CHAPTER 18
Quinn
Iwake to the sound of someone banging around in the kitchen. For a split second, my brain defaults to panic mode—is it Josh? Old reflex. It takes a second for reality to catch up.
It’s Cole.
Right. Cole basically lives here now. I invited him to stay. Apparently, my impulsiveness has decided to make a reappearance. I swear my rational mind scatters around handsome six-foot-two strangers with forest-green eyes.
I must’ve passed out on my bed after dragging myself half asleep from the couch early this morning.
I’d tried to stay awake, but it seems my body had other plans.
I jump out of the tainted bed and head for the en suite to shower off the lingering ick I feel from sleeping in the same bed Josh likely also shared with Brittany.
I brush my teeth in silence, pretending the creaky pipes aren’t announcing every move I make. This house wasn’t built for guests, let alone hot, emotionally available ones who cook. Plus, it’s been over a year since I’ve lived with anyone.
Josh moved out soon after the breakup but left half his stuff behind, like he expected to come back.
I eventually shoved it all into the study and shut the door, pretending it didn’t exist. The house should’ve sold by now, but every time I pull up and see that For Sale sign, it just feels like another thing he didn’t finish.
I tug on a pair of sleep shorts, but my old oversized tee drapes so low it looks like I’ve got nothing on underneath. Probably not appropriate but screw it—this is my house too. I’m not about to start pretending to be someone I’m not.
I peek into the hallway. Cole’s bedroom door is open, and the bed’s already made.
I shouldn’t notice that. But I do. I think it’s the first time the bed has been made without me having to do it.
He’s not even been here twenty-four hours, and he’s already showing up in ways Josh never did when he lived here.
When I reach the kitchen, he’s standing shirtless in front of the stove, flipping something in a pan.
Of course he’s shirtless. And of course he looks like he’d fit on a damn Pinterest board.
I swear, if I opened mine, I’d see a hundred aesthetically curated photos just like this and not one would compare.
Especially with those grey sweatpants slung low on his hips, drawing my eyes straight to the ridiculous V that should be illegal before nine a.m.
“Morning.” He glances over his shoulder, that stupid smile pulling at his mouth, the kind that knocks the air right out of me.
I nod, too afraid to open my mouth in case I blurt out something like “how do you look this hot so early in the morning?”
He gestures at the pan. “Want eggs? Or do you start the day with one of those green juices?”
“Oh, that would be Soph,” I say, perching at the counter. “I’m more of a coffee type girl.”
He nods and pours a second mug without asking. “How do you have it?”
“White with two sugars, please.”
I gratefully accept the mug and savour the warmth before realising I don’t usually have eggs in my fridge. Or milk.
“Did you go grocery shopping again?” I think back to the two bags he hefted in yesterday.
“I got up early.” He shrugs and goes back to flipping the eggs on the stove.
“But they don’t open until nine.”
“Yeah, and it’s ten now,” he says with a grin, buttering his toast before reshelving the container. Without needing to be told…
Yeah, maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
“I was going to wait until you woke up to make breakfast, but I figured you were hiding from me. I got too hungry to wait any longer.”
“Oh, well… definitely not hiding. Just slept in. I don’t sleep very well,” I admit, sipping my coffee. I don’t add that I’ve been sleeping on the couch to avoid my bedroom. I don’t want to trauma-dump this early into… whatever this is.
“I know the feeling.” Cole sighs, running a hand through his hair.
“Just let me know how much and I’ll transfer for groceries.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t have to, seriously. Consider it my thank-you for letting me crash here.”
“You helping fix this disaster of a house is more than enough.”
“Trust me, it’s fine. I wanted to anyway. Besides, we can’t really live off condiments,” he jokes.
I open my mouth, ready to argue, then close it again. Damn it, he’s got me there, and he knows it too, judging by the smug little twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“Fine, you win. I appreciate you saving me the trip,” I say, giving in, knowing I won’t win this round and genuinely grateful he’s saved me from the sensory overload that is grocery shopping: the incessant beeping tills, the stampede of people.
It’s always too much. Hence all the Uber Eats orders and crashing at Sophie’s for dinner.
It’s easier than dealing with the chaos.
Cole turns off the stove and leans against the counter. “Quinn, it’s your house. I’m the guest. If anything feels off, please let me know. I’m not here to make things harder.”
“I’m fine,” I insist. “Just still adjusting.”
He studies me for a second, then plates his eggs and tosses me a smile. “We’ll figure it out.”
“We will.” I smile at him while trying not to drown in my chaotic thoughts. I’m suddenly analysing every word, every glance. Does he notice how nervous I am? Am I being weird? Too quiet?
I carry my coffee to the couch and collapse onto the cushions, grabbing the remote and flicking on Gilmore Girls, the intro music already soothing something in me.
Lorelai and Rory always know what to do.
Me? I’ve just invited a walking distraction into my home and told him we should keep it friendly. Yeah. This is going to be fine.
“I, uh, hope you don’t mind if I put this on?” I ask, gesturing to the TV with a sheepish smile.
“Not at all. Watch whatever you like. Your house, remember?” he says, grinning at me from the kitchen bench.
Welcome to day one of let’s keep it friendly.