Chapter Twenty-Two
Quinn
M y heart stays in my throat the entire time Bram and Jett are wrestling with King Arthur to secure his massive jaws. I try my best to turn away, but my eyes remain glued to Bram’s every movement.
And no, I’m not noticing the way his muscles flex through his white T-shirt. Though, his strong arms do draw my gaze more than once.
The two work well together, and it doesn’t take long for Jett to have King Arthur’s jaws taped up. Jett puts a leash on him to lead him back to his truck. Everyone knows there’s a somewhat tame side to King Arthur. But it’s not like we want to test the theory.
Once they load Arthur into Jett’s truck, I hurry to the kitchen to heat up Bram’s coffee and food. I have to get myself something as well before my sugar crashes. I grab an apple and a jar of peanut butter. Perfect.
The front door shuts as I’m placing the plate on the table. Bram enters the kitchen and stops. “What’s all this?”
“I noticed you hadn’t been able to eat or drink your coffee yet. I warmed it up for you.”
He smiles, flashing his dimples at me, though he doesn’t meet my eyes. “Thanks, Q. This smells delicious. Are you going to join me?”
“Sure.”
I take a seat across from him and cut my apple into slices.
“Is that all you’re eating?” He frowns, scooping a bite of pancake into his mouth.
“Well, I’ve already eaten breakfast. This is my snack to keep my sugar stable after the run.”
He takes a sip of coffee. “This is really good, Q. All of it. Thank you.”
I duck my head, feeling shy all of a sudden. “You’re welcome.”
“But . . .” he says slowly, bringing my head up. “I don’t expect you to do this all the time. Okay?”
Waving a hand, I smile. “Oh, I know. I wanted to.” It’s a familiar rhythm for me. Wake up, cook breakfast, go for a run. I can’t imagine stopping now. Plus, seeing Bram’s satisfied smile as he eats fills me with a sense of pride and pleasure.
We eat the remainder of our food in silence. I sense there’s something on his mind, but I’m not sure how to approach it. This entire dynamic is new for both of us.
“Why didn’t you tell me where you were?” His question catches me off guard, and I lower the bite of the apple I was getting ready to take.
My brow puckers. “I left a note on the fridge. I didn’t want to wake you.”
He rubs a hand over his face. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry. I didn’t see it. I just . . . never mind.”
I study the tense lines of his shoulders and the way his jaw works back and forth. “Bram, did you think I’d left? Left you?”
Sighing, he shrugs. “The thought might have crossed my mind briefly.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“I know.”
“This marriage thing is hard, huh?” I smile at him, hoping to ease some of the strain from the morning.
His shoulders relax as he leans his elbows on the table and buries his head in his hands. “Very.”
We chuckle together and the tension evaporates from the room.
“We still have time to make it to church,” I say, noting the time.
Bram glances up at the clock and then at me. “Do you want to go?”
“I think so.” I scrunch my nose. “Is it weird for us to go?”
“Well, we got married a week after announcing our engagement, and we didn’t take an official honeymoon. I think weird is what we do.” He smiles at me, then continues. “But I do think we need to um . . . discuss some ground rules.”
His tone gives me pause. He sounds uncertain. Guarded.
“Okay. About what exactly?”
Tapping his fingers on the table, he’s silent for a minute. “Well, I think we should . . . um . . . discuss”—he groans and clears his throat—“I think we should discuss what level of PDA we’re going to use in public.” His face reddens, and he averts his eyes.
A blush heats my cheeks. “Oh.” It’s all I can get out.
“So, Quinn. What do you think?” Finally, his stormy eyes find mine, and I see all of the doubts and uncertainties swirling around in their depths.
Sitting back in my chair, I picture some of the couples I know and how they act around each other. Of course, Lois and Chad come to mind immediately. I scrunch my nose. “Well, I definitely don’t want to be like Lois and Chad. I feel like I need to bleach my eyes if I’m around them too long.” Bram’s jaw tightens, and his face grows pale. I rush on, not sure what’s bothering him. “I think hand holding. Or . . . um . . . light touches”—his eyebrow arches, and my face flames—“I mean, like you putting an arm around my shoulders or waist . . . or a hand on my back to guide me—”
He chuckles. “So a romance novel? The whole, ‘placing a palm to the small of her back.’” He winks at me, but my mouth is wide open.
“Abraham Baxter! Do you read romance novels?”
The pale appearance from earlier is instantly replaced with a bright red as he blushes from the neck to the top of his hairline. “I-I . . . um . . . what?”
I throw my head back and laugh. And laugh some more. I finally calm down and glance at him. His face is still adorably red as he tries to appear nonchalant.
“Are you done now?” he asks coolly.
Nodding, I cover a smile with my hand. “It’s just so unexpected is all.”
Growling, he replies, “They’re military books. Action. They just happen to have a romance storyline, too.”
I bite my lip to try and keep from smiling, but it breaks free as I nod. “Mmm-hmm.”
Burying his face in his hands, he groans. “Don’t tell anyone. Especially Cyrus. Or Titus.”
“Don’t worry, Bram. Your secret is safe with me.” I giggle but clamp a hand over my mouth when he glares at me, though there’s a little twinkle in his eyes.
“Okay, so back to the topic at hand. Any other PDA-related rules we should lay down?”
“Nope. Just follow your romance books and you should be good,” I retort, earning another sharp look that has me laughing again. I sigh loudly. “Oh, I haven’t laughed so much in a long time.”
“Focus, Q.”
I straighten in my chair. “Right, right. No, I think those cover the bases.”
He seems to wrestle with the next thing, but finally, he asks, “And—just so we are totally on the same page—what about kissing?”
I’m still a little drunk on laughter from the revelation that Bram reads romance novels, which is the only explanation for what comes out of my mouth next as I prop an elbow on the table and rest my chin on my palm. “Why, Bram? Do you want to kiss me?” I smirk at him until the words I’d just spoken sink in.
I squeeze my eyes shut and bite back a groan. If embarrassment could kill, I would die on the spot. My tombstone would read:
Here lies Quinn Jones Baxter.
Died of embarrassment at the breakfast table.
Bram will be thankful. His act of heroism in marrying me will have ended before it truly began. He’ll be free to go and date other women. Heck, he’ll probably get to play the sympathy card to pick them up.
I can hear the woman now, “Oh, I’m so sorry that you lost your wife,” she’d say, batting her eyelashes at him. Then, he’d hang his head. Maybe, blink back a tear or two. “Yeah, it was so sudden. No one saw it coming.”
Even as the image flashes through my mind, I know Bram would never react that way. I’m just on edge from all of the King Arthur drama. Still, the idea of Bram with another woman has something green unfurling in my stomach.
“I could think of worse ways to spend my time,” Bram says nonchalantly.
Heat licks up my face causing my cheeks to flame as I clench my eyes tighter.
Suddenly, Bram bursts out laughing. I open an eye and glare at him, which only makes him laugh harder. “You know what they say about payback, right?”
Through his laughter, he replies, “I’m looking forward to it.” A wide grin pulls his lips up as I roll my eyes at him.
Standing, I place my dirty dishes in the sink. “I’m going to get ready for church, husband .”
His eyes light up with merriment and the sight sends weird swooping sensations throughout my stomach. “Okay, wife ,” he replies with a smirk that has my knees going weak.
I hurry from the kitchen and flee to my room. When I shut the door, I place a hand over my erratic heart.
Oh, I am in big trouble.