Page 29 of Fragile (Cedar Lakes University #2)

Chapter twenty-eight

Miles

“We’re going to be late. Move your butt, Cooper!” Quinn rushes as she power-walks across the street toward the local shelter. Her ankle has been assessed by her head cheer coach, and she’s practically back to normal already. It’s been eleven days; she’s bionic to have that kind of healing speed.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

I’m not really that sorry. The reason we’re late is because I spent an extra ten minutes after class kissing her like we hadn’t seen each other in days. Except it hasn’t been days. It’s been maybe twenty hours since I left her.

“Watching you shake that cute ass in front of my face is making us being late so worth it, by the way.”

“Miles!” she chastises and covers her butt with her hands.

“Oh no, you don’t. I want to see the goods,” I tease, chasing after her.

“I’m walking faster to get away from you.” She hurries along, and I laugh, catching up to her and pulling her to a stop, resting my mouth just below her ear, feeling the ripples of a shudder begin as her body fits against mine. “Here I thought you were running so I could catch you.”

“Miles,” she whispers breathlessly, and my body responds to her need.

“Queenie,” I purr right back, nibbling on her earlobe. God, she even tastes like cinnamon. It’s intoxicating.

“We need to… We should… I mean…”

“Speechless again? Imagine that.”

Her elbow swiftly, but gently, juts into my gut as she pushes away from me. “I’m never speechless, just tongue tied. Now move it, Cooper.” She claps her hands twice to emphasize her impatience, and I follow behind her like a lost puppy. Except with her, I’ve never felt lost. Instead, I’ve always felt seen. And I’m pretty sure I’d follow her anywhere.

She swings the door open with ease, and as soon as she’s inside, a woman with light gray hair is waiting for her in the small foyer covered in green plants, giant ones with huge leaves. She’s petite, with a round, kind face framed by wisps of soft, silver hair. Dressed in a floral blouse and a pair of faded jeans, she exudes warmth. Her hands move with an effortless dexterity as she tends to the plants around her.

“Quinn, my dear!” the woman exclaims, her voice sweet and melodic. She steps forward, enveloping Quinn in a quick, affectionate hug.

“Maeve, it’s so good to see you. I missed you last time!” Quinn says, wrapping her arms around her, just as Maeve turns her attention to me.

“And who is this handsome young man?” she asks, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

“This is Miles,” Quinn introduces as she smiles at the interaction. “He’s helping me with the class today.”

Maeve’s eyes light up even more as she extends a hand to me. “Well, Miles, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I must say, Quinn has never mentioned how dashing her friend is.” She gives me a playful wink, making me chuckle.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Maeve.” Taking her hand, she gives it a gentle squeeze. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh, all good things, I hope!” Maeve coos, clutching at her imaginary pearls.

“Of course, only the best,” I assure her and return her playful gaze with a charming smile.

“Well, aren’t you a smooth talker,” Maeve says, still smiling. “Quinn, you’ve brought quite the gentleman with you today.”

Quinn’s cheeks flush slightly as she exchanges a glance with me. “Yeah, he’s not bad,” she admits with a sweet smile. “Figured he might learn a thing or two.”

“As long as I get to taste-test, I’m in.” Throwing a wink to Quinn, I rub my hands together and revel in the deeper shade of pink that stains her freckled cheeks.

Maeve’s chuckle stops Quinn’s response as she says, “Come on, you two lovebirds, let’s get you set up in the hall.” As she walks away, Quinn turns to face me, eyes wide.

“Taste-test?!” she whisper-hisses.

I can’t hold back the grin that begs to break free. “Yeah, Queenie, I want to taste…everything.” Stepping closer, I dust my knuckles over her cheek, following the blush down her delicate neck and collarbone. Her breathing shallows and those emerald eyes flutter before me like she could collapse into my arms at any moment. I lean forward quickly, pressing a brief kiss to her lips, ignoring the fact that I want more.

“Baking,” she whispers. “We need to bake.” Reality seeps back into her gaze, the focus widening her pupils once more, but not before she homes in on my lips and takes a deep, satisfying swallow, one that makes me want to combust.

“Baking, right. Let’s go.” I nod once, taking her hand and following where Maeve went.

***

I look over to Quinn as she opens a leather-bound book, and I see something so surprising it hits me like a freight train. Grief is a strange thing. It twists through time, tangles in memories, but mostly, it’s always something that sneaks up on me in the most unexpected moments. I didn’t expect it to find me today, but as I’m surrounded by the comforting scent of vanilla and cinnamon, I try to take a deep breath, as fractured memories rattle around my brain. My eyes stay fixed on what Quinn is holding in her hands.

“Quinn, is that…” I pause, because I’ve only ever seen it on a card from my sixth birthday that’s tucked away in my childhood bedroom. “Is that my mom’s handwriting?”

Quinn shifts nervously and nods, dragging her fingers over the small writing, and my heart thuds. “It is,” she says quietly over the chatter in the room around us.

“Where did you get that?”

“She gave me some recipes for my fifth birthday.” She pauses for a second, guilt flitting across her features. “I thought you knew, I’m sorry.”

I didn't know. And now, staring at the handwritten card, heartache crashes over me, transporting me back to the boy who suddenly lost his mom. Years have passed since she died, but the pain feels as raw as if it happened yesterday. Seeing my mom's recipes alive in Quinn's hands is both beautiful and heartbreaking.

“I didn’t know,” I say, struggling to keep my voice steady. “But don’t be sorry. I’m glad you have them.”

Quinn pauses until our eyes connect again, her expression a mix of sympathy and something deeper. “I’ve used them a lot over the years. Your mom was an amazing baker, and her recipes are like little pieces of her.”

My chest tightens, and I take a deep breath, trying to keep my emotions in check. “I remember her baking with us when I was really young. It’s one of the few clear memories I have of her.” Really the only one that I remember. My head fills with the distant sounds from that day of her laughing, Quinn being covered in flour as she stood on a wooden stool, hip to hip with my mom. The smell of sugar and butter floated around the kitchen as we all made my mom’s favorite cookies.

Quinn’s eyes soften, and she reaches out, placing a hand on my arm. Knowing she’s kept and cherished something so precious to me, and made it a part of her life, makes my heart ache and swell at the same time. I take a minute to look at her, really look at her, and something shifts inside me. I see the depth of her care, something she’s always given away so freely. Her and my mom always got on so well, and maybe that’s why, because they were so similar. I haven’t given it much thought until now.

Quinn is the most caring person I’ve ever known. The way she’s been there for me, holding me together even when I felt like falling apart, my entire life. When my mom passed, she didn’t leave my room. When my dad worked twenty-four-seven after that, she would sit on her porch with me while I waited, staring at my house across the street wondering if he’d decide to come home this weekend. And even now, she’s holding me together while I try to navigate this. Through everything, Quinn has always been there.

And in this moment, I realize something else. Maybe I’ve been falling for her for a while, maybe my whole life. If I think about it, I’ve always gravitated to her, and she’s been the same with me. If she was late for curfew, she’d sneak into my house, because it was so much easier than sneaking into her own, and ask me to walk into her house with her. Which only happened once because nine times out of ten, we were together anyway, and both walked in to face the disappointing headshakes of her dad. Then we’d pass out in the cinema room, watching movies, which is why we still watch so many even now. We’ve spent years being intertwined.

Only, I can’t forget that I’m still walking a tight rope, scared to fall, scared to lose things in my life, scared to mess everything up.

The last two years have been clustered with so many bad decisions on my part… But I also know that I have her, and she’s here for me and more important than any of it. Always has been, even before I kissed her. Even before she opened my eyes to something more than friendship. So, what if everything I thought I wanted was a lie and there’s one thing I want more than anything. What if she’s my one?

Not able to draw my attention from her, she begins her class.

“I missed you all!” she coos, her smile warm. “So today, we have my favorite family cookie recipe to make. Who’s ready?”

“Who is that?” a little girl with black curly hair asks, nestled next to a lady who I assume is her mom.

Quinn’s eyes track me. “Natalia, this is Miles. He’s my…friend. In fact, he is one of my best friends,” she says proudly, and suddenly I want to hear her say that I’m more than her friend. “He’s helping me today just like your mom is helping you.”

She carries on, showing everyone how to measure flour correctly. How to make sure you don’t overmix the batter, how soft the butter should be to combine with the sugar, all notes I remember my mom explaining to us in my kitchen. I can see the transformation in the faces around her—the initial nervousness giving way to excitement and pride as they realize they can do this. Quinn has a way of making everyone feel capable and important. It's one of the things I love most about her.

I stand at the edge of the table, content to watch her. Her red hair is tied back with a white bow today, a few stray strands escaping to frame her face, and her eyes are shining. She’s beautiful.

When she glances my way, her eyes lock onto mine. She smiles a radiant smile that makes my heart skip a beat. “Miles, come over here,” she calls, waving me closer. “I could use your help.” I hesitate for a moment, but the warmth in her eyes draws me in. As I step forward, she hands me a mixing bowl. “We’re about to mix the dry and wet ingredients,” she says, her hand briefly brushing mine. The simple touch sends a spark through me.

“Okay,” I hesitate. “Are you sure I’m the one who should do this?”

“Hmm…” She taps her lip. “Maybe you’re right, you did almost burn down your dorm that one time.”

“Oh, stop it. Am I ever going to live that down?” I chuckle.

“Probably not. But you’ve got me to help you, so all you have to do is pour this,” she says, nudging the bowl already in my hands, “with this.” She points to the mixer in front of us.

“So, I really can’t mess it up?”

“You really can’t. Look…” She points to the class full of whirring mixers and smiling people. “Not everyone here is a pro baker; they just want to have fun.”

I realize that Quinn isn’t just teaching us how to bake. She’s creating a sense of community, a safe space where everyone can contribute and feel valued. Something she’s so damn good at.

Half an hour later, we’re devouring an entire tray of cookies. She nailed the recipe, because I’m instantly transported back to being a kid as soon as the buttery goodness hits my tongue.

“Good, right?”

“So good,” I groan through a mouthful. Quinn’s chuckle skates over my skin and grips a hold of something in my chest. “Thank you for today, I really mean it. I had a great time.”

The smile she gives me almost knocks me on my ass, but it’s her words that make me come alive. “I’m just trying to help you find some joy again, Miles. That’s all.”

“Maybe you already have.”

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I pull her body to me so I can claim her mouth like I’ve wanted to all day. She tastes like chocolate and cinnamon and everything about her feels like home.