CHAPTER 21
Cole
By the time we roll into the Avellana car park, the afternoon sun is throwing a soft glow across the brick facade. Quinn hasn’t said much on the drive, hugging her tablet like it might slip away if she lets go. I keep the engine running a beat longer, giving her space.
“We don’t have to go in yet,” I tell her. “Take your time.”
She nods, fingers still resting on the handle. “It’s okay, I’m feeling better now.” She says, then finally pushes the door open and hops out.
We make our way inside and the bar smells like home: dust, old timber, and faint mildew. I’ve always loved this stage, the mess before the magic. Quinn drifts along the walls, trailing her hand over exposed beams and unfinished plasterboard, humming softly to herself.
I unroll the plans, letting her wander. When I finally glance up again, she’s planted herself cross-legged in the middle of the floor, tablet open on her lap, brows drawn tight in focus.
“How’s it coming together?” I ask.
She tips the screen my way, her Pinterest page glowing with colour swatches and half-sketched mood boards. “Neutrals, maybe sage accents. Something earthy, lived-in. The kind of place people want to come back to.”
Her voice carries a certainty I haven’t heard in her, and it makes me grateful for this arrangement, for the chance to see her here in my space, relaxed and focused, rather than unravelling like she was a few weeks ago.
“It’s perfect,” I tell her. “It’s exactly my vision for this place.”
Her eyes flick up, surprised, but I hold her gaze, making sure she sees I mean it.
Chad chooses then to stroll in, and it occurs to me that it’s the first time he’s shown up before dark since we took over the bar. One look and I’m reminded why Markus never should’ve left him a thing.
Quinn doesn’t even notice him. She’s too focused, hair slipping loose across her cheek as she scrolls. She’s in her own little world, looking like she belongs here more than Chad ever could.
“What are you doing here?” I call out.
“It’s Friday night, Cole.” He smirks, dodging my question as he pours himself a whiskey. “Figures you’d be here instead of anywhere fun.”
My jaw tightens, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. Instead, I turn back to the plans, dragging my pencil across the page to keep my hands busy. The scrape of his glass against the counter is too loud in the quiet room, followed by the lazy shuffle of his steps.
When I glance back, he’s already leaning over Quinn, shadow cutting across her screen. “Haven’t seen you here before. I’m Chad.” He swirls the amber liquid, grin smug.
She hums without looking up, tapping the edge of her tablet with the stylus. The dismissal is blatant, yet he doesn’t appear to notice he’s already lost her.
“What are you doing later?” he presses.
“Working,” Quinn says flatly, tapping away.
He laughs. “Why don’t you take the night off?”
“Because then this place won’t get finished.” She finally looks up, eyebrow arched, gaze calm and steady.
The corner of my mouth quirks. That has to be a first for him. Most girls fall for his act within five minutes.
He smirks, doubling down. “Don’t worry about that, baby girl. Cole’s got it handled.”
I mark the beam layout, graphite scratching loud enough to cover the grind of my teeth. He’s baiting me. Not worth it, I remind myself, forcing my focus back onto the page.
It isn’t anger, more annoyance at his sheer audacity, waltzing in here to make Quinn uncomfortable.
Quinn doesn’t flinch. “I take my job seriously. If you don’t mind…” She tilts her tablet like a shield and shuts him out completely.
Chad falters, desperation creeping in as he makes one last attempt. “Come on, I’ll show you a good time.”
That’s enough.
“We’re actually going out tonight,” I say, abandoning my graphs and stepping closer.
Quinn looks up, lips twitching as she fights a smirk. “Oh yeah, we are,” she plays along easily. “Should I extend your offer to Sophie?”
Chad’s face sours, but he slides her a business card anyway. “If you change your mind…”
She hands it right back. “No thanks.” And just like that, she’s done with him.
He finally gets the hint before his ego can take another hit and slinks out. His car door slams, leaving the space lighter. I dump his untouched whiskey, the glass still warm from his hand, and wander back toward her.
“So… we’re going out, are we?” she asks, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
“Well, I was thinking we could hit the food trucks.”
Her eyes light up, fingers paused on her iPad. “The ones in the Parklands?”
“Yep, they’ll be open tonight.”
“Perfect, I’m in.” She bends back over her tablet, and it rushes into me all at once that it’s not just her designs reshaping this bar. It’s her.
And maybe that’s what’s surprising me the most: how fast it’s all starting to feel right with her in the picture.
I should be thinking about budgets, permits, timelines, but all I can think about is the curve of her smile when she agreed to dinner. The way she shut Chad down without a second thought.
This was supposed to be about the bar. About getting it done. But now? I keep looking at her, as if she might be the thing that makes it all mean something.