Chapter Twenty-Eight
Quinn
S urfing this morning was fun and a bit enlightening in regards to how I’m beginning to see Bram. I didn’t know what to expect when he asked me to trust him for our second activity. When we arrived at the Peach Beach Art Gallery, I almost squealed in delight. It’s been too long since I’ve made the time to come to the art gallery. It’s small, but I enjoy browsing the many pieces from local artists.
But Bram had more surprises in store for me. Instead of touring the gallery, he reserved a spot in the couple’s painting class. I blinked back tears at the thoughtfulness of the gesture. I can’t believe he remembered how much I love art. It’s been a long time since I’ve picked up a paintbrush. Sure, I doodle and sketch every now and then. Usually on receipts and grocery lists. But I haven’t painted since Dad’s death.
Doing something I love again alongside the man I’m growing more attracted to by the day healed a little piece of my heart.
We’re on our way home, but Bram says we aren’t done with the day yet. I shift in my seat, a whiff of wood and mint surrounding me. My gaze slides over to Bram, who’s whistling a tune I don’t recognize. He has a soft smile on his lips, and the lines of his face are relaxed.
“You look happy,” I blurt without thinking.
His gaze locks on mine, a new tenderness shining in his eyes. “I am.”
Warmth spreads from my middle and to my chest, a sense of peace settling over me. We are happy. At least in this moment. Our marriage may not be conventional, and we may not be in love with one another—yet—but our friendship is growing deeper. Richer. We care for one another, and we make each other laugh. And I think that’s a great place to be.
We arrive home, and before I can gather my stuff and open the truck door, Bram opens it for me. He holds his hand out waiting for me to take it. Smiling, I fit my hand into his, a plethora of butterflies coming to life at the contact.
He tugs me gently until I’m standing right in front of him. My breath hitches in my throat. His eyes hold more blue in them today as they trail along my face.
“Are you happy, Q?” His voice is low and gruff, sending unexpected shivers up my spine.
My lips quirk up in the corner. “I am,” I whisper.
His smile grows. “Happiness looks good on you.”
I have the sudden urge to lean closer to him, wrap my arms around his neck, and bring his lips to mine. Heat floods my cheeks at the thought. Bram doesn’t seem to notice, but he does release my hand as he strides toward the cottage.
The air whooshes out of me, leaving me feeling a bit deflated. Am I the only one feeling the tension between us?
And if I am . . . how will I ever protect my heart?
After twisting my hair into a low-key but elegant knot, I apply red lipstick to finish off my look. My hands are shaking as I run them down the red dress. I’ve only worn it once for a banquet at the center last year. It’s one-shoulder and form-fitting, accentuating my curves.
I breathe out a shuddering breath. What will Bram think of it?
A knock sounds at my door, making me jump a little. “You ready, sunshine? Not that I’m rushing or anything,” he quickly adds.
I bite back a smile. “Yeah, coming.” Slipping on my black heels, I swing the door open. All thoughts cease at the sight of my husband in a suit. Okay, yes, I saw him in a tux at our wedding. But this is different.
That had been for show because I demanded an actual wedding. But this? Nothing about today has been for show. It’s Bram doing little—and big—things to show me he cares and values me. That he sees me.
And I see him. If I thought shirtless Bram flaunting his many abs was breathtaking, Bram dressed up in a suit is downright . . . sexy.
My throat goes dry as I try to think of something clever to say, but I realize it doesn’t matter because Bram hasn’t said anything either. My eyes flick to his. He’s gawking at me. Gawking! I’m talking wide eyes and mouth hanging open like one of those cartoon characters. All he’s missing are big heart eyes.
I duck my head, squirming under his appraisal. “Is it okay?” I finally manage to say over the lump in my throat.
“O-okay?” He stutters. “Quinn, you look . . .” he trails off and shakes his head. “Whoa.”
My cheeks heat and I offer him a small smile. “You look whoa , too.”
Clearing his throat, he holds out his arm to me. “Ready to go, Mrs. Baxter?”
“More than ready, Mr. Baxter.” I smile and link arms with him.
Le Crépuscule in downtown Raleigh is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The waiter leads us to an outside table lit by twinkling strands of lights overhead. The inside is just as beautiful with gorgeous chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and candles lighting each table. Soft music plays from the band and a few couples are slow dancing.
“Bram, this is amazing,” I breathe out as he pushes my chair in for me. “How did you even get a reservation?” As soon as I ask the question, I wonder if he’d planned to bring someone else here. I’ve heard it takes months to get a table at Le Crépuscule.
Bram grins. “I may have bought it from Dad.”
“Your dad brings your mom here?”
He nods. “Two or three times a year.”
“That’s so sweet.”
“Dad says it keeps the romance alive.”
I take in the intimate setting. “Low lighting, soft music, good food, and dancing? It’s definitely romantic.”
“I’m glad you think so,” he replies, his stormy eyes studying me intently. I duck my head, trying to sort out everything going on inside my head.
We chat comfortably while we eat the most expensive food I’ve ever had. The flavors are rich and each bite makes me almost moan with pleasure. Bram watches me, his eyes soft and something else I can’t quite place. He was stressed last night, so I’m glad to see him relaxing.
Although, I wouldn’t exactly complain if he requested another neck or shoulder massage. The mere thought makes my face flush. What can I say? I have a thing for strong shoulders. And abs. And . . . apparently, my very attractive husband.
“Have I told you how beautiful you look this evening?”
My cheeks burn hotter. “Thank you, Bram.”
He leans forward, causing my heart to leap into my throat. “I have one last surprise for you tonight, wife.” Oh, I love how he calls me wife. It’s all flirty and possessive. It’s enough to make a woman swoon.
Angling my head, I shift a little closer to him. Why is this stupid table in our way? If I had nothing blocking me, I’d probably be in his lap by now. “And what is that, husband?”
He slides out of his seat and stands in front of me, holding out his hand. “May I have this dance?”
My heart races as I place my hand in his and allow him to lead me to the dance floor. He wraps his arm around my waist, drawing me snugly against him as we flow in time with the music.
“I can’t believe you planned all of this.”
Tilting his head, he whispers into my ear, “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”
My grip on his shoulder tightens inadvertently and something flashes in his eyes, making them look almost black. My breathing quickens as I stare back at him.
“What are you thinking about?” The question leaves my lips before I can second guess them.
His response is instant. “You,” he replies in a husky voice. Shaking his head, he stares at me, almost in amazement. “How did I not see you before?”
My heart isn’t racing any longer. No. It’s on the floor in a puddle of warm goo around my feet. The tenderness of his voice wraps around me, filling places I didn’t know were empty.
Standing on tiptoes, I place a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth. I linger a beat, breathing in his woodsy and mint scent.
When I chance a glance at him, there’s a look on his face I’ve never seen before. Just as I start to lower my head in utter humiliation, he breathes out in a low rumble, “You missed.”
My eyes widen with surprise as his lips find mine in a kiss of absolute bliss. His hands leave my waist as he cups my cheeks, drawing me closer to him.
Bram is kissing me!
For real this time.
Not for a show at our wedding. Not to humor Jovie.
But a real, heart-stopping, and delicious kiss.
With an aching slowness, he breaks the kiss, leaving me longing to jerk his mouth back to mine so we can do it all over again.
He lowers his forehead to mine. “I really want to do that again,” he whispers huskily as if reading my mind. “But not here.”
As the blissful haze evaporates, I realize we’ve been standing in the middle of the dance floor locking lips. Embarrassment washes over me, but I will never regret that kiss.
Bram leads me off the dance floor and back toward our table when someone speaks.
“Quinn Jones, is that you?”
The voice stops me in my tracks, dread coiling inside of me as I turn to find a man with dark hair, blue eyes, and the same sleazy smile he’d worn the last time I saw him almost seven years ago.
“Lawrence,” I reply, my voice a little unsteady. “It’s been a long time.”