CHAPTER 25
Cole
The office smells like sawdust and coffee, and it’s comforting in a way, even though I’ve been running on caffeine and adrenaline for days.
I sit at the cluttered desk, highlighter cap between my teeth, alternating between that and sipping from my mug while going over the final checklist for opening night.
Everything from plumbing to permits is scribbled across this paper, and still, none of it is enough to distract me from Quinn.
Ever since Chad backed off with his sleazy comments, it’s been easier to breathe around here.
Easier to focus. But watching Quinn fall into her creative rhythm has made it a lot harder to ignore how I feel.
The way she tilts her head when she’s thinking, wholly absorbed in her work… She has no idea what she does to me.
My phone pings just as I’m about to wrap up, and I see it’s a calendar notification.
My heart sinks. On Friday night, Quinn entered “date.” My face heats instantly, and I stand up too fast, needing to shake off this anxious buzzing.
I hadn’t realised she was dating again, even though she implied as much the night we got dinner in the city.
But I guess things change, and that was almost two months ago. I’ve been delusional not to prepare for this—she’s a catch.
I finish off my beer, hoping it might dull the ache. I’d give anything to be the guy who takes her out to dinner, and not just at the end of an exhausting day, covered in paint and dust.
My mind is overrun with possibilities. What if this guy ends up being the one? What if she marries him? What if she looks at him the way I look at her? We’re only a few weeks out from opening night. It would destroy me if she brought someone else to celebrate.
I’m running tracks into the floor of the office Chad initially claimed as his.
I took it over months ago, seeing as he only ever shows up to flirt with the staff.
Thankfully, since Quinn started, he’s kept his distance.
Maybe he’s finally getting the hint. The idea of him with her?
That’s the kind of thing I wouldn’t bounce back from.
My phone chimes again, and I swipe it up like it might save me. Quinn’s name lights the screen, and instantly, my pulse settles.
“Hey, you,” I say. “What’s up?”
“Oh, hey,” she replies. Her voice is soft, almost hesitant.
Not her usual bubbly tone, the one I’ve grown used to hearing in the mornings when she’s sketching floor plans, humming to herself.
“I’m good. Just calling to let you know I won’t be home tomorrow night, so don’t worry about dinner for me. ”
“Yeah, I saw. A date, huh? Who’s the lucky guy?” I ask, hoping the banter masks how gutted I actually feel.
“Ugh,” she groans. “I have no idea.”
“What do you mean?” I frown.
“Well, Sophie decided it was time I started dating again, so… that’s what I’m doing, I guess.”
“Sounds fun,” I say, slumping down in the desk chair. “So… a blind date?”
“It’s the definition of a blind date,” Quinn says with a dramatic huff. “She picked him from a sea of generic Tinder guys.”
I laugh, some of the tension easing from my chest. Her description is spot-on.
I remember trying Tinder after what went down with Kass and hating every second of it.
No matter how many photos someone uploaded, you still couldn’t tell who they really were.
After being blindsided by Kass I wasn’t in a hurry to make that mistake again.
“Ah, that explains it. How are you feeling about it?”
Relief lingers because this wasn’t some magical meet cute. It was her best friend’s idea, and somehow, that makes it easier to swallow. I really do want her to be happy, even if it’s not with me.
“I feel like I’m going to throw up,” she says.
“You don’t have to go,” I hear myself say.
She pauses. “No, no. I do want to go. I have to go.”
There’s a breath on the line. A sigh. A moment when I think maybe she’s as unsure as I am.
“Okay. In that case, let me take you.”
I don’t add that I want to see her one more time before she goes. I want to make sure she gets there safely. That I want her to know someone cares.
“Thanks, Cole. I’d really appreciate it. But don’t worry about picking me up. Sophie said she would so we can ‘debrief.’”
“Let me know if you change your mind.”
“I will. Hey, I’ve gotta run. I need to double-check the tile samples.”
“Have fun,” I reply before hanging up.
She’s already gone, but I stand there, phone in hand, wondering how I’m going to survive Friday night.
I set the phone down gently and sink back into my chair. The silence in the room is sudden and sharp. I stare at the floor plans for a beat, then drag my hands down my face.
It shouldn’t matter this much. She’s allowed to go on a date. She’s allowed to move on. But that doesn’t stop the ache, and it doesn’t stop the part of me that keeps hoping for something more.
I swivel around, eyes drifting across the plans and notes pinned on the wall. Her handwriting is mixed in with mine. Little doodles, Post-its, a crooked line, like we were meant to work on this project from the start.
I start to wonder what she’ll wear tomorrow night. I wonder if she’ll laugh at his jokes or force a smile through awkward silences. I wonder if he’ll notice the way she picks the skin around her nail when she’s nervous. I wonder if he’ll get to kiss her at the end of the night.
God, I hope not.
I close my eyes and exhale slowly. This isn’t my moment to step in, not unless she gives me a reason to.
If she asks me to pick her up, I’ll be there, no hesitation.
Hell, part of me wants to wait in the car park the entire time, just in case she needs an escape route.
But that’s too much, too protective, too obvious.
She’s strong. She can handle herself.
Still, it doesn’t stop me from wanting to be the one she calls when the night is over.