Chapter 21
Quinn
Quinn hadn’t stopped thinking about her since she booked the ticket.
She had told Avery she wouldn’t be back until Monday.
That her schedule was packed, that she had loose ends to tie up before flying east. It wasn’t a complete lie.
But Quinn had rearranged everything. Stayed up late.
Delegated more than she ever had in her life.
And sometime around Wednesday night, watching Avery fall asleep on FaceTime, cheek pressed into her pillow, Henrietta curled against her chest, Quinn realized she didn’t want to wait anymore. She needed to see her. Now.
This wasn’t just a visit. It felt like something more.
Like choosing her. She didn’t text before she buzzed in.
She punched the code Avery had given her weeks ago and climbed the stairs, suitcase wheels thumping quietly behind her.
She adjusted her blazer, ran a hand through her short, ruffled hair.
She wasn’t even sure how she looked right now, probably a little rumpled from the plane, but she didn’t care.
She was here. She knocked once, then stepped back, pulse kicking up into her throat. A beat passed. Then another Then she heard bare feet on hardwood floors. And then the door flew open.
Avery stood there in a worn hoodie and tiny sleep shorts, barefoot, a pint of ice cream in one hand and a spoon in the other. Her eyes widened. Her mouth dropped open.
“Quinn?” she whispered.
“Hi, baby,” Quinn said.
Avery pulled her in, set her ice cream down on the table by the door and launched herself forward before Quinn could think. Arms around her neck, legs wrapped around her waist, lips crashing into hers like time had never existed between them.
Quinn caught her easily, groaning against her mouth as Avery kissed her. Messy and hungry.
“You said Monday,” Avery whispered breathlessly, trailing kisses down her jaw. “You said Monday.”
“I lied,” Quinn gasped, walking them backward through the door, pushing in her suitcase before kicking it shut with her heel. “Couldn’t wait.”
Avery kissed her again, more frenzied now, hands in her hair, pulling her down.
Quinn pressed her back to the nearest wall, and kissed her like she was desperate, because she was.
Her hands roamed Avery’s sides, over bare thighs, beneath the hem of her hoodie.
Skin. Warmth. God, she’d missed this. Missed her.
Avery let out a soft, broken sound against her mouth. “You’re here. You’re really here. I missed you.”
“I missed you,” Quinn said between kisses. “Missed this. Missed you.”
Avery’s hands were in her hair, on her jaw, dragging her closer, like she couldn’t get enough.
Quinn kissed her with a hunger she didn’t bother to hold back— weeks of distance collapsing into every touch.
Every sound. Every gasp. Avery’s back hit the wall beside the door, and she pulled Quinn flush against her, kissing her like she’d been aching.
“Fuck, I missed you,” Avery whispered between kisses, frantic and breathless.
Quinn kissed her harder, let her hands drag up under her shirt and pushed it up until Avery broke the kiss long enough to yank it over her head.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” Quinn said, voice already rough. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“Then touch me,” Avery said. “I don’t want to wait.”
“Good,” Quinn said, backing her toward the bedroom. “Because I’m not fucking waiting either.”
Clothes came off in quick, clumsy bursts—Quinn’s coat, Avery’s bra, jeans shoved down legs, soft laughter caught between kisses that tasted like relief and heat and home.
They tumbled into the bed together, bare skin meeting bare skin, and whatever restraint either of them had been pretending to hold onto dissolved completely.
Weeks of distance collapsed in the dark. It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t careful. It was desperate and grounding all at once—hands relearning familiar places, mouths chasing breath, whispered curses and half-laughed admissions of how much they’d missed this. Missed each other.
Avery kept repeating it, like she needed to feel it echo back to her.
You’re here. You’re really here.
And Quinn answered the only way she knew how—by touching her like she meant to stay.
When it was over, they lay tangled together—sweaty, breathless, the room thick with the aftermath of wanting and finally having.
Avery stroked her hair back, still catching her breath. “Hi,” she murmured.
Quinn let out a soft laugh. “Hi,” she replied.
“You okay?” Avery asked quietly.
“I’m so okay,” Quinn answered.
They lay there for a while, just breathing. Letting the quiet settle around them.
Avery whispered, “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” Quinn said, softer now. “So much.”
A beat passed.
“I think I’m falling in love with you,” Avery murmured, nearly inaudible.
Quinn froze.
Not because she didn’t want to hear it. Not because it scared her. But because it cracked something wide open in her chest, something she’d been holding shut.
She didn’t say anything right away. She just tightened her arm around Avery’s waist and pressed a soft kiss to her hair.
Avery didn’t pull away.
She just exhaled against Quinn’s skin and whispered, “You don’t have to say anything. I just… needed you to know.”
Quinn closed her eyes and held her there.
* * *
The sun was barely up when Quinn stirred, tangled in warm sheets and the even warmer body of the woman curled into her side. Avery’s breath was steady against her collarbone, one arm flung lazily over Quinn’s waist, her leg draped between Quinn’s.
Waking up like this was still new. Still rare. And yet, it already felt like something Quinn wanted to keep.
She watched Avery sleep for a few minutes, her chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm, lashes casting soft shadows across her cheekbones. Eventually, Quinn slid from bed carefully, kissing Avery’s bare shoulder before easing away to the kitchen.
She moved quietly, putting on coffee, taking out her laptop from her carry-on. The hum of the coffee machine filled the apartment, and she leaned on the counter, rubbing a hand over her face as it booted up. She should wait. Let Avery sleep.
But the work she’d done over the past week and a half—late nights, long hours, spreadsheets, proposal drafts—was burning a hole in her mind.
This mattered. This was how she showed it. Through action. Through care. Through planning and protection.
By the time Avery stepped out, barefoot in an oversized tee, eyes still heavy with sleep, Quinn had coffee ready and a proposal pulled up, tabs neatly lined across the screen.
“Hi,” Avery said with a soft smile, accepting the mug and leaning in for a kiss.
“Hi.” Quinn tucked a loose strand of Avery’s hair behind her ear. “Sleep okay?”
“Mmhmm. You?”
“Best in weeks.”
Avery smiled, eyes a little brighter now. “You working already?”
“Not really working,” Quinn said, stepping back. “Just… wanted to show you something.”
Avery raised a brow but followed her to the couch. She tucked her legs underneath her and took another sip of coffee, watching as Quinn flipped open the laptop and spun it gently toward her.
“What is this?” she asked, curious.
Quinn exhaled. “A breakdown of where Lilith is currently… growth, community data, user trust metrics, and projections for the next year if we merged with Halo.”
Avery blinked. “You did all this in, like… a week and a half?”
Quinn nodded. “I had help. My team knows I’m serious about this. And I know I said I wasn’t going to push—but I wanted to be ready. Just in case you wanted to see.”
Avery stayed silent, eyes moving over the first pages. Her brow tightened as Quinn clicked through the slides, moving from brand strategy alignment to hiring plans, security systems overlap, and financial projections layered with footnotes and alternate scenarios.
Quinn’s voice stayed calm and measured, a small edge of excitement threading beneath her words.
“Everything is scalable. Your infrastructure is solid, but you’re stretched thin.
You’re doing so much with not very much.
It’s impressive. I just… I think this could work. I think we’d be better together.”
By the time she got halfway through the pitch, Avery had gone quiet. Not distracted. Focused, but pulled tight. Quinn recognized all too well.
She paused. “Hey,” she said gently. “You okay?”
Avery looked at her, then closed the laptop.
“I don’t…” She exhaled, brow furrowed. “It’s not that I don’t want this. I just… I don’t know what this even is anymore.”
Quinn felt it like a pinprick under the ribs.
She sat back slightly. “Okay,” she said, careful not to sound defensive. “You don’t have to decide anything today.”
“I know,” Avery said quickly. “It’s not you. It’s not even the work you’ve done. It’s brilliant. You are. It’s just… this is a lot. And we haven’t even figured us out yet. What we are. What this is.”
Quinn swallowed. Nodded. She didn’t push. Didn’t retreat either. Instead, she let it sit. It felt fragile. Too fragile. Like loving each other and building something together might be impossible, and sooner or later, one of them would have to break.
But Quinn wasn’t here to force it. She was here because she believed in it. All of it.
“I hear you,” she said. “When you know what you want, tell me. I’ll meet you there.”
Avery looked at her then, eyes soft. Sad. Grateful. Something else Quinn couldn’t quite name. “I’m trying,” she whispered.
Quinn reached for her hand. “Me too.”
* * *
After the business talk quieted, still unresolved but no longer sharp, they stayed where they were on the couch, fingers loosely linked, the silence settling in. It wasn’t tense anymore. Just full. Charged. Something softer underneath it.
Avery leaned back into the cushions and stared ahead like she was trying to watch her thoughts pass without getting pulled under by them. She could feel Quinn beside her, warm and still, her presence steady in a way that made Avery’s chest ache.