CHAPTER 19
Quinn
I’m holding the top corner of the gyprock sheet, my arms already burning from hours of lifting, balancing, and adjusting.
Sweat clings to the back of my neck despite the cool breeze drifting in from the open window.
My stomach growls loudly, a painful reminder of the terrible decision I made this morning to skip breakfast. Turns out, coffee for breakfast only works if you plan to bedrot all day, not sheet plasterboard and pretend to know what you’re doing.
I knew renovating would be a challenge, but this?
This is something else. Every time we peel something back, we find another wall that needs replacing, another hidden crack, another problem I wasn’t ready for.
And we’re only a few days in. The overwhelm is starting to creep in, tightening across my chest, making me question what the hell I’ve gotten us into.
“Careful, your side’s dipping,” Cole says, pulling me out of yet another spiral.
I adjust my grip, pressing my shoulder into the board to keep it steady while he nails in the bottom corner.
“Oh, right, sorry,” I grunt out, lifting my side of the sheet as high as my sore arms will allow. It’s hard to stay focused with the same question bouncing around in my brain on repeat ever since Cole agreed to this arrangement. And before I can stop myself, it slips out.
“Do you regret it?” I ask, shifting my grip on the plasterboard as my arms tremble from the strain.
Probably the worst time to ask because Cole is deep in concentration, his nail gun poised, forearms flexing as he secures the sheet to the wooden studs.
Dust clings to his shirt, and sweat beads along his temple, but somehow, the mess only makes him more attractive.
Cole pauses, turning his head to look at me. “Regret what?”
“Moving in. This.” I nod toward the wall, since I can’t gesture around the room with my hands full.
“No,” he says straight away, the sound of the nail gun echoing off the unfinished walls.
He steps back an inch, allowing me to let go of the board finally.
I shake out my hands, muscles screaming in protest. Four sheets down, four to go before we can call it a day and maybe order that pizza we’ve been talking about.
“Not even a little?”
He sets the nail gun down on the workbench beside us and grabs the board, finishing the alignment himself.
“Quinn,” he says, brushing plaster dust from his hands, “I don’t do things out of obligation. I wanted to help.”
“And you’re double sure.”
“Triple, but why do you ask?”
My throat tightens, and for a second, I can’t find the words. “It’s just…” I glance back at the wall. “Sometimes I worry this is too much.”
Cole’s voice softens. “You’re not. We’re figuring it out. And yeah, this place is a mess. But it’s ours now.”
The corner of my mouth lifts, just a little, the tension in my shoulders easing for the first time all day.
“Good,” I murmur. “Thanks again.”
“You don’t have to keep thanking me,” he says, setting his water bottle down. “We’re in this together. And honestly? You’ve saved me too, Quinn.”
He looks at me then, really looks. There’s no teasing in his voice, no half smile to soften the weight of the words. And for the first time in a long time, I think I might actually believe something a guy says.
It’s strange, feeling that flicker of trust again…
like my heart’s testing the waters after too many years with Josh.
His lies always came wrapped in promises and smiles that never reached his eyes.
Maybe that’s why I stayed so long; I kept believing him, believing that the next time would be different, that he’d finally come through for me.
Unlike Cole, who is quietly showing up, no grand speeches or declarations. And somehow, that consistency is starting to mean more than anything Josh ever said.
“Well, then I guess we’re even,” I say with a soft laugh, nudging his knee with mine as we both slide down the newly sheeted wall, settling into the dust and chaos with a quiet kind of comfort. Maybe I can do this—with him on my side.
“Yep, we are,” he agrees, wiping his hands on his jeans. “But I’m starving.”
“Me too,” I reply, trying to sound casual even though my stomach has been growling for the past hour. I don’t want him thinking I’m falling apart just because I skipped breakfast like an idiot.
“Still keen for pizza?”
I nod. “What should we get?”
“Hmm.” He rubs the back of his neck as we both push off the floor, brushing white dust from our jeans.
My legs are jelly, and my shirt is sticking to my back, but it’s the good kind of exhaustion, the kind that cuts through the usual fog I’ve been wading through for months.
I haven’t had time to overthink much today, too busy lifting, playing apprentice, and laughing at Cole’s corny jokes. And honestly, it feels good.
We walk toward the kitchen, boots thudding softly against the wooden floors.
“Can’t go wrong with a meatlovers,” Cole says, glancing over at the food delivery app open on my phone. “Unless you’re one of those pineapple-on-pizza kinda girls.”
“Hey,” I shoot back, pointing at him with exaggerated offence, “there is nothing wrong with pineapple on pizza. I will die on that hill.”
“If you say so.” He laughs, shaking his head good-naturedly, the corners of his mouth lifting into that smile, the one that makes my stomach flip even after a day like today. “I’ll get it.”
“Nope, you got the groceries, I’ll get lunch.”
“Okay, if you say so.” He lets me win this one. Good. I want the arrangement to stick, and roommates split things. The minute he starts paying for everything, the lines will blur—and I can’t afford for that to happen.
Cole hands me a water bottle and I take a sip. “Try to stay hydrated,” he says, his voice light but with that familiar edge of care. “We’ve still got a long way to go today.”
“Ugh, I know. I don’t know how you do this all day, every day.” I tip the bottle back and gulp a few sips, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Keeps my hands busy,” he says with a smirk, and just like that, I’m back at Avellana, perched on his lap, his fingers tracing those light circles on my thigh.
My cheeks flush and I duck my head, pretending to study the Uber Eats menu. “I guess that’s the same with design for me,” I offer.
“Exactly, and that’s why we make a great team.” He smiles at me.
If he notices my blush, he doesn’t say, and I work at steering the conversation back to my comfort zone. But I feel it—something warm and tentative sitting between us.
“We really do,” I say softly this time.