Chapter 14
Avery
It was Friday night, and somehow they’d drifted all the way here without it ever feeling like a decision they’d made.
Quinn stood at the sink, sleeves rolled to her forearms, drying the last plate with quiet focus.
The sleeves of her black sweater were pushed up, dark denim hugging her hips in a way Avery was actively trying not to stare at.
The kitchen lights were on now, casting everything in a softer glow, warming the edges of the room.
“Quinn, stop being helpful. It’s unsettling,” Avery said, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed.
Quinn glanced back at her, mouth quirking. “I’ll have you know I’m very helpful, thank you very much.”
Avery smiled. “You’re impossible.”
“So, I’ve been told,” Quinn said, laughing.
Dinner was simple. Pasta tossed with olive oil and garlic, a little too much parmesan. A bottle of wine they’d opened without ceremony and were already halfway through. They cooked and talked about nothing important, which somehow made it feel important anyway.
Quinn finished drying the plate and set it in the rack, then turned, resting her hip against the counter.
“That was good,” she said. “You undersold it.”
“I warned you, I try,” Avery replied. “I didn’t say I succeed.”
“You succeeded,” Quinn said, steady and sure.
Avery felt that familiar flutter in her chest, the one she kept pretending was just nerves.
They wandered into the living room together, wine glasses in hand, the low hum of the city outside folding into the background like it had always been there.
Avery kicked off her boots near the couch and curled up in the corner cushion, tugging Quinn down beside her without really thinking about it.
Quinn came easily, settling in close enough that their knees touched and their shoulders brushed, not pressed together but not distant either. Avery rested her head against Quinn’s shoulder and felt the subtle shift of her body beneath it, just enough to notice.
“I had a good day,” Avery said quietly, her voice almost lost in the room.
Quinn’s hand moved slightly, her fingers brushing along Avery’s arm in an absent, grounding way. “Me too,” she replied.
They let the silence stretch between them, comfortable and unforced. Avery liked that about Quinn, the way she didn’t rush to fill pauses or crowd the quiet with words. She simply existed in it, steady and unbothered.
After a moment, Avery tipped her head back to look up at her. “You good?” she asked.
Quinn smiled faintly, something softer sitting behind it. “Yeah,” she said. “I am.”
It sounded real, and Avery let herself believe it.
She studied Quinn’s face in the muted light, noticing how the sharper edges of her expression had softened. There was no tightness in her jaw, no distant calculation behind her eyes. She looked open in a way Avery hadn’t seen before, not guarded or controlled, just present.
“You look different,” Avery said, tilting her head slightly.
Quinn lifted one brow, the corner of her mouth quirking. “Good different,” she asked lightly, “or I-need-to-adjust-my-life-choices different?”
“Good,” Avery said quickly, and then more quietly, “Really good.”
Quinn’s smile shifted into something smaller and more intimate. She reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Avery’s ear, her fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary before falling away.
Avery felt her breath catch, subtle but unmistakable.
They leaned toward each other without speaking, closing the space naturally, and when their mouths met, the kiss was slow and unhurried. There was no urgency in it, no sharp edge of want, just warmth settling between them, something steady taking root.
When they pulled back, Avery rested her forehead against Quinn’s. “You can stay,” she said, even though it felt obvious. “If you want.”
Quinn didn’t hesitate. “I want.”
The city outside dimmed as the hours slipped by. At some point, the wine glasses were abandoned on the coffee table. The lights were turned off one by one.
They moved toward the bedroom together, not rushing, hands brushing, laughing softly when they bumped into the door frame like they were still learning each other’s space.
They crawled into bed wrapped in that same ease, limbs tangling naturally, Quinn’s arm settling around Avery’s waist like it had always belonged there.
Avery stared at the ceiling for a moment, listening to Quinn’s breathing even out beside her.
This wasn’t supposed to feel this easy, she thought.
She turned slightly, pressing her back into Quinn’s chest, letting herself settle there. Quinn tightened her hold without waking, a reflex that made Avery’s chest tighten in the best way.
Tomorrow could wait. The world narrowed to the quiet of the bedroom, the warmth of shared space.
She only knew the way Quinn’s touch stayed gentle even as it grew more certain. The way laughter faded into murmurs, and murmurs into nothing at all. The way the night didn’t ask anything from her, didn’t demand explanations or plans or promises. It simply held them.
When sleep finally came, it did so naturally, tangled and warm, the day still lingering like it wasn’t quite ready to let go.
* * *
Saturday morning unfolded slowly, heavy with the quiet afterglow of the night before.
When Avery finally opened her eyes, Quinn was already awake, her arm draped over Avery’s waist, her hand tracing slow, absent circles along her bare back.
The light through the loft’s floor-to-ceiling windows filtered in gently, outlining Quinn’s profile in soft contrast: sharp jawline, relaxed mouth, eyes half-lidded and warmer than Avery was used to seeing.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Avery just breathed, pressed against her, tracing a lazy line along Quinn’s forearm with her fingertip. It was quiet. Steady. Real.
“Morning,” Avery murmured.
“Morning,” Quinn said softly, her voice still rough with sleep.
Avery shifted just enough to see her face. “You’ve been awake for a while.”
“I didn’t want to move,” Quinn admitted, brushing her thumb over Avery’s hip. “You looked peaceful.”
Avery smiled into the pillow. “You were rubbing my back.”
“Was I?” Quinn asked, feigning innocence.
“Mhm. And staring.”
Quinn leaned in and kissed her shoulder. “Also, guilty.”
They didn’t move for a while. The morning stretched and blurred, kissing, laughing, touching until breathless. By the fourth orgasm and a nap that melted the rest of the world away, Avery finally rolled over and said, “We should shower before the sun goes down.”
Quinn laughed quietly. “Is it that late?”
“It’s one,” Avery said, glancing at the clock. “Which means we technically made it to afternoon productivity hours.”
“Impressive,” Quinn murmured, smiling against her neck.
They showered, indulgent and unhurried, with too much touching and not nearly enough rinsing.
By the time they ended up in Avery’s kitchen, they were wearing soft T-shirts and barely dry hair.
Avery pulled together a charcuterie board with cheese, fruit, and crackers, then poured LaCroix into two wine glasses because she didn’t feel like opening an actual bottle.
Quinn raised an eyebrow as she settled onto a stool at the counter. “This is the most elevated LaCroix I’ve ever seen,” she said, glancing at the carefully arranged board.
Avery smirked as she set the knife down. “I didn’t know you were so easily impressed.”
“I didn’t know you were so refined,” Quinn replied, her tone lightly teasing.
Avery rolled her eyes and laughed softly. “Oh, baby,” she said without thinking, waving a hand toward the board, “there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
The word hung there for half a second longer than it should have.
Avery froze almost imperceptibly, like she’d just realized what she’d said. Her eyes flicked up to Quinn’s face, searching for a reaction.
Quinn didn’t move right away. Her fingers stilled where they’d been resting against the stem of the glass. The teasing expression shifted into something quieter, more focused.
“Baby?” Quinn repeated, her voice low but steady.
Avery’s cheeks warmed, but she didn’t backtrack. “Yeah,” she said, softer now, testing it. “Baby.”
Quinn’s gaze held hers, and something in it deepened. Not playful. Not sharp. Just attentive. “That’s new,” she said after a moment.
Avery shrugged lightly, trying for casual and not entirely succeeding. “Didn’t hate it,” she admitted.
Quinn let out the faintest breath of a laugh, though it wasn’t amused so much as affected. “No,” she said quietly. “I didn’t.”
The air shifted, subtle but undeniable.
Avery cleared her throat and nodded toward the living room, easing them forward before it could become too heavy. “So,” she said, picking up her glass, “what do you want to watch? Movie, show, mind-numbing reality TV?”
“I don’t really watch much TV,” Quinn admitted as she followed her.
“What?” Avery blinked. “That’s basically my love language. I have two moods: reality TV chaos or crime dramas. There’s no in-between.”
Quinn chuckled softly. “Dealer’s choice, then.”
“Alright,” Avery said, reaching for the remote as they settled onto the couch. “Have you ever seen Killing Eve?”
“No,” Quinn replied.
Avery’s mouth dropped open. “You’ve never seen Killing Eve? It’s required gay viewing. It’s so good. So smart. So gay. So sexy.”
Quinn tilted her head, amused again. “Is that your sales pitch?”
“I’m serious,” Avery insisted, pointing the remote at the TV. “Sandra Oh is brilliant, but the other lead, Jodie Comer?” She fanned herself dramatically. “She could do whatever she wanted to me.”
Quinn raised an eyebrow slowly. “Really now?” she asked, her tone measured but unmistakably possessive.
Avery grinned, smug. “Mhm.”
Quinn hummed thoughtfully as she reached for her glass. “Good to know,” she said, though her eyes didn’t leave Avery’s face.
Avery just smirked, hit play, and curled up against her.
Two and a half episodes later, Quinn seemed completely hooked even if she hadn’t admitted it aloud. Avery could tell by the way she leaned forward slightly during tense scenes, or how her lips twitched whenever Villanelle did something unhinged and hot.
When Avery’s phone buzzed on the coffee table, she groaned, stretching forward to grab it. “Group chat,” she said, unlocking the screen. “They’re going to Velvet tonight.”
Quinn glanced over. “Velvet, huh?”
Avery smiled. “Full circle. That’s where we met.”
Quinn’s mouth curved. “I remember.”
“They’re celebrating Natalie’s promotion,” Avery explained. “Drinks, dancing, probably too much tequila.”
“Do you want to go?” Quinn asked, fingers idly tracing the hem of Avery’s shirt.
Avery hesitated. “Do you want to go? We could stay in.”
Quinn thought for a second, then said, “Let’s go. Might be nice to celebrate something.”
Avery grinned, thumbs flying across her screen.
Avery: Quinn’s coming too.
Noella: Excuse me? Like coming coming??
Gabby: Behave.
Natalie: Wait. THE Quinn?
Andrea: The statuesque CEO who could kill a man with one glare?
Avery: Yes. Be normal.
Noella: Damn, can’t believe I can’t make it tonight, I’d have bowed and everything!
Gabby: Guys, please be nice. This is still work-adjacent.
Andrea: I’m nice! I’m fun!
Natalie: You’re neither.
Avery: I hate all of you.
Avery laughed and tossed the phone onto the couch. “They’re menaces.”
“I gathered,” Quinn said, lips twitching.
“They’ll be normal in person,” Avery added quickly. “Probably.”
Quinn smirked. “I’ll take my chances.”
They started getting ready, moving around each other in a rhythm Avery found herself pleasantly surprised by. It felt natural in a way she hadn’t anticipated. The loft glowed in the early evening light, all glass and warmth with the faint hum of city life below.
Avery stood in front of her closet, slipping into dark skinny jeans and a cropped white T-shirt that hit just above her stomach. She tugged on her big wool coat, already knowing she’d ditch it once they were dancing.
When she turned, Quinn was buttoning the sleeves of a black collared shirt, the top two undone, her throat and collarbone exposed.
She’d traded her usual tailored suits for dark denim, casual and unfairly sexy.
Avery leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms loosely.
“You don’t look like the type who typically wears jeans,” she said, eyeing Quinn up and down.
Quinn glanced up from adjusting her cuff, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “You don’t know everything about me yet,” she replied, smoothing a hand down the denim as if to prove her point.
Avery tilted her head. “Did you iron them?” she asked.
“Obviously,” Quinn said dryly, lifting a brow.
Avery laughed and pushed off the doorframe. “You look good,” she said, her gaze lingering. “Too good, actually.”
Quinn stepped closer, closing the space between them, her eyes dragging slowly over Avery from head to toe. “So do you,” she said, her voice quieter now.
Something electric hummed between them, not the frantic heat of last night but something steadier, more deliberate.
Avery cleared her throat first, breaking the moment as she shifted her weight. “So we’re doing this, huh?” she asked, adjusting the strap of her bag.
“We are,” Quinn said evenly, slipping her hands into her pockets. “You, me, your friends, bad lighting, and questionable cocktails.”
“Sounds romantic,” Avery said with a crooked smile.
Quinn smirked faintly. “You’d be surprised,” she replied.
Avery grabbed her bag and keys from the table and called over her shoulder, “Henrietta, behave!”
The cat, perched on the arm of the couch, flicked her tail in response, blinking slowly as if unimpressed.
Quinn chuckled softly as she moved to the door and pulled it open. “She’s judging us,” she said.
“She always is,” Avery replied as she locked the door behind them. Once it clicked shut, she slipped her hand into Quinn’s without hesitation.
They walked down the hall together, the buzz of anticipation settling low between them.
When they reached the elevator, Quinn brushed her thumb slowly across Avery’s knuckles. “Velvet,” she said softly as the doors slid open. “Seems fitting.”
Avery looked up at her as they stepped inside. “Yeah,” she said, her smile warm. “Feels like coming home.”
Quinn’s answering smile was softer than usual, unguarded in a way that made Avery’s chest tighten. As the elevator doors closed, Avery found herself thinking that maybe she had just found something that felt a lot like that too.
* * *