CHAPTER 40
Quinn
Iswear to God, if I have to wash one more paint roller, I’m going to die. I haven’t left this house since Avellana’s grand reopening last week, and I can’t spend another day trapped renovating this (now slightly refined) shitshow of a house.
I need out. Out of this house, out of my own head.
“Let’s go,” I blurt, twisting toward Cole, who’s sitting beside me, eyes glued to where Lorelai and Emily are discussing her Vicious Trollop lipstick.
He furrows his brow. “Where?”
“I don’t know.” How do I explain that I can’t sit still another second? “Anywhere.”
I haven’t felt this rush since before Josh. Long before he chipped away at that part of me, Sophie and I used to get in the car and go. No plans, no destination.
We’d skip our last class on Fridays and drive for no reason at all except that we could.
And I want that back.
“Okay. I’m keen,” Cole says, turning the TV off.
“Great, you start the car and I’ll drive,” I say, already on my feet. Sudden energy propels me toward the kitchen, socks sliding across the hardwood floor as I yank open the everything drawer in a clatter and dig for my keys.
“Yeah, so… probably best if I drive.” He smirks, that familiar dimple tugging at his cheek.
“Hey, what’s wrong with my driving?” I demand, planting my hands on my hips in mock indignation.
Cole levels me one of his signature looks, brows arched and lips pressed into a flat line. Serious on the surface, but the spark in his eyes gives him away.
“I swear it didn’t beep before I hit that curb.” I throw my hands up dramatically and sigh. “It’s not my fault they put them everywhere.”
“Uh-huh, that’s what you always say.” He shakes his head with a grin.
“You’re the worst.” I pause mid-step, rolling my eyes, though a smile tugs at my lips. “Just hurry up. I’m ready to go.”
“Do we need to pack a bag?”
“Oh, right… Yeah, good idea.”
Cole chuckles as I sprint into my room. As soon as I yank open my cupboard, I grab the closest bag, not noticing the strap caught beneath a pile of junk. I tug harder in my rush, and a cascade of storage tubs and old shoeboxes topples to the floor in a clatter that makes me wince.
I ignore the mess and begin to unzip the large duffle bag, dropping to my knees as I rifle through my floordrobe, the air faint with detergent and sawdust. I toss in whatever my hands land on: clothes, toiletries, a bikini, a toothbrush.
Even a handful of blind optimism makes its way into the now-overflowing bag.
If I linger too long, doubt will creep in and smother this spark, my spark. It feels delicate, like a flame flickering in the open air. I want to guard it, cradle it, use it before it fades.
Once I’m satisfied, I slip in a few extra pairs of underwear for good measure and wrestle the zipper closed with both hands, the teeth straining before they finally catch.
I sling the heavy bag over my shoulder and half skip, half run down the hall, the strap biting lightly into my skin as the weight bounces against my hip.
I burst out the front door, late afternoon air cool against my cheeks as I rush down the porch steps. “Did you lock the front door?” Cole yells from his rolled-down window.
“Ugh.” I groan, skidding to a stop, and spin back to the front door, fingers jiggling the stubborn lock until it clicks.
With a nod, I make a break for the car and hurl my bag into the footwell on the passenger side, squeezing my feet in next to it. My heart hammers against my ribs as I fight to catch my breath.
Cole chuckles again, a mix of surprise and amusement in his green eyes, like he’s seeing this reckless side of me for the first time and not the least bit fazed by it.
His gaze drops briefly to the overstuffed bag at my feet, lips twitching. “You moving out?”
“Excuse me for being prepared.” I shoot him a glare, narrowing my eyes with exaggerated drama.
He leans down, pretending to unzip the bag. “What else you got in here? Blender? Half the kitchen?”
“Touch it and you’ll be walking.” I huff, shoving the bag further under my feet. “Not all of us can survive on one T-shirt and a toothbrush.”
“That’s all a guy needs,” he says smugly. “So, where to?”
“Let’s go to the beach,” I say, twisting my hair into a loose bun. A few strands slip free, brushing against my cheeks. “Or is that too cliché?”
“I’ll go wherever you want to go.”
I’ve come to love this about Cole: his willingness to follow me with blind faith, even when I insist I know better on the renovations but don’t. Even when I want to do things like this, make choices that are mine alone—the kind I haven’t made in years.
“The beach it is.” I match his grin, turn on the music, and take a deep breath, ready for the long drive.
“I haven’t been to the Gold Coast in ages,” Cole says, shifting gears smoothly and merging onto the road.
“Me either.”
God, I can’t even remember the last time I dipped my toes into the ocean. The cool rush of saltwater curling around my ankles, sand grinding between my toes. It used to be one of my favourite places in the world.
Sophie and I would pile into her car almost every weekend in summer and spend hours sprawled on the sand before wandering to the markets for smoothies that tasted like sunshine in a cup, sunburned shoulders and messy hair.
“Let’s make a day of it then.” He smiles over at me, his fingers flicking the gearstick with an easy confidence.
“Or let’s stay the night,” I suggest, tucking my legs up under me on the seat, angling toward him.
Right now, that’s exactly what I crave: sunshine warming my skin, and the wild, unrestrained freedom to go wherever I want, whenever I want.
A smile spreads across his lips. “I’m down.” His fingers drum lightly on the steering wheel, like even he can’t contain the energy buzzing between us.
“Two beds, of course,” I say, but a pang twists through me. I’d be lying if I claimed I hadn’t grown used to waking in his arms, my head pillowed against his bare chest, his arm heavy over my middle, the two of us tangled in blankets.
I have a feeling it’s not just me pretending to be asleep a little longer, both of us clinging to those stolen moments before he finally untangles himself.
“Of course,” he says, all innocence. “You’ll miss me though.”
“As if.” I duck my chin into my chest, feeling my face heat. “I definitely won’t miss your snoring.”
“At least I don’t hog the blankets.”
“I do not!” I swat at his arm, my palm meeting the solid muscle of his bicep.
“Do too.” He leans in just enough that I catch the curve of his smirk, a challenge in his eyes.
My response is a grumbled sigh.
“Explain why I wake up shivering every night then.” He glances at me, mischief glinting in his green eyes, clearly enjoying the argument.
“Maybe that’s just karma for stealing all the pillows,” I shoot back, arching a brow.
“No way.” He chuckles, leaning closer across the console. “You’ve claimed them all before I even close my eyes.”
“Ugh.” I nudge him with my shoulder, though warmth pools in my chest. “You’re impossible sometimes.”
“I know.” He clicks his tongue. “One bed it is then.”
“I’ll check what accommodation’s left.”
I pull out my phone and scroll through a booking app, thumb skimming too fast like I’m afraid I’ll lose my nerve if I pause. “Well, the hotel’s on me,” I say, flashing Cole a picture of a seaside place down south Sophie and I always stayed in.
“Are you sure? I can cover it.” He checks the listing. “That looks fancy.”
“I’m sure,” I reply quickly, punching the directions into Maps, the screen glow reflecting in the windows. “Besides, I’ve got a hotel credit that’s about to expire anyway.”
My throat tightens as the memory hits, the weekend I’d planned for Josh’s birthday. I can still see the reservation email glowing on my laptop, the room already paid for, our bag half-packed by the door. Then my phone buzzed: Can’t make it. Out with the boys.
I remember staring at those words until they blurred.
But I push the flashback aside. He’s taken enough from me already, and I won’t let him steal another moment.
“That’s lucky,” he says, though the look he gives me says he’s not entirely convinced. “Are you sure?”
“Yep! Don’t worry about it.” I turn the phone face-down on my thigh, the screen’s chill seeping into my skin like a reminder to let it go. “I just want to have fun.”
“We can do everything you want.” Cole glances over at me, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.
For a moment, I imagine reaching across the console, letting my fingers brush his. The thought lingers, hot and reckless, before I tuck it away. One spontaneous decision is enough for today. I press my hands into my lap to keep them still, watching the highway unfurl endlessly ahead.
Looking over at Cole, I can’t help but feel lucky to be here with him, sharing this moment of pure excitement.
The hum of the engine vibrates through the seat, the tyres hum against the road in a steady rhythm, and the late-afternoon sunlight flickers across the dashboard, painting his profile gold.
The first and only chance I may ever have to do this with him, a fragile slice of time I know I’ll replay in my head long after it’s gone.