Page 23 of His Wisconsin Wallflower
Quinten climbed out of his car, tall and confident, holding a small package wrapped in brown paper. His smile was warm and easy, and he was so gorgeous, male and confident, it made her heart do a crazy tap-dance against her ribs.
“This is for you.” He pushed the package into her hands.
“For me?” She brushed his fingers with hers as she took the gift, the contact sending a tiny spark up her arm.
She unwrapped the paper, taking care not to rip it, and revealed a stunning scarf made of soft fabric. The pattern was intricate and geometric, with vibrant blues, creamy whites, and deep blacks interwoven like a tapestry. The colors reminded her of twilight, and the fabric was so soft she couldn’t resist running her fingers over it.
“It’s alpaca wool, light and soft but warm.” Quinten took the scarf from her and wrapped it around her neck. “I noticed your old scarf is a little faded and worn.” His tone was casual but tinged with care. “You often wear bright and contrasting colors. I hope you like it.”
Raisa’s throat tightened as she looked up at him, her smile wide. “I don’t like it. I love it.” Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around him in a quick hug, the scent of him—a mix of cedar and something faintly spicy—grounding her while making her giddy.
She pulled back, rubbing the scarf against her cheek with a grin. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I like to spoil you,” he said, leaning down to press a quick kiss to her nose. The affectionate gesture caught her off guard, leaving her cheeks warm despite the cold.
She laughed, stuffed her old scarf in her coat pocket, and pulled her new one up so it hopefully covered her blazing cheeks.The material was impossibly soft, and she felt cocooned in its warmth as he opened the car door for her.
The drive took them about twenty minutes south of the town limits, and Raisa couldn’t stop herself from peeking at Quinten when she thought he wasn’t looking. His focus on the road, the easy way he maneuvered the car, and the quiet confidence in his posture made her stomach do little flips.
When they turned off the main road and onto a long, winding driveway, Raisa frowned. She recognized the general area—they were a few miles outside Cedarburg, a stretch of land she’d driven past countless times but never had a reason to stop. This wasn’t her world. It never had been.
The driveway curved through a cluster of old trees before opening on a clearing, and then she saw it. Her mouth dropped open.
The house was stunning, a sprawling two-story structure, the kind of home that looked like it belonged in a design magazine. Tall, custom-built windows caught the morning light, casting soft glows across the mix of natural stone and wood accents that made up the exterior. The way it blended into the surrounding landscape was almost seamless, a testament to the vision of whoever had designed it.
“Wow,” she whispered, unable to stop herself.
Quinten glanced over, catching her expression, and a grin spread across his face. “Impressive, huh?”
She nodded, still taking it in, her jaw slack with awe. “I knew your family lived out here, but I had no idea…” She gestured vaguely toward the house, unable to find the words.
“You’ve never been out here before?” he asked, a teasing edge to his tone.
“No reason to,” she admitted. “This isn’t my usual route, and I didn’t exactly… move in your family’s circles back in school.”
“Fair enough,” he said with a chuckle as he parked the car. “This plot of land has been in the family for generations. My grandfather bought it way back when, intending to build a house for his growing family. But life got in the way, and it never happened. Dad made it a reality decades later. He designed the house himself.”
“He did?” Raisa turned to him, intrigued.
“Yep. Every inch of it. We all pitched in to build it, too. It’s kind of a Carrington tradition—Dad’s big on making sure we work for what we have. You’ll see plenty of his handiwork inside.”
As they stepped out of the car, Raisa drank in the stillness and the quiet, save for the rustle of leaves in the wind. The house exuded a sense of warmth and pride without being ostentatious. The building was undeniably striking.
Quinten led her toward the front door. “The best part? Dad didn’t just build a house to showcase his skills. He made it a home. You’ll see. My mom made sure of that.”
She couldn’t help but smile as they stepped onto the porch. “I think I already do.”
As they entered, a wave of voices immediately greeted Raisa. The warm, rich scent of coffee and something freshly baked filled the air.
Quinten’s mother was the first to approach. “Raisa, it’s so nice to see you again!” She pulled Raisa into a quick but firm hug.
Before Raisa could respond, Quinten’s father shook her hand with a grip that spoke of years of hard labor. He might be hunched over and have hair that was more gray than true ebony, but his dark brown eyes—a mirror image of Quinten’s—were intelligent and suggested an inner strength.
Corbin offered her a charming smile that made him resemble his brother somewhat, but most of his looks he got from their mom.
Tall, broad-shouldered Gavin nodded at her from the corner, where he leaned casually against the kitchen counter. “Raisa.”
“Gavin.” She inclined her head at him.
