Page 7 of His Wisconsin Wallflower (Stateside Doms #25)

Chapter Six

After lunch with his mom, which now included Raisa’s iced tea on his to-die-for beverages list, Quinten worked through the early afternoon, sorting the previous year’s finances and making a call to the IRS to explain the mess and request time to resolve it.

He managed to buy a small window of reprieve, and by late afternoon, took his mom home and called in a family discussion.

Quinten leaned back in his chair, glancing around the small living room where the Carrington family’s impromptu meeting had gathered.

His father sat in the recliner by the window, his once-broad shoulders slumped, and his face lined with worry.

At sixty-three, he looked more like seventy.

The sight hit Quinten harder than he expected.

His dad wasn’t invincible. He was aging and fading.

And damn it, Quinten wanted his parents to have a few happy years together without working themselves into the ground.

Thinking of his mother, he stole a glance at her. She looked effortlessly put together, her blouse unwrinkled, her smile calm, like the day hadn’t touched her at all. How did she do that?

She perched on the edge of the couch with a cup of tea in her hand, her posture straight and her expression calm but alert.

Corbin sat cross-legged on the floor, a notepad balanced on his knee, ready to take notes.

Across from him, their foreman and cousin, Gavin, leaned forward on the arm of a chair, flicking his sharp gaze between them all.

“All right,” Quinten began, then paused to clear his throat before squaring up like it was fourth and long. “I have some bad news and good news to share with you. To start with the bad: the books are a mess.”

“How bad?” Corbin poised his pen above the notepad, looking like an eager schoolboy.

Quinten sighed. “Bad. Things aren’t adding up for the last sixteen months or so. Payments are late, balances don’t make sense, and it’s obvious things haven’t been reconciled properly.”

His father let out an irritated grumble. “Vanessa Clark was supposed to handle that. Damn girl’s been doing it for years.”

“I know Vanessa,” Quinten said, leaning forward. “I’ve known her since high school. She has a good reputation, but right now? She’s not answering her phone. I’ve left more voicemails than I can count, and I even went by her house.”

“And?” Gavin raised an eyebrow.

“Her car’s gone, the house is dark and empty. I don’t know where she is, and frankly, it’s making me nervous.”

“Could she be on vacation?” Corbin sounded skeptical.

“Maybe.” Quinten ran a hand through his hair. “But she’s not exactly the type to take off without warning. Something is off. I don’t know…”

The room fell silent for a moment as they all processed the information.

“I can ask around town,” Gavin offered. “See if anyone knows where she went or if they’ve heard anything. She’s close with a couple of women. They should know where Vanessa is.”

Quinten nodded. “Good idea. Thank you. We need to figure this out. The longer this drags on, the harder it’s going to be to fix.”

“You said you have bad news and good news.” Corbin tapped his pen on the notepad. “What’s the good news?”

Quinten allowed a small smile to creep onto his face. “There’s a big contract coming up for the new bridge over on Route 33. It’s a government project—solid money and a chance to put Carrington Construction back on the map.”

His mother’s eyes lit up. “A bridge? That’s wonderful news, Quinten.”

His father, however, grumbled again, shaking his head. “I’m useless. Can’t do a damn thing to help with this.”

“Come on, Dad,” Quinten said, firm but not unkind. “I’m thirty-five, and Corbin and Gavin are in their mid-twenties. It’s about time we start weighing in. You’ve done more than your fair share. Let us carry the load now.”

His father didn’t reply but shifted his hand on the armrest, tightening momentarily before relaxing.

He looked down, then back up, his jaw working as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

Eventually, he gave a small, almost reluctant nod, the barest hint of pride flickering in his weary eyes.

“Are you staying for dinner?” His mother’s question cut through the tension in the room.

Quinten stood, shrugging on his coat. “No, thanks, but I can’t. I have a date.”

Four heads turned toward him in unison, a mix of surprise and curiosity etched on their faces.

“A date?” Corbin sported a shit-eating grin. “With whom?”

“None of your business,” Quinten shot back. “I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

He left them staring after him, their curiosity palpable as he headed out into the crisp evening air.

The doorbell rang precisely at seven, its chime cutting through the quiet murmur of the kitchen. Raisa glanced at the clock, her stomach flipping. He was punctual.

Her nerves oscillating between anticipation and dread, she’d spent the entire afternoon debating whether to cancel the date.

But here she was, sitting at the kitchen table with her grandmother, dressed in clean jeans, a red sweater that complemented her complexion, and her favorite black boots.

She wasn’t sure if it was enough, but it would have to do.

She went to the door, her boots thumping rhythmically on the hardwood floor. As she passed the hallway mirror, she glanced over—just to make sure everything was where it should be. Her clothing was still stain-and-wrinkle-free.

Whew! No accidental wardrobe malfunctions.

Still overweight, though at least she had an hourglass figure now. Society didn’t seem to favor Marilyn Monroe types anymore; the stick-thin ideal of Kiera Knightley was the prevailing norm. After tearing away her gaze, she straightened her shoulders and opened the door.

“Hi,” she said, softer than she’d intended.

“Hey.” Quinten’s smile was easy and warm.

Before she could invite him in, he stepped forward, holding out a bouquet of flowers. She instinctively reached for them, their vibrant colors and delicate fragrance momentarily stunning her.

“You look lovely,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. The brush of his lips sent a flush racing up her neck. She blinked down at the bouquet, wonder flooding through her. He brought me flowers?

“Is your grandmother here?” he asked, breaking her reverie.

“Kitchen,” Raisa managed to say, nodding toward the second door on the right, slightly ajar.

Quinten strode forward confidently, another bouquet peeking from the crook of his arm.

Creamy roses, soft pink blooms, and sunny yellow petals peeked out between fresh greenery, like spring gathered into one perfect handful.

Raisa lingered behind for a moment, the air still bright with something crisp and floral, like citrus peel and early spring rain.

She let herself breathe it in before following him.

In the kitchen, Nana looked up, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. Quinten held out the second bouquet with a flourish.

“For me?” her grandmother exclaimed, her laugh light and delighted. “It has been years since a handsome young man got me flowers.”

“Not just flowers, ma’am,” Quinten replied, setting a grocery bag on the counter. “I’m going to cook for you and Raisa.”

“What?” Raisa hurried into the kitchen, taking in the bag where vegetables, herbs, and a block of cheese were poking out.

Quinten turned to her with a grin. “I’m making dinner. It’s my grandmother’s recipe—the best in all of Wisconsin.”

Nana clapped her hands together, showing her obvious delight. Raisa, meanwhile, stood frozen, equal parts bewildered and intrigued.

Who was this man, and how was she supposed to keep up with him?