Chapter Eleven
Bram
M y fingers shake as I tuck my dark blue button-up shirt into my gray dress pants. Mom made it clear that she expected all of us to wear our nicest clothes and be on our best behavior for Lois and Chad’s reception. The last part was directed mostly at Cyrus.
The reception was originally going to be held at Ada’s home, but after Quinn’s hospitalization, Mom insisted she would host it at their house so Ada didn’t have to worry about getting hers ready. My parents’ place is perfect for a reception. The ocean view alone is worth it. It’s also larger than Ada’s, and Dad renovated the back yard several years ago for our joint family get-togethers.
The cobblestone patio was large enough for a dozen tables and had a medium-sized pond with a waterfall off to the side. The twins and I had helped Dad build a large pergola. Then, Dad hung strands of lights on the ceiling.
I spend the morning grooming myself. Not that I’m usually unkempt, but I haven’t seen Quinn since my horrible proposal. The day after she was released, I sent her a text, letting her know I was thinking and praying for her. I am. In many ways.
Her response—which didn’t come until the next day—was a simple, “Thank you.” It’s not like I was expecting anything more, but I still felt a twinge of disappointment she hadn’t offered anything else. What is she thinking? Has she been praying about everything? About us?
Not wanting to press the subject, I texted back stating we could talk at the reception. When she sent back a simple, “Ok,” I decided to accept it as a good sign. Maybe she’s been praying about the proposal. I know I haven’t stopped praying. The more I pray, the more assurance I feel that this isn’t crazy. I mean, it is crazy. Yet, I’ve had nothing but peace about it.
Glancing at my reflection, I try to calm my nerves. I hadn’t planned to shave this morning, but as I studied myself in the mirror, I wondered if Quinn would like my face better if it was clean-shaven.
Thinking about what Quinn would like is new territory for me. Typically, my thoughts would drift to what Lois would like. And I’ll admit, sometimes they still do. But I’ve been spending the past week in intensive prayer and reading my Bible, trying to keep my thoughts away from my old crush.
Dad called the other night to ask how I was doing and told me he was praying for me, too. Knowing Dad and my brothers are praying and are all there to listen has helped ease some of the burden.
It still hasn’t been easy. My feelings for Lois are still there, right underneath the surface. I have to keep reminding myself that I no longer have the right to feel more for her than a friend.
Besides the group text with my brothers and Mom to let us know that Quinn was home from the hospital, I haven’t received a text from Lois. Which is for the best, even though I miss our friendship. And maybe that’s the hardest part to come to terms with. Not that we don’t have a romantic future, but that the dynamics of our relationship have changed so much. I don’t doubt that Lois and I will always be friends on some level, but it’s different now, and I’m slowly learning to accept that.
I lather more lotion on my face, hoping the knicks from shaving won’t be too noticeable by the time everyone arrives. With one last look in the mirror to make sure nothing is out of place so Mom won’t fuss at me, I slip my wallet and phone into my pocket and grab my keys.
On the drive to my parents’, I attempt to calm my racing pulse. My hands are clammy, even as I pray for peace in this decision. Although I can’t shake the feeling that this is God’s plan for our lives, a large part of me wants Quinn to say no. It will be so much easier if she does.
Then, I can continue to nurse my broken heart far away from the Jones family. If Quinn says no, I can distance myself from all of them. Just for a while, until I’m able to be in the same room with Lois and Lord Chadwick without my heart ripping apart again.
But, if Quinn says yes . . .
I sigh and bite back a curse that would have Mom washing my mouth out with a bar of soap—no matter that I’m a full-grown man.
Why is God calling me to do something so . . . insane? Because that’s what it seems like. Marrying the sister of the woman I’ve been in love with for years? What had I been thinking, proposing to her? If she says yes it’s going to end in an epic disaster.
The word “trust” reverberates through my heart.
God, I’m trying.
Arriving at my parents’, I notice my brothers have already beaten me here. Sucking in a fortifying breath, I head up the sidewalk and let myself in. Mom is buzzing around ordering Dad and the twins around. They’re carrying chairs out to the back patio.
After some ribbing from Cyrus about my “baby face” and Mom pinching my clean cheeks as if I am a baby, I get to work. We spend the next thirty minutes setting up before another vehicle pulls in. A couple of minutes later, I can hear the sound of several voices and footsteps coming closer.
Little Jovie is the first one I spot. I send her a smile and she drops Grayson’s hand, bounding in my direction. Until she takes a good look at my face. Stopping dead in her tracks, she angles her head up, her dark brows knitting together in concentration. “You look weird,” she says matter-of-factly, her nose wrinkling.
It’s impossible not to grin as I lift her up, rubbing my smooth cheeks on her face until she giggles. “What, Jovie Bovie? You don’t like seeing my face?” Tickling her side, I give her a big kiss on the cheek and set her down. “You want to be my helper today?”
She nods eagerly, her eyes dancing with excitement. Clicking heels sound behind me, and I glance over my shoulder. Quinn is gliding toward us, her black hair—which is normally up in a ponytail or messy bun—flows down her back in smooth curls.
The soft pink of her dress compliments the blush that flames across her cheeks when she catches me staring at her. My mouth has fallen open, and I snap it shut, clenching my jaw. Velvety ruffles cascade down her dress, ending at her knees. The halter top shows off her shoulders and the cinching at the waist of her dress highlights her subtle curves.
Quinn is beautiful. Have I truly never noticed before?
No. I’ve always known she’s beautiful, but I’ve never crossed the line from simple observation to . . . whatever this is now.
I gulp, the tightness in my throat making it difficult to swallow. I realize this is the first time I’ve ever noticed and looked at Quinn not as a family friend or my best friend’s little sister . . . but as a woman. Heat crawls up my neck, and I turn away, shaking my head.
Quinn stops beside me, but I struggle to make eye contact. “You look nice today,” she says softly.
My gaze jerks to hers, and I can’t seem to divert my eyes. I find myself drinking her in from head to toe. “You do too, Quinn,” I reply, my voice deeper than I intended. I haven’t told her the full truth. She looks a lot better than nice.
Biting her lip, she watches our families darting around as they finish setting up. “Umm . . .” She pauses and looks down at Jovie. “Hey, Jovie. Could you go help Mom for a minute?”
Jovie nods and bounces off eagerly.
“Do you want to talk now?” she asks hesitantly. “Or after the reception?”
I stuff my hands into my pockets and blow out a terse breath. “Do you think anyone will miss us if we talk now?” I want to get this over with so maybe I can breathe easier.
Quinn shakes her head. “They’re all too busy. I don’t think they’ll even know we’re gone.”
“Okay. You want to take a stroll on the beach?”
Nodding, she reaches down and slips off her heels. “But not in these things.” She gives a stiff laugh.
The corner of my mouth lifts as we fall into step and make our way toward the beach. Breathing in the salty air, my shoulders relax. No matter where we stand after this conversation, no matter what happens, I know I can trust the One who controls the ocean’s tides to take care of Quinn and me.
I keep my head down as we walk side by side in silence. The distant sound of our families laughing and the gentle lapping of the waves is the only thing filling the air around us. I’m not sure if I should start the conversation. My thoughts on the matter have already been laid bare in front of her. I want to leave it to her to make the final decision.
“I’ve always loved the beach.” Quinn comes to a stop, staring out at the ocean.
Drawing beside her, I look out at the rippling water. There’s a boat on the horizon and a few seagulls swooping quickly back and forth into the water, but otherwise, all is peaceful and calm.
“Me too.”
Quinn crosses her arms and curls her toes into the sand. “Your house is on the beach.” She glances up at me, and I notice the pink forming on her cheeks.
“It is.”
She hums softly, then sucks in a deep breath. “Thank you for setting up the funding for the medical bills.”
I glance over at her, arching a brow. “What are you talking about?”
Rolling her eyes, she replies, “Don’t act like you don’t know.”
“I don’t.”
“You didn’t give Pastor Woodhouse a donation for my medical bills?”
“Nope.”
Her lips turn down. “Huh. That’s weird.”
Chuckling, I nudge her with my shoulder. “You’re loved, Quinn. People want to help you.”
She lets out a long breath before flicking her eyes back to me. “The doctor wants me to get a CGM.” She goes on to explain what it is and how much more convenient it would be for her.
“It sounds good. When will you get it?”
Her shoulders dip. “I don’t know. It’s around a thousand dollars or more.”
“Get it.”
“Bram,” she chides.
“Quinn, it will make your life easier. Get it. I’ll take care of it.”
“I haven’t even agreed to marry you,” she argues.
“I’ll take care of it. Even if you don’t.”
Our eyes drift to where everyone is still setting up for the reception. “Can I ask you a question, Bram?”
“Of course.” I turn, giving her all of my attention as she meets my gaze.
“I understand what I would get out of this crazy arrangement, but what would you get?”
I smile. “You.”
She scoffs and crosses her arms. Uh . . . not the reaction I was going for. “Seriously, Bram? Isn’t there someone out there that you’re interested in?”
My heart seizes at the question, but I quickly push thoughts of Lois away. “No,” I answer. “What about you?”
“No.” Her eyes flit over my body for a moment, a blush forming on her cheeks. “But don’t you want to wait until you meet someone and fall in love?”
“Don’t you?”
Sighing, she replies, “Stop throwing my questions back at me.”
“Well, they’re fair questions. Ones you should think about.”
Raising an eyebrow, she asks, “But not you?”
“I’ve already thought about them.”
“And?”
I shrug. “And . . . who’s to say we can’t fall in love with each other?”
Her bright eyes search mine. “Okay,” she whispers.
“Okay?”
She bites her lip as her gaze sweeps toward the ocean again. “I have a few . . . umm . . . conditions. But, yes, Bram. I’ll marry you.”
My breath lodges in my chest, and I let out a series of coughs. Great. I’m choking on air and the fact she said yes. I’d been so sure she would say no.
“Are you okay?” A muscle in her jaw twitches as she raises a dark eyebrow at me.
“Umm . . . you said you had conditions? What does that mean, exactly?” I need to focus on that part. My brain is backfiring as it tries to play catch up with the realization she hadn’t said no like I expected. It takes a great effort for me to school my features and not let my shoulders sag under the weight of this commitment I’ve made to her. However, I know deep down that it’s the right thing to do.
She slides in front of me, her eyes seeming to study every detail of my face. “Yes, conditions,” she finally says. “First”—she holds up one finger—“if we do this, I’m holding to this being a forever commitment. Agreed?”
“I already told you I was in it for life.”
She gives a brisk nod and holds up another finger. “Two, since this will be my only time getting engaged and then married, I want a real proposal with a real ring.”
I swallow, my tongue feeling thick and dry. Wiping a hand over my forehead, I realize I have beads of sweat forming. “Okay.”
“Three, no one needs to know that we aren’t already madly in love with each other.”
“You want to lie to people?” I hadn’t even thought about what we would tell everyone.
“Not lie . . . exactly. But you have to admit, this is weird. Right? I mean, if this was two hundred years ago, no one would bat an eye.” Turning her gaze from mine, she whispers, “And I’m not sure that anyone else will understand the commitment we’re making to each other and God. They’ll be waiting for us to crash and burn if we tell them the truth.”
“Will you be waiting for that?” The question is out before I can think better of it.
Quinn is quiet for a moment before she inhales deeply and looks back at me. “No. Because I know myself and I know you. And I’ve been praying about it, and even if it doesn’t make any sense at the moment, I know God has a plan for us. Together.” She speaks softly, but her words are strong and sure, sending a measure of peace throughout my chest, allowing me to suck in a full breath.
“Okay.”
“I want to keep working at the center.”
I frown. “I wouldn’t ask you to stop. I know how important the work you do is and how much you love it. But if it starts affecting your health—”
“We’ll discuss it then,” she interjects, leveling me with a look that has me holding back a laugh.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Rolling her eyes, she says, “And I want to be able to help Mom with the kids. That may mean us going there to fix them supper a few times a week, or me being there to clean, or whatever Mom needs.”
“Quinn, you know I’d never keep you from helping your family. We’re in this together. We’ll take care of them. Together.” She blinks rapidly as if holding back tears. “Is there anything else?”
Inhaling deeply, her blush deepens. “I want a wedding ceremony.” It’s not an unreasonable request, though, I honestly thought she’d want a courthouse wedding given the circumstances. “Mom already missed out with Lois. I can’t be selfish and do that to her. She’s talked about our wedding days for years and missing Lois’s broke her heart.”
“Whatever you want, Q.”
“Do you mean that?”
I smile at her. “Yes, I do.”
“I’d like to have it here. On the beach. With only our immediate families and Pastor Woodhouse. Does”—she clears her throat and peeks at me from under her long, dark eyelashes—“does that work for you?”
“Yeah. That would be nice actually.”
Her features relax and her lips lift up at the corner. “Okay, almost-fiancé, sounds like a plan then.”
“Almost-fiancé?”
She wags a finger at me. “You still have to properly propose. Remember?”
“Oh. Right. Right.” I glance toward my parents’ house where more people are beginning to file in. “So, umm . . . does that mean we shouldn’t tell anyone yet?”
Biting her lip she turns and looks in the same direction. “Maybe it would be best if they saw us together before you propose. Then it won’t feel quite so sudden.”
“Yeah. Probably.”
Before I can blink, Quinn places her hand on my chest, clenching the fabric of my shirt in a light hold.
“What are you doing?”
Standing on tiptoe, she brings her face close to mine. “Trust me.” Her breath whispers against my skin just before she places a feather-light kiss on my lips. My hand instinctively comes up to grip her waist, but she leans back just as suddenly.
The kiss is over so quickly, I wonder if I’ve imagined it, but my hand is still gripping her waist, and my lips are tingling from her soft touch. Quinn’s cheeks are bright red, her hand resting on my chest, and her face is close enough that if I wanted to, I could easily capture her lips once more.
Can she feel my heart racing underneath her palm?
“Did they see?” She uncurls her fingers from my shirt and drops her hand.
My mind is fumbling, but I release her, and without moving my head, flick my eyes in the direction of the reception. Sure enough, Cyrus, Lois, and . . . both of our moms are standing there with jaws dropped at the kiss they just witnessed.
With my heart in my throat, I reply, “Yeah. They saw.”
Quinn nods and then slips her hand into mine as if we’ve been doing this forever. I glance down at her soft and delicate hand clasped in my larger one. For better or worse, we are doing this. Now I just have to survive the endless questioning and teasing from my brothers—specifically, Cyrus—figure out a way to propose to a woman I’m not in love with, then marry said woman, and spend a lifetime attempting to fall in love with her.
Should be easy. Right?