CHAPTER 45
Quinn
Warmth cocoons me, and for a second, I can’t place why I feel at peace. A dream? Maybe. It has that hazy feeling. I burrow closer to what might be the world’s comfiest pillow until I realise it’s not a pillow. Not a couch cushion either.
My sleepy brain finally catches up as the events of last night trickle back. I’m tangled up with Cole. My back pressed to his chest, head on his bicep, his legs woven through mine.
I shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as I am. But I can’t help it. Ever since that night on the rooftop, lying under the stars, I’ve wondered what it would feel like to have him hold me like this.
I shift slightly, and something solid and impressive presses against me. Heat coils low in my belly and I force myself to breathe through it, to shove those thoughts to the back of my mind where they can’t take root.
I tell myself to move, to untangle before I blur the friendship line any more than I already have. But when I move, his arm tightens around my waist, a soft sound escaping his throat. I freeze, then take it as a sign to stay there just a moment longer, soaking in the quiet.
His hair is a mess, his face relaxed, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth. There’s no way I could’ve let him sleep on that couch. And I’m relieved I don’t have to.
My back protests every morning I wake up on that thing, and I swear I’ve aged twenty years in a few months.
Eventually, my bladder protests, so I slip free. Cole doesn’t stir this time, and I tiptoe out of the room, stifling a smile. A splash of cold water and a quick shower later, followed by breakfast, and I’m finally awake enough to face the day.
I scroll through my phone, the renovation spreadsheet glowing back at me, “en suite reno” scheduled for today. I pad toward the bathroom to get a head start before Cole wakes up.
I start clearing the drawers one by one. My fingers brush over cracked soap dishes, faded bath salts, half-empty shampoo bottles, and tangled hair ties, every bit of clutter landing in the trash bag with a satisfying thud.
I’ve already thrown away a long-forgotten condom box wedged behind a drawer. We weren’t trying for a baby, but we weren’t not trying either. I sent a silent prayer that the universe was looking out for me back then.
“Quinn?” Cole’s voice carries down the hall.
“Yeah, in here,” I call, tossing another handful of clutter into the bag.
“Need a hand?” he asks, stepping in and leaning against the doorframe, hair still damp from his shower.
“I’m almost done.” I tug open another drawer, and the faint trace of Josh's old cologne drifts out. I almost gag as it invades my nostrils.
My face must give me away because Cole’s voice comes softly behind me. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. It’s strange how the smallest things pull you back.” I find the bottle tucked behind a stack of cloths and toss it into the bin.
When I meet Cole’s gaze again, I manage a genuine smile. “I’m okay. Really.”
“Good,” he says quietly.
“I mean it,” I add, holding his gaze. “I’ve let it go. I’m happy now.”
And I’m starting to believe it. I’ve learnt to let these light, unfamiliar feelings settle. I don’t examine them too closely, afraid of what they might mean, but grateful to be feeling something other than the emptiness that’s shadowed me for years.
“That’s good,” he murmurs. “I’m always here if you want to talk about it.”
“I know and thank you. But I think I’ve said everything there is to say about him.”
He nods, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “Well, I’m happy if you’re happy.”
“I’ll be happier once I have that sledgehammer in my hands.” I brush strands of hair from my forehead.
Cole chuckles. “Okay then, I’ll help you here, and then we can start.”
We fall into rhythm, clearing out the last of the drawers. His fingers brush mine as we reach for the same item, a spark of awareness flaring between us. My breath hitches, the memory of this morning still fresh.
“Ready for demo?” he asks when we drop the last handful of clutter into the bag, and he helps me up.
“Trust me, I’ve been waiting to destroy this bathroom.” I trace the chipped edge of the vanity. Excitement rushes through me every time I get to strip away another old memory from this house.
“Should I be worried about how much you’re enjoying this?” he teases.
“Maybe a little,” I say, flashing a grin. “Therapy’s expensive. Demolition’s free.”
He laughs as he hands me the sledgehammer. Maybe aim away from me this time.”
I give him a look, the kind that says really? Without a word, and lift it, bringing it down against the vanity.
The wood splinters with a crack that vibrates through my arms, satisfaction buzzing in my chest as dust settles around us.
By late afternoon, the new vanity gleams under the lights, white marble and gold fixtures glowing like something new. My muscles ache in that way that means progress. I pause, leaning against the doorframe, letting the accomplishment settle before the day shifts again.
Cole steps into the spare bathroom for a shower while I install the matching hardware I chose for the shower we tiled the other day.
I twist the shower handle to test the pressure, and suddenly it rebels. The handheld sprayer lashes against my chest, icy water hammering into me. Before I can react, the main head erupts, drenching my shoulders and plastering my hair against my neck.
“Cole!” I shout, slippery hands tugging at the fixtures as water cascades down, soaking me.
He rushes in, wearing only a towel. For a split second, I forget the chaos, struck by the mix of absurdity and heat in the moment.
A laugh almost escapes me, but it tangles with the flutter in my chest instead.
Droplets cling to his chest, and if I weren’t currently being waterboarded, I would shamelessly admire every line of him.
“Hang on.” He steps past me, brushing against my arm. Goose bumps rise along my skin as warmth radiates from him. He twists the fixture, silencing the gush of water.
“I definitely did something wrong,” I murmur, heat creeping up my neck.
“Just a little,” he says with a teasing glint, breath brushing my cheek.
I tug at my soaked shirt, the fabric clinging to my skin and sending a shiver through me. I feel my nipples pebble as his eyes flick down and then quickly away, a faint flush blooming across his cheeks.
“It’s okay. Next time, we shut off the main water supply,” he says with a grin, reaching past me to check the tap. His arm grazes mine again, and I instinctively lean in closer, before I can stop myself.
I try to find words, but my brain is a scattered mess of thoughts all about Cole. “Thanks for rescuing me,” I manage finally.
His laugh rumbles low, fading as his gaze lingers a little too long on my lips. “It’s what I’m here for.”
For a moment, we stand there in the narrow shower, both drenched, water still dripping between us. I should move, should pull away, but his closeness anchors me in place.
“We should get dry,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to my lips.
“We should,” I whisper, my breath catching as his fingers graze my wrist.
“Quinn.” His voice is rough as he steps in closer, the space between us dissolving until I can feel the heat radiating off him.
“We shouldn’t,” I whisper, though my pulse is already betraying me, fluttering beneath his touch.
For a moment, it feels like the world narrows to this: his breath, my heartbeat, the warmth curling between us.
Then he exhales, steady and quiet, and takes a small step back. “I’ll… go start dinner.”
I nod, forcing a small smile as a quiet wave of disappointment settles low in my chest, the kind that lingers even when you know it shouldn’t. “I’ll change.”
The moment lingers, tension clinging to my skin before finally loosening its grip. I stand there dripping, water running down my spine, breath catching on thoughts I can’t quite name.
Maybe we never will. Maybe we can’t. But the wanting remains, refusing to fade. Every day we spend together blurs the line a little more. It’s becoming impossible not to cross it, even though I know he’s leaving and I’m not ready to.