Page 15 of His Wisconsin Wallflower (Stateside Doms #25)
Chapter Fourteen
Sunday mornings were usually quiet in the Winslow household. Nana had already left for church, her gentle words of encouragement lingering in Raisa’s mind from the night before.
“You should take your time with that nice young man at Sunday brunch,” Nana had said with a playful wink, adding that her visit to the Wisconsin Museum of Quilts this was about the Vanessa problem.
Of course, he’d invited the family members who worked at Carrington Building Company.
Still, as she found herself surrounded by Quinten’s family, their easy camaraderie and warmth made her feel like an outsider looking in. She hadn’t come prepared for this, and the weight of their attention was overwhelming.
Quinten must have sensed her unease because he placed a steadying hand on the small of her back, his touch settling her.
“Come on, brunch is ready.” Mrs. Carrington waved to a wide, open space, where the dining table was laden with a feast of comfort food.
A platter of crispy bacon sat alongside a dish of creamy-looking scrambled eggs, their golden curds topped with a dash of parsley.
There was a bowl of fresh fruit—vivid reds, yellows, and greens—and a stack of fluffy pancakes, dusted with powdered sugar and accompanied by a pitcher of warm maple syrup.
Raisa’s stomach growled, the enticing smells making her realize she hadn’t eaten yet.
Quinten’s mother poured orange juice into glasses. “Would you like coffee or tea with your breakfast, Raisa? Take a seat, child. Don’t be shy. We are happy to have you here.”
Quinten pulled out a chair for her, and she slid into it, grateful for the gesture. The room buzzed with conversation as plates were passed around, everyone piling their dishes high. Corbin reached for the bacon, teasing Quinten about how he’d eaten half the batch before Raisa arrived.
“Don’t let him fool you.” Quinten shot his brother a mock glare. “Corbin’s the real bacon thief in this family.”
The laughter was warm, but Raisa couldn’t shake the tension in her chest. She knew why they were here, and as the small talk drifted into silence, she braced herself for the inevitable shift in tone.
It was Gavin who steered the conversation.
Sitting at the end of the table, Quinten’s cousin had an air of quiet skepticism.
He buttered a slice of toast with meticulous precision before looking up.
“So,” he began, his voice measured. “Quinten tells us you’re not convinced it’s Vanessa in that footage. ”
The table stilled, the easy chatter fading. The weight of their focus landed squarely on her, but she straightened her back, channeling the quiet confidence Nana had instilled in her. “I’m not convinced, no. There are things that don’t add up.”
Gavin raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”
Raisa drew a breath, her mind vibrant despite the nervous flutter in her stomach. “The walk was off. Vanessa’s gait has a distinctive sway. This person didn’t move like that. And the shoes—Vanessa is always in heels. I’ve never seen her wear sneakers.”
Gavin let out a soft laugh, not unkind but undeniably doubtful. “You’re basing this on how someone walks? Walking is walking. It’s not like a fingerprint.”
Corbin chimed in, his tone light but supportive. “I don’t know, Gav. Some people do have a unique stride. Like Dad—he’s got that lumbering walk like he’s still carrying bricks even when he’s not.”
Their father grunted, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “Watch it, kid.”
But Gavin wasn’t deterred. “Come on, though. Vanessa’s a model. She’s fit. She probably jogs now and then. Of course she has sneakers.”
Raisa opened her mouth to respond, but Gavin pressed on. “And let’s be real—how good is this footage? I haven’t seen it, but I bet it’s grainy as hell. Probably hard to make out any details.”
Quinten’s father, who had been quiet until now, nodded in agreement. “He’s got a point, Raisa. It’s easy to misinterpret things when the image isn’t clear. Could be a simple mistake.”
The words stung, but Raisa held her ground. Before she could speak, Quinten’s mother interjected. Her voice was firm but kind. “Don’t dismiss her so quickly. Raisa has a sharp eye. If she says something is off, we should listen.”
Corbin nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I agree with Mom. Besides, she’s the only one who—beside me—has actually spent time studying the footage.”
Raisa glanced at Quinten, who gave her an encouraging nod.
His silent support steadied her, and she found her voice.
“It’s not just a gut feeling,” she said, calm but resolute.
“I’ve been observing people my whole life—how they move, how they carry themselves.
It’s part of what makes me a good writer. Details stick with me.”
“Writer?” Quinten’s left eyebrow slid up.
Her eyes widened. “Erm… yes… well that’s not important. What is important that I’m observant, and I have a good memory for details.”
Gavin leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “Fair enough, but what if you’re wrong?”
“I’m not.” The words came out stronger than she expected, fueled by a quiet confidence she hadn’t felt in years. She thought of Nana’s unwavering belief in her, the gentle pat on her hand as she’d assured Raisa that her memory and observations were flawless.
The room went quiet for a moment, the tension thick in the air. Then Quinten’s mother smiled. “Well, I, for one, trust your instincts, Raisa, and I think we should all keep an open mind.”
Quinten’s father didn’t argue, though his expression remained skeptical. Gavin, too, seemed less than convinced, but he didn’t push further.
As the conversation shifted to practicalities—what the next steps would be, who would follow up with the police—Raisa allowed herself a small smile. She might not have swayed everyone, but she’d held her ground. And that, she realized, was enough for now.
Quinten reached under the table and gave her hand a brief squeeze. The simple gesture warmed her more than his scarf around her neck had, and for the first time that morning, she felt like she truly belonged.