Updated Apr 12, 2026 • ~9 min read
Chapter 11: Seven People
Quinn
Quinn has kissed exactly seven people in her life.
Her high school boyfriend who tasted like Mountain Dew and braces.
A college hookup whose name she doesn’t remember.
Trevor, her ex, who kissed like it was a checkbox on a to-do list.
A few others scattered between who were fine but forgettable.
None of them—absolutely none of them—kissed like Cole Hartford.
Cole kisses like it matters, like Quinn matters, with one hand cupping her jaw and the other on the small of her back pulling her closer, and Quinn thinks that maybe she’s never actually been properly kissed before because this is entirely different from anything she’s experienced.
This is consuming.
When they finally break apart—both breathing hard, both slightly shocked—Quinn has to grip Cole’s shirt to stay upright.
“Okay,” she manages. “That was—”
“Yeah.”
“We should probably—”
“Talk about it?”
“Or do it again.”
Cole laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest where Quinn’s hands are still fisted in his shirt. “Probably both.”
But neither of them moves to actually talk.
Instead Cole kisses her again, softer this time, exploratory, like he’s learning what she likes—the way she makes a sound when he nips at her bottom lip, the way she presses closer when his hand slides into her hair, the way she absolutely melts when he slows down and kisses her thoroughly instead of urgently.
“We’re supposed to be talking,” Quinn murmurs against his mouth.
“This is better than talking.”
“Significantly better.”
They migrate to the couch somehow—Quinn’s not sure who moved first—and she ends up in Cole’s lap, straddling him, his hands on her hips and hers tangled in his hair, kissing him like she’s making up for six days of restraint.
“Quinn,” Cole says, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. “We should slow down.”
“Why?”
“Because if we don’t slow down, I’m going to take you to bed, and I want to make sure you’re actually okay with that before we—”
“I’m okay with it.”
“Are you? Or is this just adrenaline and proximity and cabin fever?”
Quinn sits back, still in his lap but creating enough space to think clearly, which is difficult when Cole’s looking at her like that—pupils dilated, lips swollen from kissing, hands still on her hips like he can’t quite make himself let go.
“I don’t know,” she admits honestly. “Maybe it’s all of those things. But I also know I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you right now, and I’m tired of overthinking everything. I’m tired of being careful and controlled and protected. I just want—” She stops, trying to find words.
“What do you want, Quinn?”
“I want you. For however long we have. Even if it’s just tonight, even if tomorrow we get rescued and this all falls apart, I want this one night where I get to have you completely.”
Cole’s eyes go dark. “You’re sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
He stands up—lifting her with him, which does things to Quinn’s insides—and carries her to the bed, setting her down gently like she’s something precious.
“Last chance to change your mind,” Cole says, kneeling beside the bed.
“I’m not changing my mind.”
“Okay. Good. Because I’ve been thinking about this since—”
“Since when?”
“Since you showed up at my construction site in those heels looking both terrifying and gorgeous and I had to be an asshole to you because the alternative was admitting I thought you were attractive.”
Quinn laughs. “You were thinking about this on day one?”
“I was trying very hard NOT to think about it on day one. And failing miserably.” He leans in, kisses her slowly. “What about you?”
“Day two,” Quinn admits. “When you helped me get to the cabin. You were so competent and calm and I was terrified, and I remember thinking that I was probably going to die in a blizzard but at least the last person I saw was really attractive.”
“You thought you were going to die?”
“I thought we both were. That storm was apocalyptic.”
“And yet here we are. Not dead. Just about to make what’s probably a terrible decision.”
“The best terrible decision,” Quinn agrees.
Cole kisses her again, and this time there’s intent behind it—his hands sliding under the flannel shirt she’s wearing (his shirt, she’s wearing his clothes, which is its own kind of intimacy), her fingers working at the buttons of his thermal.
They undress each other slowly—partly because there’s no rush now that they’ve committed, partly because Quinn wants to memorize this, every moment, every touch, every sound Cole makes when she runs her hands over his chest and discovers he’s even better without the shirt.
“You’re staring,” Cole says, amusement in his voice.
“You’re extremely stare-worthy. How are you this—” She gestures vaguely at his torso. “This is not fair.”
“I work construction. Lots of heavy lifting.”
“I work at a desk. Lots of sitting and typing.”
“You’re perfect exactly as you are.”
“You’re required to say that—”
“I’m saying it because it’s true.” He kisses her collarbone, her shoulder, the curve of her neck. “You’re brilliant and beautiful and you’ve been driving me insane for days, and I’m extremely lucky to be here with you right now.”
Quinn pulls him back up to kiss him properly, pouring everything she can’t say into it—all the fear and want and the terrifying realization that this is more than just physical attraction, that she’s falling for Cole Hartford in a way that’s going to hurt when this ends.
But that’s tomorrow’s problem.
Tonight, she gets to have this.
Gets to have him.
Cole’s careful with her—checking in, making sure she’s okay, moving slowly even though Quinn can feel the restraint it takes, the way his hands shake slightly when he touches her like he’s overwhelmed by being allowed to.
“I don’t have—” Cole stops, looking frustrated. “Protection. I didn’t exactly pack for this scenario.”
Quinn laughs because of course they didn’t think about this. “I’m on birth control. And I haven’t—I mean, it’s been a while, and I’m clean.”
“Same. I mean, also a while. Also clean. We can—we don’t have to—”
“I want to,” Quinn interrupts. “I want you. All of you. Is that okay?”
“That’s very okay.”
He kisses her again, and this time when they come together it’s with the knowledge that this is actually happening, that they’re crossing the line from antagonists to something much more complicated and precious.
Cole’s gentle at first—so gentle Quinn almost can’t handle it, the way he treats her like she might break, the way he watches her face to make sure every touch is good, the way he makes this about her pleasure instead of just his own.
“You can—” Quinn gasps when he does something particularly good with his hands. “You don’t have to be so careful.”
“Yes I do. First time with you, I’m doing this right.”
“There’s going to be a second time?”
“If you’ll have me, there’s going to be as many times as we can fit into the next—” He checks the window where dawn is just starting to break. “Approximately eighteen hours before rescue probably arrives.”
“That’s ambitious.”
“I’m motivated.”
He makes good on that ambition, taking his time, learning what makes Quinn gasp and arch and grab his shoulders hard enough to leave marks, and when they finally come together it’s perfect and overwhelming and nothing like the efficient checkbox sex Quinn’s had before.
This is Cole kissing her through it, murmuring things against her skin that sound like praise and promises and her name like a prayer, holding her like she’s precious while also being exactly as intense as Quinn needs.
This is Quinn letting go of control completely, trusting Cole to catch her, trusting that this reckless beautiful thing they’re doing is worth whatever consequences come after.
This is both of them falling apart together, holding each other through it, and then lying tangled in bed afterward trying to remember how to breathe.
“So,” Cole says after a long moment, still holding her close. “That happened.”
Quinn laughs against his chest. “Very smooth post-sex talk.”
“I’m not known for my eloquence in these situations.”
“How many situations like this have you been in?”
“Like this specifically? Snowed in with someone I’m supposed to be fighting in court? This is a first.”
“I meant more generally.”
“I know what you meant. And the answer is not many. I don’t—this isn’t something I do casually.”
“Me neither.”
They’re quiet for a while, just breathing together, and Quinn knows they should talk about what this means, what happens next, how they navigate the complicated reality waiting for them outside this cabin.
But talking means acknowledging that this is temporary, that tomorrow changes everything, and Quinn’s not ready to do that yet.
“Stay with me,” she whispers instead. “Tonight. Tomorrow. However long we have.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Cole promises, kissing her forehead. “Not until they drag me out of this cabin.”
It’s not a real promise—they both know that.
But for tonight, in this moment, it’s enough.
Quinn falls asleep in Cole’s arms, sated and warm and more content than she’s been in years, and if there’s a voice in the back of her mind warning her that this is going to hurt when it ends, she ignores it.
Some things are worth the hurt.
And Cole Hartford is definitely one of them.
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