Page 7 of His Wisconsin Wallflower
Quinten crossed his arms, tamping down the scowl that threatened to rise. Of all the people he’d hoped to avoid for as long as humanly possible—or better yet, never see again—Beth Ashford topped the list. “Ten days.”
“Then it’s time for lunch,” she said brightly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Let’s eat.”
He raised an eyebrow, her assertiveness grating on him. He didn’t like pushy women, and he didn’t like Beth. Not anymore. The memory of her betrayal came rushing back: the day he found her in bed with two of his teammates. He hadn’t seen it coming, hadn’t suspected a thing until it slapped him in the face. Their love—or whatever he’d thought it was—had been a lie. He’d walked away and never looked back.
“No, thank you,” he said curtly.
Beth’s smile faltered, her flawless, arched eyebrows drawing together. “What? Why not?”
Quinten sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he gathered his thoughts. “Beth.” With the irritation about the accountant still burning in his gut it was hard to keep his voice calm but firm. “Listen. I’m not interested in what you have to offer.”
She brought her hands to her hips, narrowing her eyes. “What the hell does that mean?”
He dropped his hand and met her gaze, his tone softening but remaining resolute. “It means that whatever we had… it’s over. It’s been over for a long time. I’m back in Cedarburg to take care of my family’s business, not to dig up old history. I’m sure you’ll find someone else to have lunch with.”
Beth’s lips tightened, and for a moment, she seemed genuinely taken aback, as if she’d expected him to fall back into her arms after the way she betrayed him.
Then her expression hardened, and her figuratively polished veneer cracked like the foundation on her face. “Well, fine,” she snapped, turning from sugary-sweet to popsicle-cold. “Your loss.”
“Take care, Beth.” He stepped aside to let her pass.
As she strutted out, her heels clicking sharply against the floor, Quinten let out a long breath. He rubbed the back of his neck, the tension in his shoulders that had been building during the brief exchange easing. If only dealing with the accountant was as straightforward as dealing with Beth.
Quinten grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and slung it over his arm as he stepped into the front office. His mother looked up from the computer, her glasses perched on the edge of her nose. “Heading out?” She tilted her head.
“Yeah. Grabbing a quick bite at the lunchroom. Can I bring you something to eat?”
She smiled, a hint of warmth softening her usual sharp expression. “A Reuben on rye, please.”
“Drink?” he asked, already halfway to the door.
“Raisa’s homemade iced tea,” she replied without hesitation.
Quinten stopped, raising an eyebrow at her choice. “Iced tea? It’s freezing out.”
“Too much caffeine makes me jittery,” she replied matter-of-factly, before adding with a knowing smile, “and there’s nothing quite like Raisa’s iced tea.”
Quinten chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled on his coat. “Tell me more about her.”
“Raisa?” His mother leaned back in her chair, her expression growing thoughtful. “I figured you knew her. She was in high school when you were.”
“I know,” Quinten said, now more contemplative. “Maybe two classes behind me?”
“Actually, I think only one,” she corrected. “She skipped a class. That girl’s brilliant.”
Quinten nodded along as he listened to his mother. “I like what she did with the bookstore.”
“Oh, yes,” his mother said with a note of admiration. “It’s wonderful. She turned it into a thriving business again.You know, Agnes—her grandmother—really struggled when the major internet players like Amazon started taking over. But Raisa? She’s a fighter. She added the lunchroom and coffee shop. Runs a couple of book clubs, too. Keeps people interested in reading. I’m so glad she’s still here. There’s nothing like holding and sniffing a book before you buy it.”
Quinten smirked at her enthusiasm. “Thanks, Mom.” He waved on his way out and headed for the lunchroom, needing to get rid of the burning anger coiling in his chest. The accountant’s evasiveness was maddening, and Beth’s arrogant assumption that he’d fall right back in line had pushed him over the edge. The crisp winter air slapped at his face as he stepped outside, grounding him, but it wasn’t enough to cool the heat of his frustration. By the time he reached Raisa’s shop, he’d resolved to channel that anger into something productive—even if it meant facing another challenge head-on.
The hearty aroma of yeasty bread, roasted meat, and caramelized onions greeted him as he entered. It was mid-afternoon, and the place was lively but not crowded. Raisa was behind the counter, chatting with an older man as she handed him a wrapped sandwich. She flashed him a radiant smile—the kind Quinten had never seen directed at him. A pang of something uncomfortably close to jealousy twisted his gut. Now he ached to make her smile like that at him. Why didn’t she? She glanced up as if she sensed his eyes on her and gave him a polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes before returning to her work.
Quinten waited for a moment before stepping forward. “I’ve got to ask.” He leaned casually on the counter. “What’s the deal with your iced tea? My mom won’t stop raving about it.”
Raisa looked up, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “The deal?”
“Yeah. What makes it so special?”
