Chapter Fifteen
Bram
T he next morning, I arrive at the Peach Beach Housing Center thirty minutes before my crew is scheduled to be here.
Everyone will know soon enough about my engagement and marriage. I don’t need the heckling I’m bound to get from the guys by announcing it just yet. Especially since I still can’t believe this is happening.
After Quinn left last night, I’d walked around the cottage in a fog. Well, it wasn’t a fog. More like an out-of-body experience. Ever since our stroll on the beach where she agreed to marry me, I look in the mirror and see the familiar face of Abraham Baxter staring back at me, but it’s as if I’m watching my life unfold from a distance.
Nothing seems real right now. I have bruises on my forearms where I keep pinching myself to see if I’m awake. Okay. I have one. One bruise. And yes, I am most definitely awake. And this is happening.
I realize my cottage has been quiet and lonely for far too long. This entire thing has been quick and unorthodox, but I can’t deny that I’m looking forward to having someone to come home to every day.
Quinn seemed content when I walked her to her car after the proposal dinner. She even seemed happy. Leave it to me to ruin the moment by giving her the most awkward, brotherly hug you could give someone. Mrs. Graham’s obnoxious snorting as she peered on from her front porch sealed the deal.
I tried to ignore her as Quinn drove away while I made my way back to my cottage, but Mrs. Graham isn’t the type of person to be ignored.
“You know, back in my day, if I looked up at a man like that, he’d have kissed me senseless,” she said in a raspy voice.
It was getting dark, and I could hardly see her fragile frame through the various hanging plant baskets surrounding her porch. She was like a mob boss in a political thriller book, sleuthing in the dark to gain intel on her next target. It wouldn’t have been as creepy if she’d had a porch light on, but knowing her, it was probably broken. I figured I would have to add that to my never-ending list of things to fix for her.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” I replied. I couldn’t ignore her at that point. I was spotted. If I didn’t stop and talk with her, she’d end up following me inside my house.
She gave another harumph, and the chair squeaked as she stood. “Abraham Baxter, I thought I was the one going blind. Not you.”
I scratched my head, unsure what she wanted me to say. And no. The old woman wasn’t going blind. One day I had been watching a hockey game, and she had called me—don’t ask how she got my cell number; I’m not sure I even want to know —to comment on what a great shot number ten had made. When I’d asked if she was watching the game too, she had said nonchalantly, “Oh no, dear. I haven’t had a TV in twenty years.”
Sure enough, I’d left my curtains open and Mrs. Graham had been sitting on her porch, watching the game through my window. With binoculars.
Like I said, creepy.
She stood on her porch, her hair done up in rollers and her night robe wrapped tightly around her, staring at me through beady eyes set in a face full of wrinkles. Shaking her head sadly, she muttered, “Men these days,” before ambling into her house and slamming the door.
Normally, I don’t let Mrs. Graham get into my head. I can’t. Or I’d be creeped out all the time, sleeping with one eye open. But I kept turning over her words in my head all night long. It almost sounded . . . but no. It couldn’t be. Could it?
Mrs. Graham may be a bit strange and a whole lot nosey, but she’s also extremely perceptive. Was she trying to tell me that Quinn wanted me to kiss her last night?
The idea twists everything inside me. For so many reasons.
With a quick glance around the parking lot, I grab the bouquet of sunflowers and, well, I don’t know what other flowers are in it. I asked the florist for a bouquet that was bright and summery. Like Quinn.
I don’t see Quinn’s car in the parking lot, but I know she sometimes carpools with her mom if their schedules coincide. The center’s lights are on, and there is music coming through the door. Tightness fills my chest and I rub a hand over my heart, releasing a pent-up breath. With clammy hands, I open the door and head to the front office.
A blonde woman—I believe her name is Carly—glances up when I clear my throat. Her eyes widen when she sees me and notices the flowers. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, and she plants a hand on her hip.
“Goodness, if I’d known a handsome man would be dropping by with flowers, I would have curled my hair.” She winks at me and heat climbs up my neck. I’ve never been comfortable being flirted with. That’s Cyrus’s realm.
“Uhh . . . umm . . .”
Her smile grows wider, and she lets out a laugh. “Don’t worry, handsome. I know you’re here for my lovely coworker. I knew there was something going on between the two of you even though she tried to brush it off. But I’m afraid she’s not here today.”
“Oh,” I reply, finally finding my voice. “I thought she said she would be here.”
“She called in sick this morning, poor thing.”
My hand clenches tighter around the bouquet. “Sick? Did she say what?”
Carly shakes her head. “No, but if I know one thing about Quinn, it’s that she never calls in for any reason.”
“Thank you.”
She smiles again. “Now go take care of our girl.”
After sending a text to Jerry to let him know I’ll be coming in late, I head to Quinn’s going as fast as the law will allow. My heart is in my throat the entire time.
Is she okay? Does she need to be in the hospital?
It takes all of my restraint not to pound the door down as I knock on it. Ada swings it open and glances up at me in surprise.
“Why, Bram. I didn’t expect to see you today.”
I shift, uncomfortable under the scrutiny of her gaze. Looking down at the bouquet in my hands, I reply, “Umm . . . I came to check on Quinn.”
Ada’s eyes brighten. “Oh, she’ll be glad to see you. She wasn’t feeling well this morning.”
“Carly told me.” My chest relaxes slightly. If Ada isn’t freaking out, then I shouldn’t be either.
“She’s up in her room resting.”
I hesitate, glancing up the stairs. “I don’t want to wake her.”
Ada waves a hand. “Oh nonsense, go on up and see your girl. Holler if she needs anything. I’ll be out in the garden.”
Your girl. A fierce protectiveness envelops me at Ada’s words. We’re waiting to tell our families about the engagement until tomorrow night’s dinner, but just knowing Ada already considers Quinn mine fills my bones with purpose. I climb the steps, stopping in front of Quinn’s bedroom door. At least, I assume it’s still Quinn’s room. I’m not sure the last time I’ve been upstairs.
I knock lightly. “Come in,” a faint voice answers.
Opening the door, it takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the dark room. I make out Quinn’s form lying on the bed. An image of her in the hospital flashes through my mind as I get closer.
“Hey, Q,” I say softly.
She rolls over, her brows creasing. “Bram? What are you doing here?” She attempts to sit up and lets out a soft moan.
I place a gentle hand on her shoulder to keep her from trying again. “I came to check on you.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
I don’t respond as I slide her desk chair toward the bed and take a seat. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I think it’s just a cold. Don’t worry, I’ve been keeping an eye on my blood sugar and making sure to drink plenty of water.” She ducks her head and twists her fingers together. “But it was nice of you to stop by.”
Lifting her hand, I study the engagement ring on her finger and smile. “It’s the least I could do for my fiancée.”
Her eyes lift to mine, something flashing across them for a beat. Before either of us can say anything, a loud shattering sound comes from behind me. Quinn and I both jump, and I swivel the chair to see Lois standing there, her mouth agape. Water and shards of glass surround her as she stares between the two of us.
Quinn mutters something under her breath that sounds like, “Great. Here we go,” while I sit there unsure of what to do.
“Fiancée?” Lois stammers out and starts to step into the room.
“Stop!” I hold a hand out. “Stand still while I clean this glass up.” I turn and give Quinn an encouraging smile—one that I don’t feel at the moment.
Grabbing the trash can sitting by Quinn’s desk, I move cautiously toward Lois. If the daggers coming out of her eyes right now were real, I’d be dead. She would have already sliced and fileted me like a freshly caught sea trout.
No one says a word as I meticulously clear a path for Lois to step over. And like the coward I am, once I’ve made a small path, I retreat to the kitchen to get the broom and dustpan. “I’ll be right back,” I call over my shoulder, not missing the disappointment in Quinn’s eyes.
I just . . . I need a minute to breathe. We’d planned to tell our families at dinner tomorrow night. I’d been prepared for that battle. I hadn’t been prepared for Lois overhearing and looking as if she wanted to skin me alive. I shudder at the memory of the murderous look in her eyes.
Thankfully, Ada isn’t in the kitchen as I grab the broom and a towel and head back upstairs.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Lois’s voice is full of heated anger I’ve never heard from her before. Does she dislike me that much to not want her sister to marry me?
Knots twist my stomach.
“Lo, I don’t feel like having this discussion with you right now,” Quinn replies in a quiet voice. Exhausted. That’s how she sounds.
Lois scoffs. “Really? That’s your cop-out?”
“As if you have any room to talk.”
“That’s what this is about. Isn’t it? You’re trying to one-up me or get back at me for marrying Chad without telling you?”
Surprise keeps my feet glued to the hallway. Lois sounds a little hurt and insecure, but she also sounds a whole lot like a child throwing a tantrum.
Quinn lets out a humorless chuckle. “For once in your life, could you please not make this about you?”
“It’s just surprising. You and Abraham?”
“More surprising than you coming home married to Mr. Collins?” Quinn counters.
I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Guess I’m not the only one who’s given Lois’s husband a nickname. Though, I still think I prefer Lord Chadwick to Mr. Collins.
Silence follows the statement, and I brace myself for a yelling match. I haven’t heard Quinn and Lois go at it since they were teenagers, but I know it can get vicious.
“It never changes. Does it? You’ve always thought you were Little Miss Perfect. That you never make mistakes.” Lois’s voice is growing louder and something about her tone has me straightening and striding into the room. She doesn’t see me and is still tearing into Quinn. “Well, you aren’t perfect either, and one of these days you’re going to fall off that high pedestal of yours and join the rest of us deadbeats on the ground. I—”
“Enough,” I say in a loud, firm voice, surprising myself. Lois and Quinn turn to face me, their eyes wide with shock. Lois is standing in front of Quinn’s bed, her arms crossed and anger flashing in her eyes. I glance at Quinn and spot the sheen of unshed tears and hurt in her eyes.
“You need to leave, Lois.” I’ve never been this angry at Lois before, and I’m not sure how to act. All I know is that I need to get her away from Quinn before she makes her more upset.
“You can’t kick me out of my own house,” she replies, hands on her hips.
“You mean Ada’s house. Right?” It’s a low blow, and she flinches at my words. “Regardless, this is Quinn’s room. She’s not well and you need to leave so she can rest.”
Lois opens and closes her mouth a few times but finally turns on her heel and storms out. I take the towel, wipe up the spilled water, and then sweep up the remainder of the glass pieces. Quinn hasn’t said a word. Her eyes never leave me as I clean, but when I come back up from returning the broom to the kitchen and getting her a fresh glass of water, she’s asleep.
Quietly entering the room, I set her glass on the table and watch her for a moment. I have the sudden urge to run my fingers through the long locks surrounding her like a halo. Giving into it, I allow my fingers to trail down her hair, brushing her shoulder as I reach the tips. She shifts slightly and my fingers freeze.
Blinking slowly, her eyes open and she stares at me for a moment. A thousand questions flash across those turquoise eyes of hers. None of which I have the answer to. I start to pull away, but she grabs my hand and brings it to her cheek.
She closes her eyes for a brief second. “Thank you,” she whispers, releasing my hand. “For . . . for taking care of me. And getting Lois out of here.”
My mind is still struggling to figure out why Lois was acting that way. Her actions weren’t like the Lois I’ve always known, but whatever was causing them, I refuse to let her talk to Quinn like that. Even if she weren’t marrying me.
I kneel so we’re at eye level. Quinn looks vulnerable like this, and my heart squeezes a little. I place my hand on the top of her head. Yeah, that won’t work. It’s a fatherly or brotherly type of action, and Mrs. Graham’s raspy voice is still ringing in my ears. Slowly, I let my hand slide down until it cups her cheek. A flush appears. Whether from my touch or a fever, I’m not sure.
“Q, I told you I’d always take care of you. You might as well get used to it.”
Her lips tug up, and my thumb must have developed a mind of its own because it strokes over the raised corner.
Quinn’s breath hitches and our gazes lock for a weighted heartbeat. Dropping my hand from her face, I clear my throat and avert my gaze. Doubts are running rampant. This is going to take a long time to get used to.
Leaning forward, I place a chaste kiss on her forehead. “Get some rest and I’ll check on you later.”
“Okay,” she mumbles, already drifting off.
I stand and sigh. Rubbing a hand over my face, I stare down at my future bride.
God, what am I doing?