Chapter 13 #3
“I don’t feel like dealing with a brunch crowd,” Avery had said as she tied her hair up, glancing at Quinn through the mirror. “Can I cook instead?”
Quinn had smiled at her reflection. “I thought breakfast was mandatory,” she had replied.
“It still is,” Avery had said, grinning. “Just… here.”
Now, standing in the kitchen with the fridge door open, Avery peered inside. “Okay,” she said, scanning shelves. “I can do eggs and avocado toast. And I have cherry tomatoes that are about to go bad, so I’m roasting those. Don’t judge me,” she added, glancing over her shoulder.
“I wouldn’t dare,” Quinn said as she leaned against the counter, crossing her arms loosely. “I’m still impressed you’re functioning at all.”
Avery shut the fridge with her hip and smiled at her. “I’m powered entirely by spite and caffeine,” she said, reaching for a pan.
“Relatable,” Quinn replied dryly.
The kitchen filled slowly with sound: the oven clicking on, olive oil poured into a pan, the soft scrape of a knife against the cutting board as Avery halved tomatoes and tossed them with salt and pepper. She slid them into the oven like she’d done this a hundred times before.
Quinn drifted closer without thinking. She picked up a towel and started cleaning and drying the one pan Avery had already dirtied.
“You don’t have to do that,” Avery said without looking up, though her voice softened slightly.
“I know,” Quinn replied as she dried the pan carefully. “I want to.”
Avery paused just for a second, her knife hovering midair before she resumed slicing. “Okay,” she said quietly, nodding once as she went back to cooking.
That pause landed quietly in Quinn’s chest. Not heavy. Just… noted.
They worked like that, side by side, bumping elbows, trading plates when one ran out of counter space. Quinn cracked eggs under Avery’s direction and managed not to get shell in the bowl.
“Careful,” Avery said, leaning closer to inspect the bowl. “I’m trusting you.”
“I can handle eggs,” Quinn said, feigning offense as she set the shells aside.
Avery toasted bread and mashed avocado with too much lemon, wrinkling her nose when she tasted it.
“Too much?” Quinn asked, watching her expression.
“Maybe,” Avery admitted as she reached for the salt. “But salt fixes everything.”
“You always cook like this?” Quinn asked as she leaned her hip against the counter.
“Like what?” Avery asked, glancing up.
“Like you’re winging it but secretly know what you’re doing,” Quinn said, her tone lightly teasing.
Avery laughed and nudged her with her elbow. “I’m offended on behalf of my entire process,” she said.
The tomatoes came out blistered and sweet, the edges caramelized just enough to make Quinn hum when she tasted one.
“Oh,” Quinn said, caught off guard as she chewed. “That’s… really good.”
Avery looked pleased and set the tray down between them. “I told you,” she said with a small shrug. “I try.”
They ate at the small table by the window, plates balanced between them. The morning light filtered in softly, catching on the rim of Quinn’s glass and the edge of Avery’s fork. It wasn’t fancy. The eggs were slightly over, the toast a little crooked.
It was perfect anyway.
Quinn realized she hadn’t checked her phone once, and when she did notice, she didn’t reach for it.
Once they were done with breakfast they decided to head out and see the neighborhood, grab some coffee and just be.
Avery slipped on her coat and opened the door, the hallway outside cool and quiet.
Quinn followed her out, tugging her own coat closed, pausing just long enough to take in the way Avery locked the door quickly, practiced, like she’d done it a thousand times and never once thought about it.
“Okay,” Avery said, turning to her with a grin. “Warning. This neighborhood is aggressively charming.”
“I think I can handle it,” Quinn said.
They stepped outside together, the late-morning air crisp but bright, the street washed in sunlight. The building stoops were alive with small signs of life: someone watering plants, a woman sitting on her steps with a book and a mug, a dog tied patiently outside a corner shop.
Avery pointed things out as they walked. The bodega that stayed open too late. The tiny park two blocks over that had exactly one good bench. The stretch of street she liked best because the trees arched just enough overhead to make it feel sheltered.
“I walk this way when I need to think,” Avery said casually. “Or when I don’t want to.”
Quinn glanced at her. “Which is it today?”
Avery smiled, soft and honest. “A little of both.”
They walked in comfortable silence for a moment, their steps falling into sync without effort. Quinn noticed the way Avery kept close not clinging, just near enough that their coats brushed now and then. Close enough that it felt intentional.
“This is different,” Quinn said before she could stop herself.
Avery looked over, curious. “Different how?”
Quinn considered it. The words came slower than usual, chosen carefully but without her usual armor. “I’m used to cities feeling like… obstacles. Things to move through. This feels like a place someone actually lives.”
Avery’s smile softened. “Yeah. That’s why I stayed.”
Quinn nodded, filing that away. Another small truth. Another piece.
The coffee shop sat on the corner, narrow and warm, sunlight spilling through the front windows. The door chimed as they stepped inside, and the smell of coffee, baked sugar, and something citrusy, hit Quinn all at once.
“Hey, Avery,” the barista called from behind the counter. “Usual?”
“Please,” Avery said, already digging into her bag. Then she glanced at Quinn. “And—”
“What’s your usual?” Quinn asked.
“Large hot oat milk white mocha.” Avery smiled like she already knew the reaction she was about to get.
Quinn shook her head. “I’m sorry, what?”
Avery laughed. “You can just get a black coffee.”
Quinn thought about it for a second, then shook her head and smiled. “No,” she said, turning back to the barista. “I’ll have what she’s having.”
Avery’s brows lifted, pleasantly surprised and Quinn knew it.
Quinn watched the exchange with quiet interest. The ease of it. Avery leaning her hip against the counter, chatting about nothing. The way she laughed when the barista teased her about coming in during the afternoon on a weekday.
“You’re here a lot,” Quinn observed.
“Embarrassingly,” Avery said. “They know my order and my business.”
“I like it,” Quinn said, surprising herself with how quickly it came out. “You. Like this.”
Avery’s expression shifted, something warm and a little shy passing over her face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
They took their coffees outside, hands brushing as Avery passed Quinn her cup. Quinn wrapped her fingers around it, letting the heat seep in.
They walked again, slower now. No rush. No agenda.
Avery took a sip and sighed contentedly. “I don’t usually do this.”
“Walk?” Quinn asked.
“Take days off,” Avery clarified. “Let things stretch.”
Quinn glanced at her, then back at the street ahead. “I don’t either.”
Avery laughed softly. “I know.”
That earned her a look.
“I’m serious,” Quinn said.
“I believe you,” Avery replied, bumping her shoulder lightly against Quinn’s. “It’s just… nice.”
Quinn felt it then, how open Avery seemed, how unguarded she felt as she walked beside Avery. How she wasn’t calculating what this meant or where it led or how it might complicate things later. She was just here. With Avery. letting the day unfold without trying to control it.
Avery slipped her hand into Quinn’s coat pocket again, fingers curling around hers like she’d done it a hundred times already. Quinn didn’t tense. Didn’t question it. She just let it happen.
They turned another corner, the street quieter here, lined with brownstones and fallen leaves.
Quinn thought, distantly, that she should feel uneasy. That this was exactly the kind of thing she avoided. But all she felt was settled, and that scared her more than anything else.
She squeezed Avery’s hand once, subtle and instinctive.
Avery glanced up at her and smiled, slow and knowing, like she’d felt the shift without needing it explained.
Quinn held her gaze for a beat longer than she meant to. She didn’t pull her hand away. She didn’t step back into distance or logic or control. She walked beside her instead, matching her pace.
Maybe this was reckless. Maybe it would complicate everything.
But as they moved down the quiet street together, Quinn realized she wasn’t thinking about strategy or exit plans. She was thinking about tomorrow.
And she didn’t hate that.
* * *