Chapter Thirteen
Bram
N ervous energy rushes through me as I park in Ada’s driveway. Tonight, I’m taking Quinn on our first official date. I’m praying it won’t be awkward, but based on how anxious I’m already feeling, I’m not counting on it.
With a deep breath, I knock on the door. A moment later, it opens and all the air whooshes out of my lungs.
Quinn stands there, her black hair in a low ponytail with a few loose curls framing her face. My eyes have a mind of their own as they trace up her long, lean legs over her high-waisted yellow shorts, until I’m taking in her tan cami and brightly-striped cardigan. The colors remind me of a summer sunset at the beach.
Finally, my gaze meets hers, and based on the flush of her cheeks, I’m guilty of checking her out.
Clearing my throat, I ask, “Are you ready?” I immediately kick myself. Why didn’t I say something about how pretty she looks? And she does. So much so that I’ve apparently lost all functioning of my brain.
Before I can remedy the situation, she says, “Just a minute,” and turns away to gather her things. Once she makes sure she has all of her diabetic supplies, we get in my truck and drive to Berry Bush Drive-In.
There’s twenty minutes until the movie starts, so Quinn and I go to the concession stand to get some snacks. I’m standing behind her, my hand resting on her back as she orders. My eyebrow pops up when Quinn asks for a candy bar to go with her popcorn.
“Can you eat that?” I blurt out, then immediately kick myself—again—for how rude it sounds. “Sorry. That came out wrong.”
Quinn chuckles and smiles over her shoulder at me. “It’s okay. And yes, I can eat whatever I want as long as I take my insulin beforehand. In moderation, of course. Just like anyone else.”
“Oh. That makes sense.”
“It’s been a learning curve, but I’m getting there.”
We make friendly small talk as we wait for our order. It feels like any other interaction we’ve ever had. Until we slide back in the truck and the movie starts playing. The shift in the air is subtle at first but grows heavier with each second that passes in awkward tension. Quinn hasn’t touched her food, and it seems impolite for me to dive into mine until she does.
Clearing her throat, she twists her fingers before releasing a long sigh. “Um . . . I’m sorry, Bram, but do you mind . . .” She trails off, her face morphing into an expression of mortification. “Never mind.”
“It’s okay. What is it?”
A light blush forms across her cheeks as she rolls her lips in. “Would you mind giving me some privacy to take my insulin?”
“Oh. No, of course I don’t mind.” I’m agitated with myself as I open my truck door. I should have thought about how uncomfortable it might be for her to take her insulin in front of someone. Leaning my back on the door, I cross my ankles and arms as I remind myself that all of this is new for both of us.
A knock on the window lets me know Quinn is finished. As I slip back into the truck, she smiles shyly. “Thanks.”
We grab our snacks and turn our attention to the movie. I wish I had known more about the movie before coming. It’s a rom-com, which is typically fine, except this movie is about a couple pretending to be engaged. Neither Quinn nor I are laughing as the couple continues to dance circles around one another. Not to mention the lying they’re partaking in with one another and everyone around them.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. This was not the movie to pick for tonight. Still, neither of us speaks or laughs.
What do I do? Lean closer to her? Hold her hand?
My eyes dart to where her hand rests on her thigh. Her bare thigh. I swallow thickly, my palms growing clammy as I try to muster up the courage to reach for her hand.
Stop being an idiot, I chide myself. You’re a grown man.
Just as I’m getting ready to make a move, Quinn glances my way. “Are you watching the movie?”
“Uh . . . not really,” I admit sheepishly.
“Me either.”
We both chuckle and some of the tension releases from my shoulders.
Quinn tucks a leg under her, turning to face me and laying her head against the seat. “Maybe we should get to know one another.”
“I thought we already did.”
She gives me a small smile. “No, I mean, like . . .” She pauses. “Know one another the way a real dating or engaged couple would.”
My gaze drops to her mouth, and I wonder what it would be like to kiss her thoroughly. Not the timid kiss we’d shared on the beach. But one where I could take my time exploring her lips with my own.
The thought short-circuits my brain, and it takes me a moment to realize she’s talking. “I’m sorry, Quinn. What were you saying?” Her forehead scrunches as she studies me. “Are you okay?”
I smile. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just got distracted for a minute.” I don’t tell her that her lush lips are what distracted me. I’m still trying to figure out where the thoughts came from to begin with.
“I was saying we should do like a rapid-fire Q and A . Find out things that we would know about each other if we were really engaged.”
“We are really engaged.”
Quinn lifts her left hand and wiggles her ring finger. “I don’t see a ring, Baxter.”
I chuckle. “Touché.” Then, meeting her eyes, I say quietly, “Soon.”
A light red appears on her cheeks as she bites her bottom lip, and I’m back to wondering what it would be like to kiss her. Releasing her lip, she says, “Okay, I’ll start. Favorite color?”
“Ocean blue. You?”
“Yellow. Favorite movie?”
“ Rocky . Or Die Hard . You?”
“Cheater,” she teases with a smile. “Umm . . .” She blushes. “Don’t laugh.”
I hold up a hand. “Scout’s honor.” Burying her head in her hands, she mumbles something. I reach over and tug her hand away from her face. “Can’t hear you.”
Sighing, she glances down where neither of us have let go of the other’s hand. “ The Proposal, ” she whispers, then meets my eyes. “I just now realized how ironic it is that it’s my favorite movie.”
I shrug. “I mean, Ryan Reynolds, Sandra Bullock, and Betty White are a solid cast.”
Quinn laughs softly, and we continue asking questions all while keeping our fingers laced together, my thumb skimming lightly across hers.
“Have you ever had a serious relationship?” she asks.
“Not really. I mean, I’ve dated a little. But never seriously. What about you?”
“Same. There was one guy I went out with for a bit, but it never went anywhere.”
We’re both silent for a moment, lost in our thoughts. I reach over and am taking a drink of my watered-down soda when she asks, “So, you’ve . . . umm . . . never been with anyone, either?”
I choke as the drink goes down the wrong pipe.
Quinn snorts out a small laugh. “I didn’t mean to scandalize you, Bram.”
I cough and clear my throat. “No. No. I was surprised, that’s all.”
“I’m going to be your wife. I think I deserve to know.” Her words are quiet.
Nodding, I reply, “You do. And no. I haven’t.” Heat licks up my face, but I force it away. These are conversations all dating couples would have. We’re just having ours crammed into a two-hour date instead of several dates.
“Me either.” She must feel emboldened because she adjusts her hand until her fingers are tracing lines over my knuckles. The small action shouldn’t have me feeling so unbalanced. “And you’ve never been in love?”
Her words cause all the oxygen to leave my body. “No,” I reply, hating the way the single syllable tastes on my tongue and guilt pricks my heart. It’s a partial lie. But what else can I tell her? The truth is much more complicated. Yes, Quinn. I’ve spent years thinking I was in love with Lois, but now that she’s married, I’m realizing that maybe I wasn’t in love with her. But even then, it still hurts and I’m still trying not to think of her.
Of course, I can’t say any of that. “What about you?” I ask instead.
“No. Never.”
How does a man properly propose to a woman he’s not in love with?
The question has kept me up for the past three nights. I need to hurry and figure it out so we can get married—Quinn needs insurance ASAP. I still want to honor her wishes and do it right. I can’t blame her for wanting something special for a moment she’s probably envisioned a thousand times since she was a little girl.
Heck, even I’ve envisioned proposing to a girl one day. Getting married and settling down. Raising a family. Except, I’d pictured a certain blonde. Not her younger, dark-haired sister.
I groan, frustrated that I’d let my mind wander in that particular direction again. I’m beginning to feel like Paul, asking God to remove the “thorn from my flesh.” I don’t want to think about Lois as my thorn. Not with her married and me getting ready to propose to her sister. Not after Quinn asked me if I’d ever been in love and I straight-up told her no.
The feelings I had for Lois are still partially there. Like an annoying fly that won’t leave you alone. Every time I think I’ve finally gotten rid of them, they come buzzing back to life. I guess that’s to be expected after having those feelings for so long. I don’t just have a fly problem. I have an I’m-in-love-with-Lois infestation problem. I need to call an exterminator to eradicate these feelings once and for all.
For everyone’s sake.
Plus, I’m not in love with Lois. I will keep telling myself that until it rings true. Titus’s words about Lois come back to me. Have you ever stopped to think that maybe it’s because she wasn’t the woman God planned for you?
I allow my mind to drift toward Quinn and how she looked the other night on our date. There is no denying that the dynamic between the two of us has shifted. It’s left me scrambling for how to act around this woman I’ve known for a decade.
Sighing, I rub my eyes, attempting to dislodge the headache the worry has caused me to carry ever since the reception. Even with all of the awkwardness and the unwanted thoughts of Lois filtering in and out of my brain, I know this is the right thing to do. I’m anxious, yet peaceful about the situation all at once. I’m beginning to picture a future with Quinn by my side.
The strange part? It’s beginning to settle into my chest with a sense of rightness. Until something happens that brings about memories of Lois. My heart feels like a rope in a game of tug-of-war, being torn between the sisters. Except, neither of them actually wants me enough to pull.
Okay, maybe that’s a bad analogy.
Still, whenever that familiar tugging of my heart to fight for Lois hits, it takes everything within me to fight it off. The only tug I feel toward Quinn is a protective one. I want to protect her from this new diagnosis. From the stress and worry of medical bills. She needs someone who cares for her when she’s sick. I know I can be that person for her.
Maybe God will allow Quinn and me to find a comfortable companionship. I can’t think of love yet. All we can do right now is cling to our faith. After all, doesn’t the Bible say for us to walk by faith and not by sight?
That’s all we have. Faith.
Faith that God will not let our marriage fall apart.
Faith that we are honoring Him with this crazy plan.
I remove the small ring box out of my pocket and open it, staring down at the engagement ring I picked out for her. It had taken me an hour at the jewelry shop in Berry Bush before I found the one I wanted.
Seriously, why are there so many types of rings? I don’t think I have ever had such a hard time making a decision. I thought all you needed to know was the cut and size of the diamond.
Nope. There are cuts, designs, and different meanings for every single gem. Then you have to decide if it’s going to be interlocking with your wedding bands. Oh, do you want to engrave your undying love? Then, you better make sure the band is wide enough for that.
It’s pretty overwhelming.
When I learned that sapphires are a promise of honesty, loyalty, purity, and trust, I knew it was the perfect stone for Quinn’s ring. I picked out a white gold band, with a sapphire in the center and three little diamonds on each side—don’t ask me about the cut because my brain can only hold so much information about gems—that makes it look like the sapphire is a blooming flower.
The ring represents everything I’ve promised Quinn. Not love. Yet. There is a promise of the hope of love. And I am promising her a lifetime of trust and loyalty. Of being the only woman I look at.
That thought lays heavy on my chest. It’s not that I would ever intentionally seek after other women. I know I won’t.
But haven’t I already spent the entire morning wrestling with thoughts and feelings regarding not just another woman but my future fiancée’s sister? My sister-in-law?
Nausea pools in my stomach as I snap the lid shut and slip the box back into my pocket, feeling like the worst kind of jerk. Inhaling a deep breath, I force my mind to settle on my future bride and push every other thought out of my head.
I have the ring. Now, I have to figure out how to propose to her.
During our date, Quinn asked me again if I was still sure about going through with this. “Do we even know each other that well? I mean, I spent more time with Cyrus and Titus and you spent more time with Lois.”
It’s natural for her to be concerned that our friendship isn’t strong enough to last through a bigger commitment. I reassured her of everything I knew about her and the things she knew about me. And everything we’d just learned by playing her little questions and answers game.
We do know each other. Maybe not as close as two people getting ready to commit their lives to one another would, but we are not strangers. The answers seemed to satisfy her and our talk switched to lighter topics.
An idea sparks and after a moment, it’s in full flame. I know exactly how I’ll propose to Quinn. Grinning, I send her a text to ask if she’d have dinner with me after work.
This is it. By the end of the night, I’ll be an engaged man.