Sucker Punch
Surely, she wasn’t seeing this. Quinn raised her sunglasses to the top of her head and squinted harder at the girl’s perfectly round stomach. Nope, still pregnant. She looked back at Brian.
When the girl’s gentle cough didn’t disconnect Quinn and Brian’s gazes, the petite thing curled a ring-clad hand around a bicep that still looked just as defined as it was tender. “Sweetie, it’s rude not to make introductions.”
Brian blinked toward her then. “Of course. Forgive me. I’m just a little stunned is all.”
That was one word for it. Sucker punched was another.
The girl extended a dainty hand in the air. “I’m Cindy Mae.”
Perfect. Her ex-fiancé married Cinder-freaking-ella. Could the knife dig a little deeper?
Quinn fumbled for any kind of response halfway resembling southern hospitality. But if birds showed up with strings of beads hanging out of their mouths next, Cooper wouldn’t be the only one fighting a gag reflex.
A breeze slapped a whiff of sickeningly sweet ice cream across Quinn’s face.
“You’ll have to excuse my husband. Men just get all out of sorts when they’re off work, don’t they?” In a hat with a red sash matching her polka dotted sundress, Cindy Mae leaned into Brian. “But I’d be lost without him this week, trying to get things ready for little Miss, here,” she said while patting her stomach. “Me and him spent half the morning adding the final touches to the nursery, didn’t we?”
Quinn tried not to twitch at the grammatical error. “He and I,” she mumbled under her breath.
“What’s that?”
“. . . E-I.” She froze, realizing she’d just blurted that out like she had Tourette’s or something. “Um, I was just saying, E-I-E-I-O. You know, like the song.” She slid her sunglasses off and folded the arms into the frames, back and forth. “Could be a fun theme for a nursery.”
Cindy Mae’s blank stare followed Brian’s.
Someone rescue me.
Brian tugged on his ear the way he always did when uncomfortable. “So, uh, what brings you home to Littleton after all this time?” His eyes widened. “Your dad . . . he isn’t . . . ?”
All at once, everything she’d left behind wrenched around her like ivy choking the life out of a tree trunk. Summer heat drilled into her skin as the look of concern on Brian’s face burrowed into places she couldn’t give him access to.
The sight of him with Cindy Mae took another blow: the perfect southern wife, a precious daughter on the way, a legacy in Littleton—all the things Quinn couldn’t have offered him.
She stared Cinderella down, wanting to resent her. But the truth was, she was adorable and sweet and everything Brian deserved.
“Are you all right?” He set a hand to Quinn’s forearm with a familiar touch—once comforting, now laden with regret.
Wind blew her hair along her sticky neck. Her pulse raced. She needed to get out of there. “I . . . um . . .”
“Wanted it to be a surprise.” An arm curled around her back. Cooper. He tucked her shoulder under his as if he’d done it a hundred times. With his confident eyes fixed on Brian, he held out an equally self-assured hand. “Cooper Anderson, Quinn’s boyfriend.”
She dropped her sunglasses. He did not just say . . .
Cooper squatted at the same time she did and handed her the glasses along with a go-with-it expression. When they both stood up and he roped an arm around her again, the only thing she wanted to go with was the fastest track out of there. Especially when a convoluted mix of emotions spread across Brian’s face as he leaned his head toward Brayden’s stroller.
He pulled his focus back to Cooper. “I’m Brian Meadows, Quinn’s . . .” His focus gravitated to her. “An old friend,” he revised. His warm smile melted over her. “I’m really happy for you, Quinn.”
And he was, genuinely. Because that’s the kind of guy he was. The sting of that truth sawed through her layers of insulation as if they weren’t even there.
“You’re a lucky guy, Cooper. Quinn’s one of a kind.”
“She sure is.”
At Cooper’s obnoxious tone, Quinn elbowed him. But when another trace of unanswered questions shadowed Brian’s eyes, she had to lean into Cooper for balance.
He tightened his grasp around her waist and gently rested the side of his chin to her temple as if he understood somehow. “Only a crazy guy would let a girl like her go.”
If Cindy Mae caught the insinuation in Cooper’s jab, she didn’t show it. Brian, on the other hand, adjusted his collar.
Yet instead of unleashing the arsenal of questions he’d had years to accumulate, a hint of unresolved pain was all his expression offered. “Then you better hold on to her tight,” he said without releasing her gaze. Brian dipped his head at both of them like a cowboy tipping his hat. “Give your father my regards.”
Even after he and Cindy Mae had made it into the parlor, Quinn stayed tucked under Cooper’s arm. He stood like a firm pillar beside her—one she shouldn’t have leaned on but couldn’t bring herself to pull away from.
“Are you okay?”
Not even remotely. “Fine.” At least it was over and out of the way.
Panic climbed her neck in a rebuttal. She hung her head in her hand. “If my mom hears about this—”
“Quinn Mary Beth Thompson.”
No. It wasn’t fair. Her muscles constricted, willing the sound of Mama’s voice back to some hidden part of her psyche. Please be dreaming.
“Mary Beth?” Cooper mouthed with too much amusement.
Quinn would’ve popped him if she could move.
Mama and Aunt Loraine scurried over to them like two chickens just let loose from a henhouse. Cooper seemed to take the cue to let her go and squatted to Brayden’s stroller instead. Wise man.
“As I live and breathe, that is you.” In a short-sleeved white button-up plagued in a pattern of oversized cherries, Mama raised a hand to her mouth, to her heart, and then to Quinn’s arm. “My baby girl.” A watery gaze swam over her. “Just look at you. A sight for sore eyes, isn’t she, Loraine?”
“You sure are, darlin’.”
A quizzical look tipped Mama’s head to the side. “Now, sugar, I think your hair dresser must’ve been standing on a slant when she cut your bangs.”
And so it began.
“They’re supposed to be slanted, Mama.”
“Is that right?” She swept a glance to Aunt Loraine and back. “Well, isn’t that precious.” She reached up. “Maybe if we just—”
“No one teases their bangs anymore,” Quinn said, ducking away.
“Don’t be silly. Everyone knows, the higher your hair—”
“The closer you are to God,” Quinn finished with her.
Yeah, a lot of good that did any of them. She lifted on her toes to scope out the line to the door. She needed something to occupy her mouth before she said something she shouldn’t.
Mama squeezed her hand. “Why didn’t you tell me you were home, sweetie?”
“It was a surprise.” Cooper rose to his feet, making things ten times worse without even knowing it. Or maybe he did. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. I’m Cooper, Quinn’s boyfriend.”
Quinn darted him a tight-lipped smile as he curled her into his side again, clearly enjoying this whole shenanigan far more than he should.
Two doe-eyed gazes soaked in the full-length of everything that made up Cooper Anderson. Mama fluttered a hand in Aunt Loraine’s direction in search of something steady to grasp. “Baby, you could’ve warned me you were bringing such a handsome young man home. I would’ve gotten my hair done.”
“You look lovely, Mrs. Thompson.” Cooper leaned down to kiss the back of her hand.
Mama waved her free one over her flushed cheeks. “Oh, my.”
Oh, brother.
He moved on to Aunt Loraine. “Is it Mrs. Thompson as well?”
“Ms. Thompson.” Still swooning, she ran her fingers along an oversized necklace. “But you can call me whatever you like.”
As long as someone called Quinn a cab. She had to get out of there. The odds of running into them at this time of day were supposed to be next to nothing.
Fine, so she’d dropped statistics in college. That didn’t mean it had to take a vengeance on her now.
Another zing of panic barreled into her. What came out of her own mouth shouldn’t worry her. The things Mama might spill in front of Cooper could ruin everything.
Mama fluffed out her short, layered hair, recovering. “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t tell us you were here.”
“That’s my fault. I’ve kept her to myself.” Cooper squeezed her close. “Though, we still have so much to talk about, don’t we, QT?”
This was some sort of retribution for going along with the nanny thing, wasn’t it? She probably deserved it.
“Pet names,” Mama practically hummed. “Well, aren’t you two just as sweet as summertime peaches. We certainly have a lot to catch up on ourselves.” She exaggerated a wink to Quinn like everyone in a three-block radius couldn’t see her failing miserably at trying to be subtle.
The wrinkles jutting out from the corners of her eyes deepened in a visible question. “Now, honey, I’m just a little confused. I thought you were dating someone named Gil.”
Cooper raised an amused brow, and Quinn clasped her sunglasses so hard, she almost broke them. Was there no end to the humiliation?
“Oh, um, Gil, yeah. We had a bit of a time-distance problem we couldn’t overcome.” As in, he lived in the imagination of a century-old author. “But we stay in touch.” Every time she picked up Anne of Green Gables. Really, it was the perfect relationship.
The clank of one of Brayden’s toys hitting the ground ignited a round of cries. Aunt Loraine knelt beside the stroller and held her ice cream cone out to him. “Doesn’t that look good? Now, you just come on over to Aunt Loraine, darlin’. I’ll make it all better.” She finagled him out of the straps, hung him on her hip, and held the cone for him.
With one of his carefree smiles, Brayden swung his hands together in excitement—straight into either side of the scoop of ice cream. Dollops of chocolate splattered across Aunt Loraine’s face.
Looking stunned, she blinked the melted chocolate off her lashes while Brayden kept clapping his goopy hands together, making it all the worse.
Cooper buried his chin in his shoulder, his chest shaking with silent laughter. Quinn bit her lip to keep from joining him.
“Stop it,” she whispered through her teeth.
Aunt Loraine stilled Brayden’s hands. “Well, aren’t you just a little booger?”
Once Cooper regained his composure, he reached for him. “I can take him.”
“No point in you getting dirty, too, darlin’. We’ll be right back.”
As they flitted toward the parlor to use the bathroom, Mama took both Quinn’s hands in hers and sighed. “I still can’t believe it. My Motel 6 baby, finally home.”
Cooper pointed a look at Quinn. “Motel 6 baby?”
Shoot me now. “We really should be going.”
“I’m sure we have time for a few stories.” His lopsided grin nearly toppled his whole head sideways.
Quinn’s eyes narrowed, but the moment Cooper extended his arm, Mama took him hostage for a stroll down memory lane. “After Quinn’s daddy and I got married, we got this silly notion in our heads that we’d go all the way up to see the Statue of Liberty.”
She patted his bicep, chuckling. “We didn’t even make it past the North Carolina border before turning right back around. But it was so late, we stopped at this Motel 6 off Highway 87.” A rosy blush of nostalgia swelled across her sun-spotted cheeks. “And well, our little Quinn came nine months—”
“Okay, Mama. We really have to leave. Brayden needs some lunch.” And she needed an exit route. Now.
“Bring him on back to the house. I have plenty of mac and cheese from last night. It’ll just take a—”
“No,” Quinn almost shouted.
“Heavens, child. What’s the matter with you?”
Quinn stole a minute to iron out her shirt and her voice. “Sorry. I’m just here for a few weeks and trying to work on a routine with Brayden. Plus, we still need to get some shopping done. Lots to do today.” Like drilling a hole through her head.
“Fine, but you make sure you pick up a bushel of peaches while you’re out.” Mama leaned toward Cooper. “She makes the best peach cobblers. And her vanilla custard?” She fanned her lashes. “To die for. Our Quinn is exceptional in the kitchen. Always has been. Did you know she ran her own food blog for a while?”
She listed off Quinn’s cooking skills like she was posting an ad: Single woman desperate to be a southern wife. If Quinn had a peach, she’d surely be gagging on it right now.
Mama bobbed her brows at Cooper. “Be sure to save at least one cobbler for the cookout at our house Sunday after church. You do go to church, don’t you, honey?”
Quinn’s throat turned to sandpaper. Forget ice cream. She needed something to drink. Water, whisky—whatever.
Cool and smooth as usual, Cooper flashed his mind-stopping grin at her. “We’d love to come by on Sunday. Thank you for inviting us, Mrs. Thompson.”
“Please, you call me Paula, you hear?”
Quinn speared a glare at him. This wasn’t happening. “But you have to work on your deck, remember, honey?”
His eyes teemed with inward enjoyment. “It’ll get done. I’ll work fast, dreaming of your vanilla custard.”
He wasn’t the only one dreaming about it. She’d already envisioned ramming it into his face ten times since this conversation started.
Aunt Loraine meandered back over and set Brayden in the stroller. “As good as new.” When she straightened, an unexpected look of pity touched her face. “I saw Brian and Cindy Mae inside. It was big of you to speak with them, sweetie. I’m sure it was hard, seeing her like that and all.”
Quinn tried not to twitch. “I’m fine.”
“Well, of course you are.” Mama looked between her and Cooper. “You have a new beau now. Everything’s going to work out.”
Seriously? Ugh. “Bye, Mama.” She turned to leave, but Aunt Loraine’s frantic plea to wait stopped her.
“You’re coming to the cookout, right? We’ll be brainstorming Ginny’s sweet sixteen party and could really use your help. And just wait till your daddy sees you.” A nonstop beam of hope glowed at her.
Chin down, Quinn dragged the tip of her Converse in circles in the dirt. “How’s he doing?” she all but whispered.
Mama’s delayed response drew her gaze from the ground toward a notorious southern smile Quinn could see through. “Oh, he’s just fine, sugar. Has his good days and bad days.” She gave Quinn’s arm a gentle pat. “We just keep praying for more of the good ones.”
What was the point? It wasn’t like prayers ever got answered anyway. A river of buried brokenness forged through her walls. If a single tear escaped in front of them, she’d—
“It was so good to run into you ladies.” Cooper pressed a comforting hand to her lower back, once again sensing more than she ever intended him to. “But we really do need to get going.” He prodded her toward his SUV while pushing Brayden’s stroller.
“Don’t forget to bring your desserts, sweetheart,” Mama called behind them. “Just wait till you taste them, Cooper. One bite, and you won’t want to let go of our Quinn.”
Quinn whipped an exasperated stare around toward another animated wink proving her life was a walking Jane Austen novel. If Cooper wanted to go to her parents’ house Sunday, he’d better polish up his Mr. Knightly impersonation. Or they’d both be in trouble.