CHAPTER 24
Quinn
Iswear to God, it’s been the world’s longest week. Paint fumes gave me a headache for three days straight, tile samples all looked the same after the fourth hour, and a floor sander nearly broke my back and definitely broke my will to live.
So, when Sophie suggested a girls’ night in, I jumped at the chance. Plus, it worked out well since Cole is staying at the venue for an early morning meeting with the site contractors. He’s been crashing at mine so often over the past month and a half that the house feels weirdly quiet without him.
Now here we are, on her couch, Soph’s feet tucked under a blanket and a mischievous grin on her face. “What about this guy?” she says, handing me her phone and gesturing for me to scroll through yet another dating match.
“Never,” I tell her, eyeing the tall guy with a face tattoo and a gold chain. I’m not sure if she’s joking or being serious, and I’m absolutely not convinced there’s anyone on these apps actually worth swiping for.
I only caved to make her happy. In my mind, this whole thing was meant to be five minutes of scrolling and a couple of pity laughs. But now, half a bottle of wine in, I’m wholly unprepared for how seriously Sophie’s taking it. She’d already set me up with a Tinder profile before I arrived.
Ugh, I can’t bear to look at what she’s written in my bio. Knowing my best friend, it’s most likely something self-aware and slightly unhinged. But it’s out of my hands now, so all I can do is sit back and have blind faith that she won’t lead me astray.
“You don’t like any?” she asks, flicking quickly through a bunch of profiles.
“Not a single one.”
I’m exhausted. It’s exactly what I expected: anyone single at almost thirty either has two baby mamas or no job. I mean, technically, I don’t have one either right now, but that’s beside the point. I’m working on it. Most of these guys? They’re just working on getting laid.
“You have such a specific type, don’t you?”
“Not that specific,” I insist.
“Oh, so you’re not looking for a green-eyed, six-two guy with the body of a god?”
I hadn’t realised I’d been subconsciously scanning for green eyes and sandy brown hair until Sophie said it.
“Psht, I haven’t seen that much of him.” Lies. I’ve seen enough for my thoughts to scatter. I mean, how is it fair that he starts his mornings half awake, half shirtless, entirely distracting in my kitchen like it’s no big deal?
“Nice try avoiding the question.”
“This whole thing is a terrible idea. I can promise you that you won’t find a single guy who even looks a little bit genuine.” I flap a hand at her. “Can we give up now? I’m hungry.”
“A few more,” she bargains. “Then we can take a break.”
“Okay, deal.”
She keeps swiping left and right while my stomach grumbles, begging for something solid to balance out the half bottle of red I’ve just downed.
“Okay, this one’s interesting,” Sophie says, her grin widening as she leans forward on the couch, one knee tucked under her. “His name’s Jack, and his bio says ‘Once you go Jack, you never go back.’”
I groan, sinking deeper into the cushions. “Is he serious?”
But I mean, he is cute, I guess—blue eyes, blonde hair, and no topless mirror selfies in a dingy bathroom. A small but rare win.
“I don’t know… He’s giving me weird vibes.”
“Don’t overthink it. He’s hot as hell.” She flicks the screen with a teasing grin. “I’m swiping for him.”
Within seconds it flashes a match. Her phone pings almost immediately.
“Oh, he’s quick,” she says, eyes lighting up as she props her chin on her hand.
You look cute as hell, x, he types.
“Aw, he’s sweet and confident,” Sophie says, kicking her feet onto the coffee table. “We love a confident man.”
So are you, x, she fires back.
Jack replies: You’d look good in my arms.
Sophie laughs, tossing her hair. “Take me out to dinner first,” she says, narrating as she types.
Depends how well we vibe. I don’t chase.
“Yuck,” I mutter, wrinkling my nose. “Sophie, can we unmatch him now?”
“Give me a sec. I’m just having a little fun.” She grins, wineglass balanced loosely in her hand, and types: So what are you looking for on here?
Jack replies: To destroy you. You’re tiny as fuck.
I nearly spit out my wine. “Destroy me? Sophie, unmatch!” I set the glass down before I drop it.
She shakes her head, grinning. “Relax, I’ve got this.” Her manicured nails tap the screen as she types: I don’t think you could handle me anyway.
Jack sends back a winking emoji. You’d be surprised.
“Okay, that’s enough,” I say, reaching across the couch for her phone.
“Fine.” She laughs, finally hitting unmatch. “But tell me that wasn’t at least a little entertaining.”
I lean back, laughing despite myself, cheeks flushed from the wine and the second-hand embarrassment.
“All right, one more,” she says, swiping with renewed focus. “Someone normal this time.”
“Define normal,” I mutter, reaching for my glass.
Sophie continues scrolling through profiles when she suddenly pauses, eyebrows raised and holds her phone up. “Wait. Is that Cole?” she asks, eyes wide with disbelief.
“What? No!”
But my heart stutters as I lean in. The guy on her screen looks so much like Cole my stomach actually drops. For a second, I really think it might be him. But it’s not. Just some random guy who happens to be hot, which only makes the resemblance more annoying.
“I’m messaging him.”
“Ugh, fine. Just tell me when it’s over,” I mutter. “I’m going to the bathroom.”
By the time I return, Sophie’s positively glowing.
“Got you a date!” She beams.
“I was gone for five minutes!”
“I know. It’s a gift,” she says, flipping her hair like she just changed the trajectory of my love life.
Maybe it won’t be so bad. At least he did look like my type—apparently I have one now, and he’s currently sleeping in my spare room, makes my coffee just right, fixes cabinet doors without being asked, and somehow always knows when I’ve had a bad day.
“Also, we’re going shopping. You need something new to wear.”
“Hey! What’s wrong with my clothes?”
She gives me a look. “When was the last time you bought anything nice for yourself?”
Okay, fair. I stopped bothering to buy anything nice when I was with Josh. There never seemed to be a reason. And after it ended, I didn’t exactly need new outfits for lying around and rotting in bed every day.
“Fine. Thursday?”
“Yay!” She claps. “You need this, Q. Baby steps, remember?”
Right. Baby steps. That’s what Sophie always says.
But lately, nothing feels that simple. Living with Cole has made me wonder if I’ll ever be ready for even half a baby step.
Every day, I grow more drawn to him, but I’m not ready for anything serious.
And even if I were… how do I know this isn’t just about convenience?
About timing? About the fact that he’s the only guy showing up right now?
And if I am into him…does he feel the same?
I mean, I’m currently unemployed, still trying to deal with the emotional trauma Josh left behind, and my biggest accomplishment this week was figuring out how to tile a splashback without crying.
“You’ll have fun Q. Don’t worry.” Sophie smiles, curling up beside me. We sink into the couch, letting the Gilmore Girls theme song fill the space between us.
Later, when I’m tucked into the guest room, I reach for my phone out of habit.
Sure enough, there is a “how was your girls’ night?
” text from Cole along with a couple of TikToks that make me laugh, and a new Pinterest idea to add to my growing collection.
He always seems to know exactly what to send, like he’s got a sixth sense for when I need a distraction.
But right now, nothing can distract me from my impending date.
Deep down, I know this is part of it, the awkward, hopeful, slightly terrifying next step in figuring out the new me.
A reminder that the world is bigger than my living room and the boy sleeping down the hall.
Because if anything ever does happen with Cole, I need to be sure it’s real, not just the result of timing or loneliness.
And maybe also to the girl who spent six years pretending everything was fine with a man who barely noticed as she fell apart.
Josh left me a shell of who I once was, and sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever fully piece her back together.
But maybe that’s the point, not to find the old me, but to build someone stronger from the pieces he left behind. Easier said than done.
If I’m being honest, part of me still wonders if I made it all up, if I was really that unhappy.
But then I remember the silence, the gaslighting, the nights I cried on the bathroom floor, mascara-streaked and exhausted.
While he walked out the door like nothing had happened, headed off to the pub with his mates, after yet another pointless argument.
This isn’t just about moving on. It’s about proving to myself that I’ve changed and that I’m still changing and that healing isn’t linear.