Page 6 of His Wisconsin Wallflower
Then the door opened again, and that familiar prickle ran down Raisa’s spine. She didn’t need to turn around to know who had marched inside Winslow’s Bookshelf. Beth Ashford—Cedarburg’s self-proclaimed queen bee—was impossible to miss.
“Morning, ladies!” Beth’s sing-song voice floated through the air, sugary sweet but dripping with condescension. She wasn’t alone, of course. Today, she’d brought Emilia and Devaney, leaving Raisa silently grateful that nasty Vanessa and Megan weren’t part of the group. Three were easier to deal with than five, and these two weren’t the cruelest of the gang. When Devaney was alone, she could even be nice.
Beth’s heels clicked against the wooden floor as she approached the counter, her bright red coat flaring out behind her like a cape. Her impeccably styled blond hair didn’t have a strand out of place, and her makeup was as flawless as always. She radiated confidence, the kind that came from years of being on top.
Raisa’s stomach twisted, and her mind flickered back to high school. Beth, Emilia, Devaney, Vanessa, and Megan had formed their own little clique. Not content with being the popular girls, as beautiful as fashionable, they also had been unrelentingly cruel. They hadn’t ignored Raisa; they’d made her life hell.
There had been pranks—sticky notes plastering her locker, gum stuck to her chair, her gym clothes “accidentally” tossed into the boys’ locker room. And there had been words, too—razor-sharp and whispered loud enough for Raisa to hear as she passed. Wallflower. Freak. Piggy. Every cruel nickname had carved a little deeper, and Raisa had spent most of high school trying to make herself invisible.
Her fingers clenched around the cloth she was holding, the memory fading as she forced herself back to the present.She straightened her shoulders and plastered on a neutral expression as Beth stepped up to the counter.
“Raisa, darling,” Beth drawled exaggeratedly. Her smile showed teeth but was devoid of genuine emotion and didn’t reach her eyes. “This place looks... cozy.” She swept her gaze over the shop, taking in every detail as if assessing its worth. “I love how... quaint everything is. So very you.”
“Thanks,” Raisa replied evenly, imagining a shield of ice forming between her and Beth’s sharp tongue. “What can I get for you today?”
She didn’t have to ask what the other women wanted. Somehow, they still followed Beth around like they didn’t have minds of their own.
“Oh, make me a skinny vanilla latte,” Beth said, waving a manicured hand. “You know, it’s so impressive that you’ve managed to keep this little place running. Must be such hard work for someone like you.”
Raisa’s jaw tightened, but she forced herself to keep her tone calm. “Thank you for caring. The shop’s been rather busy lately.”
Beth’s smile didn’t falter, but there was a glint of something cruel in her eyes. “How wonderful. And to think, you’re still in Cedarburg after all these years. I don’t know how you do it. Most of us couldn’t wait to leave.”
“Some of us like it here,” Raisa said, her voice sharper now. In her peripheral vision, Lila glanced over, her expression a mix of concern and quiet support.
Beth laughed lightly, as though Raisa’s words were a joke. “Oh, of course. It’s just…” She patted Raisa’s hand with mock sympathy. “…well, I mean, I can’t imagine sticking around and waiting tables for people we went to school with. You know, the ones who actually did something with their lives.”
“If that’s all,” Raisa said briskly, “it’s four ninety.”
Beth handed over a five with a patronizing smile. “Keep the change.”
She turned toward the pastry display with a wrinkle of her nose. “I wouldn’t touch those pastries with a pole.”
Raisa didn’t flinch. In her mind, an ice cube formed in her chest and spread outward. She turned to the coffeemaker, acutely aware of Beth’s presence at her back, lingering like a shadow.
She grabbed a takeaway cup, added a precise pump of vanilla syrup, and pulled a shot of espresso. The hiss of steaming milk filled the silence, and she focused on the whisk, tap, and swirl motion. Her hands wanted to rush, but her pride refused. This was her shop, with her name on the sign, and every customer—no matter how petty or cruel—got the best she had to offer.
When she turned back to Beth, her spine was straight and her expression neutral.
Raisa handed over the latte without a word, the imagined ice shield holding firm as Beth took the hot beverage with a delicate sniff.
“Thanks so much, darling.” The latter word dripped venom and condescension. Beth turned to Emilia and Devaney, who, as usual, kept quiet like silent supporters of cruelty. “Shall we?”
They sauntered out, their chatter and laughter trailing behind them, and Raisa released a slow breath. The shield of ice began to melt, leaving behind a familiar ache in her chest. She’d grown better at defending herself over the years, but it still hurt.
“You okay?” Lila came closer and placed a gentle hand on Raisa’s forearm.
Raisa nodded, forcing a small smile. “I’m fine.” But as she turned back to the counter, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever stop being the butt of their jokes.
Quinten ended the call with a frustrated tap of his finger on the screen, staring at the voicemail icon as if sheer willpower could make the accountant pick up. He’d lost count of the times he’d tried calling her this week alone. Each time, the result was the same—straight to voicemail, his polite but pointed messages ignored. He ran a hand through his hair, muttering a curse under his breath.
A commotion at the front of the office broke his concentration. His mother’s voice rose, sharp and flustered. “Wait! You can’t go back there.”
Quinten pushed back his chair and strode to the front, the irritation from his failed call simmering below the surface. He needed to walk off his frustration. Turning the corner, he came to an abrupt stop.
Beth Ashford stood in the middle of the office, looking as composed and self-assured as ever. She was dressed in a tailored crimson coat that hugged her slender body and high-heeled boots that made him wonder how she could promenade on those stilts like she did. But even in heels, she wasn’t as tall as a certain curvy brunette he couldn’t get out of his mind. Her blond hair was styled to perfection, her lips curved in a smile Quinten didn’t trust for a second.
“Darling,” she drawled, smooth as silk. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me. How long have you been back in town?”
