Page 40 of His Wisconsin Wallflower
She reached up and unwound her scarf, the soft fabric slipping between her fingers as she folded it neatly and placed it on the table beside her. Her coat followed, draped over the back of the chair as she exhaled, and her shoulders began to relax as she inhaled the kitchen’s familiar comfort. She ran her hand over the scarf.
Behind her, Nana opened a cupboard and pulled out a loaf of bread. She opened and shut the fridge. The fridge door thudded shut, followed by the soft rustle of cheese being unwrapped. A grill pan clanked onto the stovetop, and soon the comforting scent of toasted bread and melting cheese mingled with the rich aroma of warming tomato soup.
Minutes later, Nana set a steaming bowl of tomato soup in front of her, its rich aroma filling the air. A plate followed, the grilled cheese sandwich golden and crisp, cut neatly in triangles with a dollop of ketchup on the side—exactly how Nana had made it for her on those long, tired afternoons after school. Raisa’s chest tightened at the memory, the simple meal carrying a weight of love and care that words couldn’t express.
“Eat now, child.” Nana gently patted Raisa’s shoulder before sitting down across from her with her own cup of tea. Raisa picked up the sandwich, the crunch of the bread giving way to the gooey warmth of melted cheese. She closed her eyes for amoment, savoring the flavor and letting the comfort of the food settle over her.
A tear trickled down her cheek. She ignored it and let it fall. More tears followed. The kitchen was silent as she ate and gathered her thoughts.
When she had finished the last bite, Nana placed her mug on the table and folded her arms. “Talk, girl.” Her gaze, watery with age but sharp as her grandmother’s mind, pierced through Raisa’s defenses.
Raisa hesitated. “I don’t know where to start.”
“Is it about your young man?” Nana’s tone softened a fraction.
“That’s part of it,” Raisa admitted, her voice small and childlike. “And I’m not sure, he’s mine.”
Nana let out a mix between a snort and a huff. “All right, first tell me how you feel about him.”
“Oh, Nana.” Fresh tears spilled over. “I love him.”
Nana’s brow furrowed. “Love isn’t something to cry over.”
And then it all came pouring out—tangled and messy, like yarn unraveled too fast. She told Nana how hard it was to feel like the girl from high school again, watching Quinten and Beth fall into old patterns with barely a glance her way. How seeing Beth’s pale face beside Quinten’s steady hand had triggered every buried insecurity she’d believed she’d outgrown. She talked about Devaney—about the heels, the arrest, the sneer as she was led away. About Vanessa and the gut-wrenching possibility that she might never come back. About the quiet rage and helplessness of seeing people she’d known for years reveal cruel, ugly truths.
But mostly, she confessed the fear that clung to her ribs like ivy: that no matter how much Quinten claimed to care, he’d eventually see her the way she sometimes saw herself—too plain, too soft, too much and not enough at the same time. That he’dwake up one day and remember what it was like to be with someone like Beth. Someone gorgeous and rich.
She talked until her throat was raw, until her chest ached from the weight of it all, until her tears slowed and the words ran out.
Silence fell. Nana didn’t rush to fill it. Instead, she reached across the table and took Raisa’s hand, her grip strong and steady. “Now listen to me,” she said, brimming with the unwavering confidence Raisa wished she had. “You’re smart, beautiful, courageous, and kind. A real man will value all those traits. And I think Quinten Carrington is a real man. Have you told him how you feel?”
Raisa’s eyes widened as the realization hit her. “No,” she whispered mostly to herself. “I haven’t. Come to think of it; I have been pushing him away.”
Nana shook her head. “What are you waiting for? Go on, go to your man. I’d like me a bonus grandson and some great-grandbabies. Go make them!”
Raisa let out a shaky laugh, wiping her tears away. “You’re impossible, Nana.”
“And you’re stubborn. Now go.”
Raisa stood, her heart pounding, as she grabbed her coat and smacked a big kiss on her Nana’s cheek.
Quinten paced the room, restless and worried about Gavin. The situation with Devaney was a nightmare. That Gavin’s lover might have killed her best friend made his stomach churn. He shook his head and went to the wet bar, needing a drink despite not being much of a drinker. He selected a sixteen-year-oldLagavulin and poured a generous two fingers into a whiskey glass.
The first sip was astonishing. The scent was more like Lapsang Souchong tea than Lapsang Souchong itself and deliciously smokey. He rolled this sip around his mouth. The taste was complex. He swallowed, letting the drink warm his esophagus all the way down to his belly. The tang of smoke and vanilla lingered in his mouth.
He hummed in appreciation and lifted the glass back to his lips for another sip. Before he could take it, the doorbell rang. He went to the door, tumbler in hand, and opened it to find Raisa standing there.
Emotions rushed through him and heated his blood better than the whisky had.
She stepped inside, wordlessly took the glass, and gulped down the contents.
Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “You came here because you’re thirsty?”
She coughed and handed him back the glass. They stared at each other for a long moment.
“I love you.”
He didn't know who said it first, but when it registered, he dropped the now empty glass, ignoring how it shattered on the floor. He lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Carrying her upstairs, he knew nothing was more important than burying himself to the hilt inside his woman.
