Page 3 of His Wisconsin Wallflower (Stateside Doms #25)

Chapter Three

After a brief lull in the steady stream of morning customers, Raisa busied herself with unpacking a box of romantic books featuring young and new adults, while Lila stayed behind the counter preparing for lunchtime.

The door swung open, letting in a gust of winter air, but Raisa didn’t feel the cold thanks to the six-foot-four hunk who’d entered.

It was he.

Quinten Carrington.

The handsome boy from high school, Cedarburg’s golden son, was standing in her shop.

He was more imposing than she remembered, his frame broader, shoulders filling out the buttery-soft, black leather jacket that looked like it cost more than her monthly rent.

His faded black jeans and crisp white shirt were effortlessly casual, but he commanded the room with his presence.

Those unruly brown curls were still as wild as they’d been back in school, though now they framed a rugged, more mature face.

The short beard was new, lending him an edge that made her breath catch.

And his eyes—intense and dark brown, intelligent and piercing under dark eyebrows with that ever-present sardonic tilt—swept over the shop with casual interest.

Instinctively, Raisa pressed her thighs together and squeezed her eyes shut.

A small, traitorous sound tried to escape her lips, but she smothered it before it could embarrass her.

She couldn’t let him see her like this—caught between awe and the kind of desire that shouldn’t hit this hard after all these years.

He hadn’t noticed her yet and approached the counter, glancing around with an easy familiarity that was so quintessentially Quinten it made her stomach churn.

“I heard your coffee’s as good as Starbucks,” he said to Lila. His voice was resonant and smooth, carrying a hint of amusement. “Figured I’d give it a try.”

Lila’s head snapped up, and her face lit with recognition. “Oh, my... we. Yes. yes, we’re way better than Starbucks. My boss makes the best coffee in Cedarburg.” She turned, calling out, “Raisa! You’ve got a customer.”

Raisa’s stomach plummeted. She couldn’t stay frozen forever.

With great reluctance, she set down the box of The Shadowhunter Chronicles by the popular YA romantasy writer Cassandra Clare and stepped out from behind the bookshelves, her legs wooden as she forced herself to move.

Her fingers twitched nervously at her sides as every old insecurity she’d buried since high school came rushing back.

Like it wasn’t in the past, the weight of her braces, the pinch of her too-tight clothes, the sting of being ridiculed and ignored rushed back and made her cringe.

Don’t trip. Don’t do something stupid. Her internal mantra grew louder with every step. The counter loomed closer, and with it, Quinten.

When he lifted his gaze so that it landed on her, she swore his eyebrows twitched upward. His lips curled into an easy, almost lazy smile, the kind that had made half the girls in their school swoon.

“You must be the barista,” he said. “I’m Quinten.”

“I know who you are,” Raisa blurted out before she could stop herself. Her cheeks flushed immediately, and she hurried to add, “Welcome. I—uh—what can I get for you?”

Quinten tilted his head to the left, narrowing his eyes as if he were trying to place her. “A latte. Unless you think there’s something better on the menu?”

“The lattes are great,” she said, steadier now. She moved behind the counter, grateful for the barrier between them. “Give me a minute, and I’ll make it for you.”

As she worked, steaming the milk and pulling the perfect espresso shot, she was aware of his eyes on her.

It wasn’t unpleasant, but it made her acutely aware of every movement.

She focused on her task, her fingers steady even as her mind whirled.

The boy who had never given her more than a cursory glance in high school was now here, in her shop, and she had no idea how to handle it.

After sliding the mug across the counter, she forced herself to meet his gaze. “Here you go. One latte. I hope it beats Starbucks.”

“Thanks. Keep the change.” Quinten pushed a tenner over the counter and took the coffee. “I’ll let you know about the coffee.”

His pure-male voice sent a shiver down her spine, but she maintained her composure, watching as he turned and strolled to a nearby table. She let out a slow breath, her grip tightening on the counter as she tried to steady herself.

This is fine . You’re fine. He’s nothing more than a customer. That’s all. What a shameless lie!

Sipping his coffee—and it was darned good—Quinten let his gaze wander around the shop.

The place had the kind of charm that made you want to linger, warm wooden shelves stocked with colorful book spines, a few cozy tables tucked into corners, and a gleaming counter.

The shop smelled of coffee, baked goods, and something sweet.

The faint hum of the coffee machine mixed with the pleasant jazz playing discreetly overhead.

He chuckled quietly to himself, remembering the dark, dusty shop as it had been in his youth.

Back then, it had only been a bookstore, and not once had he set foot in it.

Books were for nerds, he used to think, back when his priorities revolved around football practice and Friday night parties. Funny how time changed things.

His focus drifted from the past to the alluring barista.

She moved back to the bookcases like the paperbacks and hard covers reeled her in.

Her elegant fingers with unpainted nails held the books with reverence as she placed them on shelves in the ‘romantasy’ section. Whatever the hell that might be!

Her casual outfit—jeans, a simple sweater, and sneakers—did little to disguise her curves. Even her choice of footwear didn’t rob her of height. Tall enough that he wouldn’t have to bend like a pretzel to claim her lips when he kissed her.

He shook his head sharply, trying to erase the carnal thoughts from his head. Where the hell had that come from? He was here to fix the mess his father had left at Carrington Construction, not to get tangled up in some woman. No matter how stunning she was.

Still, there was something oddly familiar about her.

It gnawed at the edges of his memory, but he couldn’t quite place it.

He drained the last of his coffee and stood, taking his empty mug to the counter.

She glanced up as he passed but darted her gaze away just as fast, focusing instead on the books she was holding.

“Thanks,” he said. “That was… excellent. Better than Starbucks, hands down.”

“Glad you liked it,” she replied, polite but distant. She still didn’t look him in the eye.

That grated. Quinten prided himself on making an impression, and that she appeared to be determined not to acknowledge him properly only made him more curious.

“Are you new here?” He leaned casually against the bookcase.

She lifted her chin, and a small, almost imperceptible smile crossed her lips. “No. I was born and raised in Cedarburg.”

He frowned as he studied her face more closely. “You were? You look vaguely familiar, but I can’t remember your name.”

“It’s Raisa Winslow,” she said, for the first time willingly meeting his gaze. She sounded calm, but there was a flicker of something beneath the surface—annoyance?

The name hit him like a freight train. “Wallflower Winslow?” The words slipped out before he could stop them and he winced inwardly.

Her expression didn’t change, but the faint tightening of her jaw was answer enough.

A punch in the gut wouldn’t have surprised him more. The shy, awkward girl who’d been invisible in high school had grown into a woman so gorgeous it made his head spin. The ugly duckling wasn’t simply a swan now; she was the whole damn lake.