Chapter 81: Madeline
The next two days pass in a strange rhythm — calm but restless.
The storm hasn’t let up once. Rain hammers against the windows, thunder rolls like the ocean itself is angry, and not a single one of us is allowed on the boat.
So instead, the Dock Square Coffee House becomes our temporary headquarters.
By now, the baristas know our orders by heart. Jake and Reid sit near the back, headphones on, typing so fast it sounds like gunfire. Charlie, as usual, splits her time between doodling whales in her notebook and actually working. Finn, Liam, and Sloane last about an hour before getting bored out of their minds and slipping out “for fresh air,” which everyone knows means avoiding work.
I stay, most of the time — tucked near the window, cross-legged with my laptop, trying to focus on data while the storm thrums behind me. It’s not all bad. The smell of espresso and rain mixing together might be one of my favorite things in the world.
Whenever I glance up, I can see them at the next table over, whispering and laughing about something — probably planning. Because when we’re not working, everyone’s scheming about the twins’ birthday.
Apparently, it’s in five days. And apparently, they hate parties.
Which, naturally, means the entire team is determined to throw the biggest one Northhaven’s ever seen.
Every time someone mentions it, Finn lights up like a kid on Christmas.
“This is payback,” he said yesterday, leaning across the table with a conspiratorial grin. “For all the times Reid yelled about us being ‘unprofessional.’ I’m talking decorations, music, fireworks—”
“No fireworks,” Charlie cut in.
Finn ignored her. “—and maybe a piñata that looks like Reid’s face.”
Liam nearly spat out his coffee. “I’ll bring the bat.”
They’re impossible. And yet, it’s… kind of adorable.
This place, these people — it’s chaotic and loud and absolutely not what I’m used to. But it’s starting to feel like something that might become home.
At least, when Sloane isn’t around.
At home, I’ve been trying to stay out of her way.
We barely cross paths, and when we do, I make sure to be polite — to smile, to ask if she needs anything, to pretend nothing’s wrong.
She never smiles back.
It’s not just dislike — it’s colder than that. Calculated.
And I can’t figure out what I did.
Maybe I said something wrong that day on the boat. Maybe she heard something about me from someone else. Maybe she just hates me because I’m new, or because of the attention I accidentally get from people who’ve known each other for years.
Whatever the reason, I’m too tired to ask.
For now, I’ll settle for surviving the rain, the work, and the awkward silences.
And if I’m lucky — I’ll figure out what I did wrong before she finds another reason to remind me of it.
And yesterday I’d been sitting by the window, pretending to work, mostly watching the water streak down the glass. My laptop had already frozen twice and was now making this low, dying-cow noise every few minutes. I was two seconds from giving it a Viking funeral in the nearest puddle when a shadow fell across my table.
“Don’t,” Reid said as if he could read me like an open book.
I swear my soul left my body for a second. “Don’t what?”
He didn’t even blink. “Throw it out the window.” Then he dropped a box on the table — no warning, no explanation — and inside was a brand-new laptop. Sleek, silver, still warm from being under his arm.
I just stared at it. “I can’t take that.”
“Yes, you can.” He said it like we were discussing gravity. “Yours sounds like it’s dying. You need something that works.”
“I’ll figure mine out,” I tried, but then he gave me that look. The raised eyebrow, the faint smirk — the one that says don’t be stubborn, Quinn.
So I didn’t argue.
He sat down next to me, close enough that I could smell the rain on him. His hands moved fast, plugging things in, setting up accounts, typing passwords. Every time his arm brushed mine, my brain completely short-circuited.
“The password’s temporary,” he said quietly, eyes still on the screen.
“Right.”
He finally leaned back, but not far enough. I swear even sitting, he towered over me. “How’s your arm?”
I froze. “It’s—uh—it’s fine. Healing.”
He watched me for a second too long, and I could feel heat crawling up my neck. So I looked over at the counter where Charlie was laughing with Liam, tossing her hair, all sunshine and chaos. And suddenly, I felt like I shouldn’t be sitting this close to Reid. Didn't feel fair to Charlie.
He followed my gaze, frowned a little, like he couldn’t figure out why I was looking at her instead of answering him.
I panicked and tried to get up. “I should probably—”
Before I could move, his hand came down on my hip, firm and grounding, pressing me gently back into the seat.
“Sit,” he said. Not loud. Not rough. Just… certain.
And I did. Because apparently, my body has zero loyalty to me when he’s the one touching it.
“Everything okay with you?” he asked, eyes searching mine.
“Yeah,” I said quickly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
He studied me another second, then nodded and stood.
And that was it. He just walked away, like nothing happened.
I could feel him watching me all day after that.
Not the whole time, but enough to notice. Every time I looked up, there he was — eyes on me, like he was trying to figure something out.
At first, I told myself I was imagining it. But it kept happening. And the longer it went on, the less I knew what to do with it.
He didn’t look mad, just… focused. Like he was waiting for me to say something or maybe wondering what was going on in my head. I couldn’t tell. I never can with him.
By the end of the day, I still didn’t know what it meant. Maybe nothing. Maybe that’s just how he is.
We haven’t talked since. But every time I open this stupid new laptop, I can still feel where his hand was on my hip — like my skin remembers even if I’m trying really, really hard to forget.