CHAPTER 26
Quinn
“Your boobs look fucking amazing in that,” Sophie tells me the second I step out of the change room at her favourite boutique.
We were meant to have a chill day—lunch, shopping, and an overdue catch-up on Sophie’s life.
So now I’m standing in a boutique that looks like Sophie’s wardrobe: blush silks, sleek tailoring, and the occasional short, expensive-looking going-out dress.
Everything here is way above my price range, but Sophie knows the owners, so I’ll be able to afford it, sort of.
“Seriously, Q. You have to get it,” she insists, hands on her hips like it’s not up for discussion.
“I don’t know.” I tug the V-neck higher to cover a little more cleavage, but it’s no use. My boobs are on a mission of their own. “It’s a bit… booby.”
“You’re just used to dressing how Josh wanted you to,” she says, barely glancing up as she pulls another dress from the rack beside us.
“Yeah, but I don’t want to give this guy the wrong impression,” I mumble, eyeing the neckline again.
“You won’t, babe. Trust me. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s online dating.” She hands me a new dress.
I mean, Sophie does go on a lot of dates.
Some are okay, others are disasters, but she always shows up looking confident and gorgeous, as if her last two-week-long situationship didn’t just ghost her and rip her heart out.
She really should take my advice and stop texting them back, stop accepting breadcrumbs and leave them on delivered. But she never does.
“You look so hot. Please, please get it.”
“Hmmm.”
“Quinn. I’ll buy it if you don’t.”
I swish the red fabric just above my knees, trying not to smile.
Okay… it does look good. It’s been forever since I wore anything that made me feel this cute.
Most of my wardrobe is a graveyard of faded tees, stretched-out leggings, and hand-me-downs from Sophie I’ve never worn.
Leftovers from years of shrinking myself to avoid Josh’s criticism.
I never got it right, so I stopped trying.
And now? I don’t even know what my style is anymore.
Plus, Sophie said the guy is taking me to a nice Italian place. My anxiety already makes my stomach churn, and the last thing I need is to walk into some fancy restaurant feeling underdressed.
“Okay, okay. I’ll get it. Chill.”
“He’s going to love it.” Sophie grins.
“I hope he’s nice.”
“No, not him. Cole.” She smirks. “He’ll be home before you leave, won’t he?”
“You know it’s not like that with us,” I say.
I pull my tablet out of my bag, flip open the sunflower case, and check the shared spreadsheet.
Under Friday, he’s written ‘drive Quinn to date.’ A flutter stirs in my chest. “Also, thanks for telling Cole about the sunflowers. Look at this case he got me.” I hold it up and show her as she steps in to zip me out of the dress.
“What do you mean?” She looks at me, puzzled.
“You know that I love them?”
“I didn’t tell him that.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. But I think it’s cute. Maybe he guessed?”
“Maybe.” I frown, racking my brain for an alternative explanation.
“See? He’s so into you.”
“He’s not,” I protest.
“He is,” she fires back.
I blush and disappear behind the curtain to try on the dress. Yellow. Tight. Not my favourite. Does yellow look good on anyone besides Sophie?
This is why I hate shopping. The mirrors feel like interrogation lights. Everything Sophie hands me feels too loud, too clingy, too bold for someone still figuring out who she is. The hangers hold more than clothes; they hold the weight of Josh’s voice. Even now, I still hear it.
Who are you trying to impress? Me, Josh. Me.
I shut the voice down before it can go further.
I shimmy out of the yellow dress, hanging it beside the ever-growing collection of noes.
Sophie slips me another black dress, this one with spaghetti-style bow-tie straps.
It doesn’t look like much on the hanger, but when I slip it on and catch my reflection, I know. This is the one for opening night.
The fabric skims my curves without clinging, cinching just right at the waist and falling into a soft A-line that hits mid-thigh.
The spaghetti straps feel flirty but not try-hard.
It’s timeless and simple and something I’d happily re-wear a million times, not just to justify the price tag but because it makes me feel like me again.
I’m barely ready for this date, let alone the flutter that shows up every time Cole does something thoughtful, like guessing I love sunflowers or setting out my favourite mug every morning.
“What if I’ve made it up in my head?” I ask. “What if I’m just lonely, reading into his kindness?”
“You’re not. Trust me. You know I’d tell you if you were being delusional.”
“Yeah, I guess… but even if he does… what am I supposed to do about it?” I add before stepping out.
“Firstly, that dress is stunning. You’re getting it. Secondly, break your arrangement. Then see what happens.”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.”
I remind myself that I want things to stay friendly. I say it to make it true. To remind myself where the lines are. Because if I let myself believe he might feel something more, I’ll start wanting things I’m not ready to lose again.
“It’s the truth. But for now, let’s focus on this date on Friday. You’re going to be fine.”
My stomach twists again. Not butterflies. Not nerves. Just… dread. I want to cancel. Curl up on the couch while Cole cooks that pasta I love for dinner.
“I’m still not convinced he’s into me. Can’t he… kiss me first?”
The thought sends real butterflies through me. Ugh.
“He won’t,” she says. “But I hope he does. You deserve it.”
“Why am I even going on this date?”
“Because you need to see what’s out there,” Sophie replies. “If it’s meant to be with Cole, it will be. But this? This is your chance to figure that out and prove to yourself he’s not just filling a Josh-shaped gap.”
“Hmm. You might be right.”
“I know I am. Buy that dress—both of them. Go on the date. See what happens.”
“Okay.” I sigh, changing back into my white tee and jeans, still slightly stained from painting Cole’s room. I need new jeans, but that’s a struggle for another day.
“Also, we’ve got to go. Your hair appointment is in thirty.”
“You didn’t have to do that. My hair’s fine.”
It’s not. It was blonde, but I dyed it back to my natural colour after the breakup, and now—almost a year later—it’s settled into a faded in-between colour.
I got tired of the expensive appointments because Josh always liked blondes, and when I tried going natural once, he complained and asked why I didn’t ask him first.
Sophie, on the other hand, was thrilled when I FaceTimed her. Another quiet fuck-you to Josh.
“I wanted to,” she says. “It’s time for a refresh. You’ll feel a million times better with fresh hair.”
“Fair.”
“Yay!” she squeals. Then, more softly: “Quinn?”
“Yeah?”
“Everything’s going to work out. Follow your heart. I know it sounds cheesy, but you need to trust it again. Last time… we ignored the signs. But this? I think you already know there aren’t any red flags with Cole.”
“Let’s hope so,” I murmur.
“What’s the harm in going on a date anyway?”
I can think of a few, but I keep them to myself.
I grab both dresses and head to the till.
The girl behind the counter offers me an overpriced candle that smells like ocean breeze and vanilla.
I nod before I can stop myself; I’m too much of a people-pleaser to say no.
Instant regret kicks in the second I tap my phone and see the total flash on the card machine.
“Now let’s get that gorgeous hair of yours refreshed.” Sophie’s eyes are all mischief when I join her at the exit.
As we step out into the fading daylight, I clutch the shopping bag a little tighter than I need to, sending up a silent prayer that this date won’t break me more than it builds me.