Page 19 of His Wisconsin Wallflower (Stateside Doms #25)

Chapter Seventeen

Raisa traced her fingers over the spines of books in the romantasy section, a soft hum of satisfaction escaping her lips.

The new titles were disappearing faster than she’d anticipated.

“Good problem to have,” she murmured, pulling out a notebook to jot down potential reorders.

If this pace kept up, she might even need to expand the section.

The thought made her smile—Winslow’s Shelf thriving was precisely the kind of distraction she needed today.

But her focus slipped, her pen pausing mid-word.

I can’t believe how I spent last night. Heat crept up her neck as she tried to banish the memory of Quinten’s arms around her, the way his breath had tickled her skin, the heady mix of his cologne and something utterly him.

How his take-charge attitude had completely shut down her brain, leaving no room for doubts, and letting her be completely in the moment.

How the ropes had prevented her from doing, well, anything and how the helplessness had heightened her pleasure.

Her heart fluttered, and her cheeks started to burn. Nope. Not going there. Not in the middle of work.

“Getting all red-faced over there?” Lila’s teasing cut through her thoughts, and Raisa nearly jumped as she slapped shut the notebook.

She turned to face her employee, clutching the notebook a little too tightly. I am not about to tell her about last night—nuh-uh. Not happening. “What? No.” She touched her cheek. “It’s the heat. Isn’t it hot in here?”

Lila leaned on the counter, her grin pure mischief. “No, it’s not, but nice try. What’s got you all flustered?”

Think, Raisa. Think fast. “I think I’m getting into my menopause,” she said with mock seriousness, turning back to the shelf. That’s a good excuse. If I’m the only one feeling hot, might as well blame hot flashes, right?

Lila barked out a laugh, crossing her arms. “Oh, please. You’re way too young for that. These are hormones, all right, but the get down and dirty and make babies hormones.”

“Lila!” Raisa spun around, her exclamation coming out louder than intended. A few customers glanced their way, and the gentle murmur of folks flipping through pages or chatting over lattes stilled. Her cheeks burned even hotter as Lila doubled over in laughter, waving off their curious looks.

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop,” Lila said between giggles, wiping at her eyes. “For now.”

The chime of the door drew their attention, and Raisa exhaled, grateful for the distraction.

Two men strolled in, and Raisa immediately recognized Gavin and Corbin.

They were talking animatedly, Gavin gesturing with his hands while Corbin smirked at whatever his cousin was saying.

She offered a polite smile and straightened her posture.

“Welcome to Winslow’s Shelf. What can I get for you?” she asked, stepping toward the counter.

Gavin returned her smile, leaning casually against the counter. “I’ll have a cappuccino and whatever today’s special is.”

Corbin, beside him, folded his arms and scanned the shop, his sharp gaze eventually settling on her. “Make that two. The strawberry tart looks delicious.”

“Coming right up,” Raisa replied, turning to Lila, who immediately got to work on steaming milk for the cappuccinos.

Raisa plated the tarts herself, their custard centers gleaming under the light, topped with glossy strawberries.

As she carried the tray to their table, her earlier distraction melted into curiosity.

She couldn’t remember the last time Gavin had come by—or Corbin. This was new.

“Here you go,” she said, setting down the drinks and pastries. “Enjoy.”

“Thanks,” Gavin said, picking up his coffee. “So, you’re going to the police station with Quint later today, huh?”

Raisa blinked at the unexpected question. “Oh, uh, yeah. I’m only trying to help.”

“Are you going to tell them about your suspicion?”

“About the footage? Yeah.”

“You’re absolutely sure about it not being Vanessa?” Gavin asked. Corbin raised an eyebrow at his probing but stayed silent, sipping his cappuccino.

“Yes, I am. Absolutely, totally and utterly,” Raisa replied firmly. “Why?”

Gavin shrugged and popped a piece of the strawberry tart into his mouth.

“Just don’t want you to get in trouble with the police.

When I spoke to Devaney earlier this week, she mentioned they’re getting frustrated.

She said something about you wasting time and resources. It could come back to bite you.”

The words hit Raisa like a sudden gust of cold air. “What do you mean?”

He waved a hand, brushing off the sharpness in her voice. “It’s just… I mean, how can you be so sure? These things are tricky, and sometimes it’s hard to tell with grainy footage. Plus, Vanessa’s been seen running before. She has sneakers, you know.”

Raisa’s jaw tightened, but she kept her tone even. “I’ve never seen her without heels. And it’s more than the shoes; it’s the walk, the whole posture. It wasn’t her.”

Corbin, who had been listening this far, chimed in, leaning forward. “You sound pretty confident. Hope you’re right.”

“I am.” Raisa’s response was steadier now, bolstered by a quiet conviction she honestly didn’t know where it came from. “I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t.”

Before she could question Gavin further about his statement, a customer near the shelves called for her assistance.

“Excuse me,” she said with a polite nod to Gavin and Corbin before heading away.

By the time she returned, the table was empty, the cappuccino cups neatly stacked, and the tart plates cleared.

Lila looked up as Raisa approached the counter. “Those two didn’t stay long.”

“No,” Raisa murmured, frowning. What a strange thing for Gavin to say.

She glanced at the clock. Almost closing time. But Gavin’s words stuck in her head, gnawing at her thoughts as she started wiping down the counter. Wasting police time? Why would he say that?

Quinten leaned against his truck’s passenger door, the crisp January air biting at his skin.

The yellowish glow from the streetlight overhead cast soft shadows, bouncing off the frost-rimmed shop windows as Raisa turned the key in the lock.

She tugged the door twice to make sure it was secure, then checked it again.

Her movements were quick, almost mechanical, her face set in concentration.

Her shoulders hunched slightly as she turned toward him, her steps deliberate but lacking their usual bounce. When their eyes met briefly, she offered a small smile—lukewarm at best—and before she darted her gaze away, as if pretending to adjust the scarf he’d given her the day before.

He pushed away from the car and closed the distance between them, leaning in for a kiss.

For a few seconds, she seemed almost frozen before responding to him.

Uncomfortable with PDA, huh?

“Hey.” He stepped back to give her more space and opened the truck door for her. “You all set?”

“Yeah, thanks,” she murmured, as she climbed into the seat. She settled in, tugging the scarf higher around her neck, her attention fixed on the dashboard.

Quinten shut the door and went around to his side.

He climbed in, letting the truck’s heater kick in before saying more.

Usually, she’d make some comment about the cold or crack a joke, but the silence lay heavy between them.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye as he pulled onto the main road.

Her posture was rigid, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, and her face was turned toward the passenger window.

“Everything okay?” he asked after a moment, keeping his tone casual.

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed without looking at him.

Well, that’s not convincing. He frowned, taking in the position of her shoulders and the tightness in her jaw. “Long day at the shop?”

“Yeah,” she said, reaching up to twist a strand of hair.

One-word answers. Not a good sign. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, searching for something else to say. “You seem a little... distracted. Is it about the meeting with the detectives?”

She shook her head and was still avoiding his gaze. Damn it!

“No.”

“Something bad happen?”

“No.”

“Okay, well, how was your day?”

“Fine.”

That was it? Just fine . Quinten clenched his jaw as he battled inwardly with his irritation then decided to let it go for the present.

She wasn’t a moody person and certainly didn’t take out her irritation on others.

Whatever was on her mind, she unmistakably wasn’t ready to share.

Maybe it was nerves about the police meeting, or maybe it was something else entirely.

Does she regret last night? his brain supplied unhelpfully, which made his chest tighten.

The rest of the drive passed in uncomfortable silence, he pressed a few buttons, and a local radio station filled the quiet.

Every so often, he stole a glance at her, catching the way she fidgeted with the edge of her scarf or how she never settled her gaze on one thing for long.

She was clearly preoccupied, and it was driving him crazy trying to figure out why.

“Hey.” He kept his tone soft and gentle, as if she was a skittish foal. “We’re going to figure all of this out. Don’t worry.”

Her lips parted, as if she wanted to say something, but she hesitated, before pressing her mouth into a stubborn line and nodding instead.