew, he didn’t make fun of me.
He just kept going, dutifully opening doors and setting down lamps and side tables, making sure to jump in when I needed it.