Page 9 of His Wisconsin Wallflower
Quinten allowed a small smile to creep onto his face. “There’s a big contract coming up for the new bridge over on Route 33. It’s a government project—solid money and a chance to put Carrington Construction back on the map.”
His mother’s eyes lit up. “A bridge? That’s wonderful news, Quinten.”
His father, however, grumbled again, shaking his head. “I’m useless. Can’t do a damn thing to help with this.”
“Come on, Dad,” Quinten said, firm but not unkind. “I’m thirty-five, and Corbin and Gavin are in their mid-twenties. It’s about time we start weighing in. You’ve done more than your fair share. Let us carry the load now.”
His father didn’t reply but shifted his hand on the armrest, tightening momentarily before relaxing. He looked down, then back up, his jaw working as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. Eventually, he gave a small, almost reluctant nod, the barest hint of pride flickering in his weary eyes.
“Are you staying for dinner?” His mother’s question cut through the tension in the room.
Quinten stood, shrugging on his coat. “No, thanks, but I can’t. I have a date.”
Four heads turned toward him in unison, a mix of surprise and curiosity etched on their faces.
“A date?” Corbin sported a shit-eating grin. “With whom?”
“None of your business,” Quinten shot back. “I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
He left them staring after him, their curiosity palpable as he headed out into the crisp evening air.
The doorbell rang precisely at seven, its chime cutting through the quiet murmur of the kitchen. Raisa glanced at the clock, her stomach flipping. He was punctual.
Her nerves oscillating between anticipation and dread, she’d spent the entire afternoon debating whether to cancel the date. But here she was, sitting at the kitchen table with her grandmother, dressed in clean jeans, a red sweater that complemented her complexion, and her favorite black boots. She wasn’t sure if it was enough, but it would have to do.
She went to the door, her boots thumping rhythmically on the hardwood floor. As she passed the hallway mirror, she glanced over—just to make sure everything was where it should be. Her clothing was still stain-and-wrinkle-free.
Whew! No accidental wardrobe malfunctions.
Still overweight, though at least she had an hourglass figure now. Society didn’t seem to favor Marilyn Monroe types anymore; the stick-thin ideal of Kiera Knightley was the prevailing norm. After tearing away her gaze, she straightened her shoulders and opened the door.
“Hi,” she said, softer than she’d intended.
“Hey.” Quinten’s smile was easy and warm.
Before she could invite him in, he stepped forward, holding out a bouquet of flowers. She instinctively reached for them, their vibrant colors and delicate fragrance momentarily stunning her.
“You look lovely,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. The brush of his lips sent a flush racing up her neck. She blinked down at the bouquet, wonder flooding through her.He brought me flowers?
“Is your grandmother here?” he asked, breaking her reverie.
“Kitchen,” Raisa managed to say, nodding toward the second door on the right, slightly ajar.
Quinten strode forward confidently, another bouquet peeking from the crook of his arm. Creamy roses, soft pink blooms, and sunny yellow petals peeked out between fresh greenery, like spring gathered into one perfect handful. Raisa lingered behind for a moment, the air still bright with something crisp and floral, like citrus peel and early spring rain. She let herself breathe it in before following him.
In the kitchen, Nana looked up, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. Quinten held out the second bouquet with a flourish.
“For me?” her grandmother exclaimed, her laugh light and delighted. “It has been years since a handsome young man got me flowers.”
“Not just flowers, ma’am,” Quinten replied, setting a grocery bag on the counter. “I’m going to cook for you and Raisa.”
“What?” Raisa hurried into the kitchen, taking in the bag where vegetables, herbs, and a block of cheese were poking out.
Quinten turned to her with a grin. “I’m making dinner. It’s my grandmother’s recipe—the best in all of Wisconsin.”
Nana clapped her hands together, showing her obvious delight. Raisa, meanwhile, stood frozen, equal parts bewildered and intrigued.
Who was this man, and how was she supposed to keep up with him?
