Page 34 of Finding Haven (Haven #2)
Quinn
I haven’t given much thought to what it would be like having Zack actively working on something for his job with the organization.
Now that he has asked me to stay here in his home while he’s working , I hate it.
My stomach has been a twisted mess of knots, and I’m pretty sure I haven’t taken a full breath since he left.
“He wouldn’t have left you at his house if he didn’t plan on coming home,” Becca says through the phone.
I lasted all of thirty minutes before my stomach was so queasy I couldn’t take it anymore and called her to distract me.
I won’t break Zack’s trust by telling her about his other job.
I just needed to be able to vent to my best friend a little bit.
“I know that, but it just feels weird to be here without him. Like, we haven’t known each other all that long, and he just…
wants me to wait for him here while he’s busy working?
” I feel like I’ve been talking in circles since the moment she picked up the phone, but I’m desperately trying to distract myself from the dark path my mind keeps going down.
I have no idea what kind of assignment he’s working on, how many people are involved, or what exactly the threat is.
Could he be in danger? How will I know if he gets hurt? Would he even think to tell someone that I’m here waiting for him, or will I just end up stuck here by myself for a few days, wondering what’s happened to him while he lies in a hospital bed fighting for his life?
Nope. Stop it. Don’t go there.
“I think it’s sweet,” Becca chimes, her face filling my screen as she grabs her phone from where she had propped it against something on the kitchen counter. “He wants to come home to you. How cute is that?”
A blush coats my cheeks as I tug my bottom lip between my teeth. “Is it too soon for this? It feels too soon.” I can’t help the smile that spreads across my lips, quickly covering my face with one hand.
“Maybe? But who cares! There’s no timeline on love.
It’s not like there’s a rule book somewhere that says you have to do things at a certain rate.
” The screen brightens as she flips on the bathroom light and props her phone up on the counter.
I can see the few different bottles of semi-permanent hair dye lined up from where she’s placed her phone.
Changing the subject, I say, “What color are you going with this time?”
“Neverland,” she says, holding up a bottle of mint-green dye. “Or Cotton Candy Dream?” She holds up a bottle of bright, electric-blue dye.
“The blue. The dark blue you have now looks good, I bet that bright blue would look freaking amazing,” I tell her.
“Cotton Candy Dreams it is!”
I watch as she gathers a few things and begins separating her hair into sections, pulling a majority of it up with a claw clip while leaving down the strands already dyed a darker blue.
“You should go snoop through his shit,” she says, her eyes on the mirror as she watches herself .
“I’m not gonna do that, Bex. He asked me to stay here because…” He wants to know that I’m safe while he’s out doing something potentially life-threatening. “He trusts me,” I finish.
“Yeah, yeah,” she says in a dry tone. “But what if there are skeletons in his closet? You can find out now and get the fuck outta there before he gets home.”
“Byyeee, Bex,” I say, dragging out the first word with a laugh.
She laughs, waving a hand at the camera before I disconnect the call. A heavy sigh escapes my lungs as I lean back against the couch, my gaze roaming over the open living space.
Zack’s home is stunning. My mind and body were too occupied the other times I’ve been in this room, but now that I have the time to truly take it in, I’m in awe.
Large windows framed by dark curtains span one entire wall, letting in sunlight and making it feel as though the beach is practically in the room.
Large sliding glass doors open up to a wooden deck and a path that leads down to the beach.
It’s no wonder he enjoys going for runs down on the beach.
I bet the view is absolutely incredible at sunrise.
Rising from the couch, I make my way into the kitchen.
I learned to cook for myself at a young age, and it’s become a comfort habit over the years.
The idea of cooking a homemade meal for Zack to come home to has butterflies swarming my stomach and a smile returning to my face.
Imagining him enjoying a meal that I made just for him slightly eases the tension from my body.
After rummaging through the refrigerator and pantry and running through a mental ingredients list in my mind, I manage to find everything I need to whip up a decent dinner.
It won’t be anything fancy, but maybe he’ll still appreciate the gesture.
Given how well his fridge is stocked, he seems like the kind of guy who rarely eats out.
With my favorite Spotify playlist pulled up on my phone, it doesn’t take me long to get the chicken prepped, seasoned, and into the oven along with a sheet pan of vegetables that I drizzled with olive oil.
Everything will only take about an hour to cook, aside from the alfredo sauce that I’ll make last. It gives me plenty of time to hyperfixate on all the things that could possibly go wrong while he’s gone.
I refuse to allow myself to dive down that rabbit hole.
Instead, I grab my phone from the counter and head down the hall to the guest room where I left my bag from the night before.
It’s hard to believe it’s only been a few days since I discovered Zack is NoMerZ, my top subscriber.
If I’m being honest with myself, I’ve felt tethered to him since the night we met at the Elysian bar.
It feels like fate has played a part in bringing him back into my life.
I’d like to think that even without him subscribing to my Frisk account, we still would’ve somehow found our way back into each other’s orbit.
Maybe I wouldn’t have been so in my head the day he came to update Buttersweet’s security system, and I would’ve realized he was standing right in front of me.
Reaching the guest room, I throw my duffle bag onto the bed and begin emptying it, searching through my options for lingerie.
I had wanted to take advantage of a new location and create some content for my account while I’m here anyway.
It just so happens to also be the perfect way to distract myself until Zack returns.
Of course, I’m not even sure why I’m bothering to sort through the different sets when I already know what I’ll be wearing .
Grabbing the other pink set I bought from the boutique—one Zack hasn’t seen yet—and a coordinating lace mask from my bag, I quickly get changed before moving into the bathroom to curl my hair.
It’s always a bit awkward to pull half of my hair up, slip the mask on, and then take my hair back down, but I’d rather have the elastic band that secures the mask covered.
Slipping into lingerie feels a bit like putting on armor, and my mindset immediately shifts.
Dressed like this, I’m not Quinn Mitchell, the twenty-three year old with a chronic illness. I’m not the girl who has to work harder than anyone else I know just to keep my body functioning the way it should.
I’m SugarQueen, and I’ve got more people willing to pay to see what I’ve got to offer than I could’ve ever imagined.