Chapter 19
Quinn
She told herself not to check Instagram. And then she did. The photo was recently posted, less than ten minutes ago. Avery, mid-laugh, hair swept to one side, lips slightly parted, collarbones on display in some slinky little top that Quinn had definitely never seen before.
Fuck.
She stared at the screen a second too long before she clicked out. It wasn’t even anything overtly flirty. But it didn’t matter. Avery looked good. Ridiculously good. And Quinn didn’t like the idea of every drunk queer at Lush getting an eyeful.
She threw her phone down on the couch and went to the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of wine and opening the Pad Thai she’d picked up on the way home.
She stood at the island and ate straight out of the container, barely registering the taste, giving up after only a few mouthfuls. The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the dishwasher and the occasional text from Braeden breaking the silence.
After cleaning up, she headed to the shower—hot water, no music, just her thoughts swirling. When she stepped out, towel tucked around her, she picked up her phone again and thumbed out a message.
Quinn: Just got home.
She paused. Added another.
Quinn: You still out?
She got ready for bed, pulling on her favorite sleep shirt, an old, loose-fit tee from an indie band she’d seen live in Berlin. No one but Avery had seen her wear it, and the memory tugged at her in a way she didn’t love.
Crawling into bed, she cracked open her Kindle and settled in for a few chapters of something steamy and gay enough to distract her. It started to work. But she quickly got distracted again. On her phone, she opened Instagram and saw it.
A new photo.
Avery standing outside a club, clearly tipsy, clearly flushed from dancing, smiling with her eyes half-lidded. A girl beside her—dark curls, bold lipstick—pressing a kiss to her cheek.
Avery’s caption?
Such a fun night out! Love my girls!!
Quinn’s stomach knotted. Who the hell was she?
Before she could spiral too much, Avery texted.
Avery: Still out. Probably will be late.
Quinn: Will you still text me when you get in?
She didn’t like this feeling, but she tried her best to suppress it.
Avery: Yeah, of course.
Quinn breathed a little easier. She put her phone down and went back to trying to focus on something—anything but Avery out at a club, with some girl dancing with her, kissing her cheek.
Avery said she would text, so she tried to stay distracted. But the text never came. She checked the time. Checked it again. Nothing.
She powered through two chapters of her book, then gave up. Set her Kindle aside. Rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.
Avery said yes. But she never texted.
And Quinn—who told herself she didn’t do waiting or worrying—lay in the dark with her jaw tight and chest a little heavy, wondering if this was what it felt like, for her, to care just enough to be uncomfortable.
She hated it. And maybe more than anything, she hated that the girl in the photo wasn’t her.
* * *
Quinn woke on Saturday morning later than she normally did. She blinked up at the ceiling, disoriented, not because she’d slept in, but because something felt off.
Her phone was still on the nightstand. Still blank.
No message. She frowned faintly. Most mornings since she got back to L.A.
, she’d woken to something from Avery, either a good morning text, a blurry photo of Henrietta, a link to some ridiculous article about niche astrology memes.
Something that said she was still there.
She turned the screen on. Nothing. It was just after 7 a.m. in California. So only 10 in New York. Still, it made her chest feel tight in a way she didn’t want to unpack.
She typed a message and hit send.
Quinn: Good morning. Hope you had fun last night and got home safe.
She set the phone aside and got up. Coffee first. She padded into her sleek kitchen and started the espresso machine, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as it whirred to life.
The machine sputtered softly, filling the room with its familiar scent.
She poured her coffee into a matte black mug and sat at the island with her laptop, catching up on emails even though it was Saturday.
Somewhere in the quiet hum of caffeine and corporate updates, her phone buzzed.
Avery: Good morning. Didn’t get in till super late. Was pretty tipsy when I got home. Sorry I didn’t call. Hope your night was good.
The emoji softened Quinn. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and thumbed out a reply.
Quinn: It was quiet but fine. What are your plans for today?
Avery: Laying on the couch in my pajamas with Henrietta. I don’t think I’m moving all day.
Quinn: Especially after all that alcohol. Hope you took ibuprofen.
Avery: I’m too hungover to go get it. Even food feels too far away. I’m dying.
Seconds later, Quinn received a photo.
Avery, wrapped in a blanket, hair a mess, cheeks pink with dehydration, and Henrietta curled on her chest. She looked wrecked and perfect.
Quinn tapped open DoorDash and placed the order immediately: two bagels. One with cream cheese and tomato slices on the side, one with avocado, a large white chocolate mocha, and a fruit cup she knew Avery probably wouldn’t touch.
After the order confirmed, she screenshotted the delivery ETA and sent it over.
Quinn: Food is on the way. All you have to do is get up and answer the door.
Before she could even lock her phone, it lit up with a FaceTime call.
She smirked and answered, “Morning.”
Avery’s face filled the screen, pale and puffy-eyed but smiling. “Good morning. Did you seriously just order me bagels?” she asked.
“I did,” Quinn said, unable to hide her grin. “With a very large white chocolate mocha.”
“I see that,” Avery said, holding up the cup toward the camera. “You’re incredible. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Quinn said, warmth slipping into her voice. “Figured since I can’t come over and take care of you, I could do it from a distance.”
Avery’s smile shifted, softer now. “You’re very sweet,” she told her.
“Don’t spread it around,” Quinn said deadpan. “It’ll ruin my reputation.”
Avery barked out a laugh, sudden and loud, startling Henrietta from her nap. “Sorry!” she whispered quickly as the cat leapt off her chest and disappeared behind the couch.
Quinn chuckled at the screen, then fell quiet for a moment, just watching Avery tuck her hair behind her ear.
She looked so damn soft like this. Unfiltered. Unarmored. And Quinn missed her more than she liked.
“I’m sorry,” Quinn said finally, her tone shifting.
Avery blinked at the screen. “For?” she asked.
“The other night,” Quinn said. “I was totally ice cold. I shouldn’t have responded that way.
” She exhaled lightly. “I told you I was gonna call and I didn’t.
I was having a bad day, and then I went out with Braeden and…
she was teasing me about you being my girlfriend and me being all soft for you and I—I don’t know.
I panicked a little. Relationships scare me. ”
Avery tilted her head slightly. “Thank you for saying you’re sorry,” she said, her voice soft and earnest. “I was just… I waited for you to call. And when you didn’t even let me know that your plans had changed, it hurt.”
Quinn nodded slowly, guilt tightening in her chest. “That was a dick move,” she admitted. “I’m really sorry.”
“It’s in the past,” Avery said gently. “Thank you for apologizing. I appreciate it.”
There was a small pause, then Quinn added quietly, “I realized last night how it felt. When you said you’d call and didn’t.”
Avery turned a little pink. “I didn’t do it to make a point,” she said sheepishly. “I was honestly just drunk. And I probably would’ve said something stupid or cheesy or… filthy.”
Quinn raised a brow at the screen. “Filthy?” she echoed.
Avery grinned. “You know how I get when I’ve been drinking,” she said.
“Mm, I absolutely do,” Quinn replied, her voice dropping an octave. “We met at Lush, remember?”
Avery bit her lip and nodded. “I do,” she said softly.
Quinn cleared her throat and added, “And then you went out last night and got kissed on the cheek by some very pretty brunette.”
Avery blinked at her. Then she laughed. “Oh my god. That’s Noella,” she said. “She’s like my sister. We were standing outside when you texted, and she kissed my cheek for the selfie. That’s it.”
Quinn exhaled slowly. “Thank god,” she muttered.
Avery raised a brow playfully. “Jealous, CEO?” she asked.
“I thought I had competition,” Quinn admitted. “And that one would’ve been local, so I probably would’ve lost.”
Avery shook her head, her expression soft and sincere. “No competition,” she told her. “It’s you.”
Quinn’s heart kicked. “I miss you,” she said quietly, more honest than she usually allowed herself to be.
“I miss you, too,” Avery whispered. “Do you want to hang out today? Watch Killing Eve? Stay on FaceTime all day? Eat lunch with me? You can even come with me when I shower.” She wiggled her brows at the camera.
Quinn smirked. “I would really like that, yeah,” she said.
Avery smiled at her, warm and teasing. “Me too.”
Quinn balanced the phone against the back of her couch cushion so she could still see Avery’s face while she stood to refill her coffee.
She padded into the kitchen, mug in hand, and glanced at the screen.
Avery had shifted the phone so Quinn could now see Henrietta curled up at her feet on the blanket-draped couch, her little tail flicking every so often in her sleep.
“You still look half-dead,” Quinn teased gently as she poured her second cup.
“I feel half-dead,” Avery muttered, rubbing her face. “But also, like… slightly less dead now that there are bagels on the way.”
“I do what I can,” Quinn said as she returned to the couch, folding her legs under her as she sat and lifting the phone to better view Avery’s face again.