Page 2 of His Wisconsin Wallflower
Outside, the wind bit at Quinten’s face as they hauled gifts and an overnight bag from his truck. Corbin kept up a steady stream of chatter about the company, the town, and everyone who’d been asking about him.
“Beth stopped by yesterday,” Corbin said, smirking. “Asked if you were really coming back or if it was nothing more than a rumor.”
Quinten groaned. “Don’t start.”
“What? She’s single again, you know. Divorce number two just came through. Might be worth?—”
“Not a chance,” Quinten said. The last thing he needed was to dredge up high school drama.
As they finished unloading, Quinten looked out over Main Street again. A woman bundled in a navy coat hurried across the street, her arms full of papers, and for a second, something about her was familiar to him. He shook his head. Probably nothing more than his imagination. Everyone looked familiar in a town this small.
He sighed and turned back to the office. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find here, but whatever it was, it sure as hell wasn’t closure.
“Welcome back,” he muttered to himself.
The wind offered no comfort, just a cold whisper that seemed to echo his mood.
Chapter Two
The timer on the oven beeped sharply, breaking the morning stillness. Raisa Winslow put away her accounting book, slid her reading glasses from her nose, and leaned over the counter. She had dropped her Coke-bottle glasses after a clear lens extraction in her mid-twenties and now had excellent distance vision though her near sight was rubbish. She narrowed her focus on the blueberry muffins that were precisely the right color of golden brown on the top, grabbed a dish towel, and opened the oven. She slid the tray onto the cooling rack while taking care not to touch the hot metal.
Fresh-baked sweetness filled the air in the small kitchen tucked behind Winslow’s Shelf: Pages & Pastries.
The first part of the name was an homage to her grandmother. Raisa had added the second part when she took over almost twenty years ago.
Early morning baking for her shop was a ritual that anchored her days. Books and baking were two things she could control in a world that otherwise often appeared to be too big, too loud, and too complicated.
She wiped her hands on her apron and glanced toward the doorway leading to the shop. The morning light slanted through the display windows, catching on the spines of books she’d arranged yesterday morning. Everything was exactly as it should be, orderly and inviting—the way she liked it.
Nana’s bookshop had been dying when she took over. A small town like Cedarburg didn’t account for many customers. Adding a lunchroom slash coffeeshop had saved Pages and Pastries, while providing enough income to support her and her grandmother, as well as hire part-time help.
Raisa grabbed her coffee and leaned against the counter, savoring the quiet before her morning customers arrived. She’d been up since five, a habit ingrained from years of waking early to help Nana before she went to school.
The thought of her grandmother conjured a genuine smile. Nana was still spry for someone nearing her nineties, but it was only a matter of time before the little house they shared became too much for her. It wasn’t a burden—nothing about caring for Nana ever felt that way—but it was a reminder of why she’d stayed in Cedarburg all these years.
Not that she minded. She had Pages and Pastries, her writing, and her routines. It was enough.
The bell over the shop’s front door jingled, pulling her attention back to the present. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, straightened her apron, and stepped into the main shop.
“Morning, Miss Winslow.” Mr. Carter held up a copy ofBirds of Wisconsin. Like clockwork, the elderly man came in every Tuesday to browse her nature section.
“Good morning, Mr. Carter,” she said warmly, taking the book from him. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Always,” he replied with a chuckle. “Can you please add an Americano? No one makes coffee like you.”
“Of course, sir.”
The transaction was quick, and he departed with a wave, leaving Raisa to reorganize a display of cookbooks. As she worked, her fingers sometimes lingered and stroked over the covers of the shining books, and she let her mind drift.
The ideas for her current story had been nagging at her all morning. Like a thorn below the skin, one scene wouldn’t quite take shape. She always reserved an hour before bedtime for her writing, but the previous night the words hadn’t come. During the quiet moments—like she had right now—she came up with the most awesome idea.
She glanced at the clock. It was almost time to call Nana and check in, but something made her pause. Her reflection in the window grasped her attention, and she frowned slightly.
Something about it made her pause but not out of vanity. It was more a quiet awareness that the woman staring back seemed slightly off today. Maybe it was the sweater, a bit snug across the bust, or the way her ponytail tugged at her nape. She shifted her stance, acutely aware of her curves. As she’d grown into her five-foot-ten height, she’d lost most of her baby fat, but she still was a plus-sized woman—something the high school cheerleading squad had pointed out with glee almost daily.
She pulled off her reading glasses and tucked them in her collar. There was nothing more exhilarating than opening her eyes in the morning and being able to see clearly. But she still liked to wear glasses like armor, a shield against the world that never quite saw her the way she wanted to be seen.
The bell jingled again, startling her. This time it was Lila, her part-time employee and occasional voice of reason. The younger woman swept in with her usual burst of energy, her cheeks pink from the cold.
