CHAPTER 49
Quinn
Ilove you. I love you. I love you.
I sit up abruptly and reach for the nearest piece of clothing. My fingers fold around his shirt before I stand and clamber away from the bed, the distance feeling like the only shield I have left.
His shoulders tense, a flicker of hurt crossing his face. My heart aches at the sight, but my fear screams louder.
“How could you say that you love me? You can’t love someone you met a few months ago, Cole.” I wrap my arms around myself, pressing my palms into my elbows as I stare at him through blurry eyes.
“I wasn’t honest with you at the bar that night,” he admits breathlessly. “It wasn’t the first time we met. I saw you once before… and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since.”
I blink, stunned, my throat tightening as my eyes dart over his face, searching for a lie and finding only raw honesty. “What?”
“Six years ago, I was working. It was a Friday night, and I messed up your drink order, and then some guy came over and put his arms around your waist. You laughed at whatever he whispered to you, and you looked so happy,” Cole says, and my eyes dip to where his knuckles have gone white around the sheet he’s clutching.
“Six years ago,” I murmur, more to myself than to him. My throat tightens as a memory stirs. “I remember… a flash. A feeling.”
It sharpens in fragments: the bass of the music thumping through the bar floor, the bitter taste of the vodka lime soda that wasn’t mine, the warmth of the crowd pressing close. A moment that burned without me realising it had left a mark.
“I met Josh that night,” I whisper, the words bitter on my tongue. “And I thought the feeling I got in that moment was him. But it wasn’t. It… it was you. When I looked up to pay.”
Cole’s lips part, his brows drawing together. “All this time… you thought it was him?” His voice is hushed, laced with disbelief and something like pain.
I look up at him, softer now, and my voice cracks. “Yeah, I did. But it was always you, wasn’t it?”
My mind spins. What if I’m making the same mistake again? What if my heart is wrong, and I’ve confused longing with destiny?
“So come with me,” he pleads. “We don’t have to decide anything yet.”
My gaze drops to the floor. “But I can’t. A year might not sound like much, but right now, it feels like forever to me.”
“Quinn,” he says, climbing off the bed to stand barefoot in front of me. “You are enough. You are everything. I’ll love you wherever you are. Australia, Europe, the fucking moon. I don’t care, as long as it’s with you.”
I shake my head, tears stinging my eyes. I packed up my life once before. I gave everything and lost myself for six years. I’m scared to do that again. I can’t do that again.
“What if you get bored with me?” I ask, and the question tastes like acid. I hate how small it makes me sound, but it’s the only truth I know.
“Quinn,” he says gently, his eyes weighted down with something I can’t decipher. “Why do you think I named the bar Avellana?”
I frown, brow furrowing, my teeth worrying at my lower lip as a thousand doubts rattle through my mind. “Why?”
“It means hazel in Spanish. Like your eyes. I never forgot them.”
“Avellana,” I whisper, the word trembling out.
His eyes lift to mine, shining with something raw and unguarded.
“I wish I’d known it was you,” I say, voice breaking. “I wish I could have chosen differently.” The regret cuts deep, sharper than I want to admit. “And the sunflowers?”
“The earrings you wore that night.”
Cole bridges the last few steps between us and wraps his arms around me. My body leans toward him instinctively, while my mind claws to keep control. His cheek brushes against my temple, and for a moment, I let myself rest there. I don’t resist, but I don’t fully fall into him either.
“I know this sounds scary,” he says against my hair, voice breaking. “But I promise you it’s not. We can see Paris, just like you’ve always wanted.”
“It’s not that simple,” I whisper, almost to myself.
His eyes search mine, flicking back and forth as if he’s trying to read every hidden thought I’m not ready to voice. “Please,” he says. “Just give us a chance?”
I try to smile. “What if we just stayed friends with benefits?”
“Quinn,” he says, his hand brushing the side of my arm, “Can you honestly say you don’t feel this too?”
I look down and the ground blurs through a film of tears as I step back.
“If you say no, I’ll still stay for the auction,” he says finally, voice unsteady. “I’ll help with whatever you need. I’m not walking away just because you don’t love me back. I’d never do that to you.”
“It’s not just about how I feel,” I whisper.
“It’s about where I’m at. I’m living in a house my ex picked out.
I don’t even have a job. I’ve got nothing to offer you.
” The words scrape my throat raw because deep down, I know he isn’t asking for any of that.
He’s asking for the one thing I can’t give him: my trust, my heart, the healed and the broken pieces of me I’m still too afraid to hand over.
“You can list a hundred reasons.” His jaw tightens, eyes burning with conviction. “It won’t change how I feel. I love you. That’s my truth.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“The right love is easy. But I’m not asking you to say it back, I just wanted you to know.
” He sighs, shoulders slumping. “If you need space, I’ll give you that.
But I had to say it. I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
I’ve almost told you a dozen times, on the roof at Avellana, the beach, every morning I wake up with you in my arms. It’s always been right there. ”
I nod, throat aching. “Time,” I manage. “I just need time. I don’t know how long.”
His lips part like he wants to argue, then close again.
“Okay,” he says quietly.
“I need to stay at Sophie’s,” I say, already gathering my clothes and moving toward the door. The brass handle is cold beneath my palm. My reflection wavers faintly in its surface, eyes red, lips trembling.
A part of me wants to turn back, to pull him into me, kiss him until the fear dissolves. But I don’t. Because love doesn’t erase doubt, and I still don’t trust my own heart.
I’ve been slowly falling in love with him, every kiss, every laugh, every second over the last few months. But I’ve also been learning how to protect myself. And right now, that’s the louder voice.
Because it wasn’t just Josh. I mean, sure, the pain he inflicted left me raw, and the betrayal still makes me flinch at anything resembling love.
But this… this with Cole is different. Cole isn’t asking me to trust him with a promise.
He’s looking at me like he already sees all the parts I’ve tried to keep hidden.
The impulsive parts, the hopeful parts, the parts that still believe in connection.
And that is scarier than anything Josh ever did.
Because it’s one thing to be left behind by someone who never really saw me, but it’s another thing entirely to be wanted by someone who does.
My heart shatters into a million pieces as I close the front door, leaving Cole standing on the porch.
Another day of self-sabotage, sealed. I look back one last time and catch a glimpse of him still there, his shoulders hunched, one hand braced against the doorframe, his face stricken.
He doesn’t call out though. He just watches.
Gravel crunches under my shoes as I cross to the car, and when I slide into the seat, I’m cocooned in silence.
For a moment, I sit there with my hands trembling on the steering wheel like it’s the only thing tethering me to earth. Then the first tear escapes, hot, angry, and I let the rest follow. My chest heaves, the thought striking me that this car has seen more of my breakdowns than anyone ever has.
I cry for the six years I spent with the wrong guy, giving until there was nothing left.
I cry for the girl I used to be, the one who laughed too loud, loved too hard, and dove into the deep end without fear.
I cry for Cole, sweet, capable, sunflower-giving Cole, because I saw the way he looked at me when he said he loved me. Like I was already his home. And maybe I am, but I can’t bring myself to hand over the keys.
And I cry because I walked away anyway.
But the ache doesn’t fade with the tears. If anything, it grows heavier. I lean my forehead against the steering wheel, gripping it until my knuckles blanch, and for a long moment, I breathe. In. Out. In. Out. The rhythm is all I can hold on to.
Inside me, two voices battle, the reckless heart urging me to run back in, to throw myself into his arms, to believe in the impossible, and the cautious mind reminding me of the wreckage I’ve only just started to crawl out of.
That tug-of-war only hurts worse when I think about the way he said my name.
The steering wheel grows slick beneath my palms as fresh tears spill and I whisper into the empty car, “Why does love always find me when I’m too broken to hold it?”
I let out a sob, and it echoes in the small space as my forehead drops against the wheel again, the sound swallowed by the stillness around me.
Eventually, when my tears slow enough for me to see clearly, I wipe them away with the back of my hand, shift the car into reverse, and make my way across the city to Sophie’s.