CHAPTER 34
Cole
“Cole… this is beautiful,” she says as she turns slowly, taking in every detail: the string lights, the low cushions, her favourite wine, and the sunflowers. Her hand lifts, fingers absentmindedly brushing her collarbone.
“See? I told you you’d like it.” I spent the entire afternoon setting the scene, climbing up and down the stairs with crates and lights, and digging through storage for the good speakers.
“I really, really do. It’s perfect,”
I rub the back of my neck, trying to play it cool even though my heart’s been doing backflips since she stepped out of her room. “It’s not much. But we spend so much time downstairs, I figured we might as well claim the roof too.”
We make our way over to the blanket and sink onto the cushions, the fairy lights bathing her face. She notices the flowers first, her eyes lingering on the bright yellow petals.
“Will you ever tell me how you knew I love sunflowers?” she asks. “Because I asked Sophie, and she swears she didn’t say anything.”
I want to tell her the truth, and I will. Just not tonight. Saying it means admitting how I feel, and she’s not ready for that. Hell, I’m not ready for that. I don’t want to risk what we have. So I promise myself I’ll tell her when the time’s right.
“Nope. Just a lucky guess.” I tip my head back and take in the darkening sky. “You seem like a sunflower kind of girl.”
“Oh? And what kind of girl is that?”
“The kind who lights up like the sun when she’s around the people and things she loves.”
When she laughs, the tinkling sound curling into the space between us, I let out a breath. At least I got one thing right.
“I think that’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about me. But it’s not true. My life’s kind of a mess right now, as you know.”
“So?” I shrug. “Messy doesn’t cancel out light. You can be both.”
I pour each of us a glass of wine, prolonging the moment.
She lifts hers as though in a toast, gaze latching onto mine. “Thank you,” she says, and for a second, I think she might mean more than just the wine.
I follow her as she stands and drifts toward the balcony, her silhouette framed by the Brisbane city skyline.
Wind tugs gently at her hair, sending strands dancing across her cheeks.
The scent of her shampoo reaches me, jasmine and something else I can’t name but that has become synonymous with her.
“This is perfect,” she says again.
And I want to tell her, you’re what makes it perfect.
But I don’t. I look at her and let the moment between us be enough to feel, not enough to break.
“Tell me something you want that has nothing to do with anyone else.”
She glances at me. “What?”
“Something that’s just yours. Not Josh’s. Not Sophie’s. Not your therapist’s idea of progress. Just you.”
Her eyes bounce to her wineglass and back up. “I want to design something that makes people feel good.” She licks her bottom lip, pensive. “Like… I want someone to walk into a space I’ve created and feel a sense of ease. Like their shoulders drop without even knowing why.”
I nod, throat tight. That’s Quinn, always making room for everyone else, but never claiming any of it for herself.
“Then you should.”
“It’s not that simple. I’m trying, but I don’t even know if my house or Avellana will make the cut. If I’ve even done enough to help you.”
“You didn’t give up,” I remind her.
She doesn’t respond right away. Just blinks a few times, and I think maybe her eyes are a little glassy.
“You really believe I could?” she says finally.
“I do,” I say, and mean it. “What you’re doing to Avellana? It’s what I always wanted. We’ve gone through so many designers, but you’re the only one who’s actually understood my vision.”
She looks at me like she’s not used to being believed.
“Why are you always so nice to me?”
I hesitate, then say, “Because I see you showing up. Even when you’re scared. Even when it’s hard. And that matters to me.”
She doesn’t say anything, just wanders back over to our pillow setup.
When I join her, my gaze drops to her mouth instinctively.
She notices.
But doesn’t move away.
And I lean in. Slowly. Giving her ample opportunity to stop me if she wants to.
Her breath catches, but she stays. Inches apart now.
I can feel the warmth of her breath, and her hazel eyes flick to my mouth.
My heart thuds against my ribs, loud enough that I’m sure she can hear it.
Time stretches, heavy with everything unsaid.
One tilt closer and we’d be there, her lips on mine, the question answered before it ever needed to be asked.
And just before our mouths touch—
Her phone rings.
The moment snaps.
We both freeze, suspended in the space we almost crossed.
I don’t know if she’s going to pull away completely or close the distance anyway.
For a heartbeat, it could go either way, and then she turns, and I pull back just a fraction, every nerve in my body still tuned to the space where she almost met me.
“Sophie?” I ask, swallowing hard.
“Nope, just my pill reminder." She says as she walks over, picks up her phone, and taps the alarm off.
"That's a first." I tease, lifting an eyebrow and leaning in close. "You only talk to her what, nineteen times a day?”
She bumps my knee with hers. “Um, more like seventeen, but who’s counting? I can’t live my life without her.”
I chuckle. “I almost forgot she’s basically your emotional support hotline.”
She grins. “She was here before you, and she’ll be here long after.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know my place. Somewhere below Sophie, but maybe slightly above the wine?”
She tilts her head dramatically. “Mm… the wine’s a tough act to beat.”
I reach for the bottle of Shiraz. “Speaking of, another glass?”
She watches me for a second, then laughs, nudging my shoulder as she settles in closer. “One was perfect, thanks, Cole. I’m trying to be good.”
I pause, watching the way her lips curve as she speaks, the soft flush in her cheeks, the bare inch of skin exposed where her sweater slipped off her shoulder. “Sounds good to me.”
“Thanks for not pushing.”
“I listen, remember?”
She looks at me for a moment, thoughtful, her eyes scanning mine.
“Can I tell you a secret?” I ask.
“Anything.”
I lean in a little, conspiratorial. “I can’t stand the taste of wine.”
She blinks. “What? Why?”
“Well… Chad and I snuck into the wine cellar when I was sixteen. He threw a house party and I was meant to keep an eye on him. I’m still not sure why he seemed so cool to me, but I didn’t know him well at that point.
Markus had just married Mum, and I was desperate to impress him.
Anyway, we ended up drinking, I swear, like two and a half bottles each.
” I cringe at the memory, staring into my half-finished glass.
“I don’t think I’ve ever thrown up so much in my life. ”
She laughs. “Oh no, no wonder you hate it! That’s like me and fireball shots, which is why I was hesitant to play truth or dare that night,” she says.
“Last time I played with Sophie, years ago, she ended up holding my hair back while I threw up into my own handbag in the back of a taxi. No way could I have afforded the cleaning fee.”
I boom with laughter and hand her a cracker topped with some of the fancy cheese I’d tried to arrange like one of those Pinterest boards she’s always scrolling through. “Okay, no fireball for you then.”
“Couldn’t agree more. But wait… why are you drinking wine now?”
I look up at her. “For you.”
She tilts her head. “Yeah?”
“Yeah”
“That’s really sweet, but you definitely don’t have to,” she says, moaning as she finishes her bite. “I’ve actually been thinking about chilling out on the wine anyway. I think it got a little out of hand for a while.”
“Thank God. That was terrible.” I set my glass down with a shiver.
She snorts at my theatrics. “You know you don’t have to try to impress me, right?”
I glance over at her, my smile crooked. “I know. But… is it working?”
She leans into my side, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s working.”
“Then good. That’s all that matters.”
I should leave it there. I should let this moment be what it is. But her leaning in like that? It does something to me.
We relax into the cushions, and she shifts a little closer, her head tipping gently against my shoulder. The tension from earlier hasn’t disappeared; it’s just softened into something easier to breathe around.
And maybe, for tonight, that’s enough. No pressure. No questioning.
“I needed this,” she says quietly.
“I know,” I murmur. “Me too.”
And just like that, the ache of our almost-kiss doesn’t sting so much.
Because whatever this is… it’s still unfolding.
And as she leans fully into my side, I hope more than anything that she feels even a flicker of what I was trying to say without saying it.
And she deserves to feel it—not in grand gestures or perfect timing, but in the quiet steadiness of someone who means it.