Just Maybe (Home In You Book 3)

by Crystal Walton

  Cooper held the door open for Quinn. Even from this angle, she couldn’t miss the enjoyment playing with his features.

  “Your mom thinks I’m hot,” he whispered on their way in.

  Quinn rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, she also thinks William Shatner’s hot, so take it for what it’s worth.”

  His laughter rang into the sound of his cell ringing. He took one look at the screen and offered them both a nod of apology. “Excuse me for just a minute.”

  Once he returned outside, Mama handed a small gift bag to Quinn along with a questionable bob of her brows. This couldn’t be good.

  One glimpse of lace inside explained why. She crammed the tissue paper back in. “A push-up bra? Really?”

  “Now, sweetie, don’t go flying off the handle. A little help goes a long way.”

  Tell me we’re not actually having this conversation. “Thanks, but I’m good.” She shoved the unsolicited gift back at her.

  Bypassing the bag, Mama reached for the bra Quinn currently had on. “Are you sure? Let me see.”

  “Oh my word.” She skirted out of her reach. “Yes, Mama, positive. Everything’s . . . perky.”

  “Okay. No need to pitch a hissy fit.” She gave a mollifying shrug and turned. “But don’t say I didn’t try to help.”

  Yeah, help her into a wedding chapel and right out of a job. Which reminded her . . .

  “Mama?” Quinn called before she made it to the kitchen. She folded the hem of her T-shirt back and forth while taking in the dated pictures lining the living room walls. “Listen, I have something I want to tell Dad . . . about work, but I need to wait a couple more weeks. So, can we not bring up anything about the magazine tonight? I’d rather keep the whole topic off limits for now.” That would work, wouldn’t it? Besides, it was all true.

  Mama tied her apron on, her stare silently dissecting Quinn’s request. “Sure, darlin’. But don’t think you’re getting out of filling us in on Mr. Wonderful and that precious baby of his.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Uh-huh.” With a stern mother-hen look, she waved her toward the hall. “Go on now and wash up so you can help me in the kitchen. We can’t be sitting around like a bump on a log.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” At the door to the bathroom, Quinn paused and then kept trekking toward her old bedroom. Considering she’d only packed for a weekend, she wasn’t beneath raiding her closet for some extra outfits.

  A single glance inside almost changed her mind. She pulled out a plastic hanger with a ribbed tube top pinned to it—two sizes too small. She laughed. “That’d be one way to prove I don’t need a push-up bra.” She hung it back up and kept sifting.

  Thankfully, Mama had kept a small section of clothes Quinn had worn the year before she moved away. They’d do. Well, minus the overalls. And the Peace Frog shirt. Okay, so, there were only a couple of salvageable things, but it was better than nothing.

  She separated out the less atrocious clothes to grab when they left tonight and turned back for the bathroom. A sight across the room brought her up short—a tie hanging on her bedpost. She’d almost forgotten about it. Or maybe it was another part of her past she’d suppressed. Not ready to unearth it, she turned yet again, but her old vanity practically grabbed hold of her next.

  Memories rushed in as Quinn glided a finger along the edge of the furniture an inch at a time—things her parents had taught her in this room, beliefs she wanted to be true for their sake. In the mirror, she studied a reflection that knew better. But how could she tell both her parents they were wrong about her?

  She never should’ve come back, and she definitely shouldn’t have let Cooper run with this fake boyfriend façade. Now she’d doubly disappoint her family when they learned it was just a ruse. Hardly a full day with him, and they were already starting to fall for the idea of them as a couple. Far worse, she might’ve been too.

  For everyone’s sake, she needed to get the truth out in the open—the feature, the pretend relationship, all of it—before things spiraled even further.

  “Quinn, dear?”

  “Coming.” She ran her hands across her cheeks, faced the mirror again, and drew her shoulders back. Start with making it through lunch.

  Cooper wrenched the bill of his hat up and wiped his forehead, regretting taking Jim’s call right now. “What do you mean they said no?”

  Were Megan’s mom and brother trying to spite him? Some kind of payback for resentment they held? This wasn’t the time for petty family drama. This was Brayden’s future they were talking about here.

  “Just moving into an assisted living facility rules Megan’s mom out as an adoptive parent. Her brother’s in no state to raise a child. After alcoholism ended his marriage this past year, the only thing he needs right now is rehab.” Jim cleared his throat away from the phone. “You could ask your brother—”

  “No.” Cooper yanked his hat back down and slumped against the tree trunk. He wasn’t heaping another mess on Drew to clean up. He probably shouldn’t have even told Drew and his family back in Ocracoke about this whole dilemma to begin with.

  A stagnant pause stretched through the line. “Then we look into private adoption.”

  The suggestion weaved a knot in his chest. “Would that be best?”

  “Best?” Another weighty pause. “It’s an option, Cooper. Right now, that’s all we have to work with. I’ll touch base when I have an update.”

  Had he known about Megan’s family’s situations, he wouldn’t have bothered asking Jim to look into it. Truthfully, he’d acted too fast. If he’d thought about it first, he’d have realized Megan’s mom and brother weren’t the best options for Brayden. He needed two parents who were ready and equipped to welcome him into a healthy family. Cooper just had to find them. They were running out of time.

  The phone and all the unanswered questions hanging on to the end of their conversation dragged his arm to his side. He lifted his face toward the splinters of sunlight filtering through the oak leaves.

  Memories with Dad flickered images of the life Brayden should have the chance to live too. A grounded home without moving around, a stable father without a wild reputation or the media banging at his doorstep—things Cooper couldn’t provide him.

  Please, let me give him that life. That’s all I’m asking.

  Brayden’s innocent smile swelled to mind and compressed around his heart. He looked to Cooper as if he could make things right, but he didn’t know him yet. Didn’t know how he always ended up disappointing those he loved.

  A dragonfly zigzagged past him on a hay-scented breeze. Right behind it, barbeque aromas trailed with reminders of why he was here.

  He pushed off the tree and tucked the effects of his phone call away for now. He didn’t have all the answers, and he might not know what awaited him at this cookout, but whatever was in store the rest of the day, surely, it’d keep his mind off the things he couldn’t control.

  He hoped.

  Chapter Nine

  Fragile

  In the kitchen, Quinn’s mom looked up at Cooper from the open oven and brushed back wisps of dyed hair curling above her forehead. “There you are. I hope you came hungry. Lunch will be ready quicker than two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

  She angled her head at him when she must’ve caught the expression he’d meant to leave outside. “Everything all right, honey?”

  Cooper set the cobblers Quinn had made on the table. “Just fine.” At least, they would be. Wouldn’t they? He straightened a place mat under one of the dishes and stared at the tinfoil to keep from meeting Mrs. Thompson’s intuitive stare.

  “Well, okay, then. You just make yourself at home. Quinn should be along in a minute.” With oven mitts up both arms, she carried some type of casserole dish to the back door.

  Cooper opened it for her, and she replied with an appreciative nod.

  “You know,” she said. “If everything weren’t okay, this meal would be sure to remedy that.”


  He returned her warm smile. “I’m sure it would.”

  A man Cooper assumed to be Quinn’s grandpa passed her mom as she made her way down some rickety back steps. He stopped right in front of Cooper in the doorway, a grin of missing teeth less than a very uncomfortable inch away from him.

  Cooper looked in every direction but right at him. “Hi. I’m Cooper Anderson, Quinn’s date.”

  “I know who you are, son.” He set a hand on his shoulder and kept his face right in front of Cooper’s till he had no choice but to look him in the eye. No words, Grandpa simply stared, all while continuing to showcase a moonshine-ridden smile.

  Cooper tried not to breathe directly in his face. Darting his gaze to the floor might’ve helped if it didn’t intersect with Grandpa’s unzipped fly. He shot a glance up to the ceiling instead and scratched his cheek. “Does it feel kind of drafty in here to you? Or is it just me?”

  A glazed-over look kept beaming his way.

  The screen door whined open again, freeing them from the more-than-awkward pose they were stuck in. Another guy—probably a year or two behind Cooper—wedged between them and clapped the old man on the shoulder. “Your fly’s down, Gramps.” He flicked his chin at Cooper while continuing his trek into the kitchen.

  At the fridge, he ducked inside, withdrew two brews, and offered one to Cooper. A cold one had never looked better. He clanked his bottle with Cooper’s. “You look like you could wet your whistle.”

  “Um, thanks. And you are . . . ?”

  “Chase?” Quinn said from behind him.

  They both turned toward her, standing at the edge of the kitchen and the hallway. A sunray streamed through the window onto an expression bright enough to light up the whole room.

  She raced over and flung her arms around Chase’s neck. “What are you doing here? I thought you said you couldn’t make it.”

  “When your crazy sister screams SOS, what’s a guy to do?”

  Quinn jabbed him in the chest as she lowered her feet back to the floor. “Doofus.”

  “Just looking out for you, Drama Queen.”

  When Cooper cocked his head, Chase clapped him on the back and flaunted a grin that made it clear he enjoyed baiting Quinn as much as Cooper did. “You’ll learn soon enough.”

  On his heels, Quinn practically kicked him through the door.

  Cooper was about to follow when her grandpa wheezed a laugh from the other side of the kitchen. He pointed a finger in the air at him. “Drafty.” He slapped his thigh and let out another raspy laugh.

  Cooper tipped his brew at him. Better late than never.

  Outside, he walked right into an argument between Loraine and a teenage girl in the corner of the yard.

  “If you’re making me be here, at least you can let me invite Clay over.”

  Loraine transferred Brayden to her opposite hip. “Sweetie, I doubt your boyfriend wants to help plan your sweet sixteen party. Besides, this is family time.”

  The girl texted on her cell. “Whatever,” she huffed.

  Loraine shook her head at the sky and prodded the girl toward the rest of the group.

  One glance up from her phone, and the girl’s already rigid expression turned lethal. “What’s she doing here?”

  Quinn’s hopeful smile shattered.

  Loraine shifted almost as uncomfortably as Quinn did. “Ginny, baby, your cousin Quinn’s home for a visit. Just in time to help plan your party. Isn’t that nice? It’ll be like old times.”

  Ginny snorted. “Super. Then she can turn around and leave without telling anyone.” She shot a glare at Quinn. “Like old times, right?”

  “Virginia Anne!” Loraine’s face turned a shade darker than the checkered tablecloth.

  Ginny scoffed while stalking toward the picnic table, tapping away on her cell again.

  Frustration blended into the embarrassment flooding Loraine’s eyes. “I swear that girl could start an argument in an empty house if she had a mind to.” She handed Brayden off to Quinn’s mom. “Excuse me.”

  Silence added to the tension already clinging to the thick humidity.

  Time to intervene. Cooper curved an arm around Quinn’s back. “You were right about your daughter’s cobblers,” he said to Mrs. Thompson. “Quinn’s an amazing baker.”

  Her mom ran with the diversion. “Just wait till you taste her custard. Quinn, sugar, have you made any meringue for him yet?”

  Though Quinn narrowed her eyes at him, the way she’d leaned into his side a moment ago let him know she was as grateful for the distraction as her mom seemed to be.

  While everyone headed to the picnic table, a salt-and-pepper-haired man came out of a barn in the back corner of the property, wiping his hands on a rust-colored rag.

  Mrs. Thompson settled Brayden in an old wooden high chair, pulled her apron off, and set it on the table before starting for him. “George, honey, look who’s here.” At his side, she looped an arm around his and steered him toward Quinn. “Our baby girl came home.”

  Quinn’s expression warmed the way it had when she saw Chase. She curled her arms around his broad back. “Hi, Daddy.”

  “It’s Quinn, dear.” The noticeable waver in Mrs. Thompson’s voice reached her eyes when her husband’s only response was a vacant stare. “Our little girl’s home for a visit. You remember—”

  “It’s okay, Mama.” Quinn stepped out of an unreturned hug. Sorrow tore down her face, tugging Cooper’s heart with it.

  The back door squeaked open again, and Quinn’s grandpa stumbled out with whipped cream layered in his wiry mustache. “Those darn raccoons got into the dessert again.”

  Everyone failed to hold in their laughter, thankful for levity.

  Another woman, who Mrs. Thompson introduced as Nurse Murphy, joined them a few minutes later, carrying a handful of dishes of her own to add to the spread.

  Chase brought over the rest of the meat from the grill while everyone else took their seats on the picnic benches. Like most southern meals, the food was rich, filling, and perfect.

  Despite the few times Quinn whispered that she was about to crawl under the table to hide, she carried most of the conversation about Ginny’s party like a hired event planner. She already had the baking part down. Somehow, Cooper wasn’t the least bit surprised she’d be a pro at managing the rest of the details while dodging the ice spears Ginny kept shooting across the table with her eyes.

  Quinn had skills and chops. No doubt about that. But she had holes in her armor like everyone else.

  Cooper lowered his glass of sweet tea. “Ginny, why don’t you come over to the lake house this week. We’ll take you out on the water.”

  Quinn kicked his shin under the table.

  “Really?” A spread of braces shined in the sunlight.

  “Sure. It’ll be fun. While you’re there, you and Quinn can talk about which band you want to have play at the party.”

  Slower at downplaying her excitement than she probably wanted, Ginny strained to school her expression. “Yeah, okay. I guess I can fit it in sometime.”

  “Great.” He flaunted a celebratory bite of pecan pie in Quinn’s direction.

  She shook her head and took her own bite but couldn’t stifle a grin.

  “Does anyone want seconds?” Quinn’s dad said with an open and somewhat distant gaze traveling around the table.

  Everyone shook their heads.

  “I’m full as a tick.” Loraine sat back and patted her stomach. “But I bet this munchkin wouldn’t mind a little something as sweet as he is.” She wiped up a drip of watermelon juice running down Brayden’s chin. “Isn’t this precious baby just a gift from God? Handing you a family like this, it’s amazing, Quinn.”

  Whipped cream from the pie practically sprayed from Quinn’s mouth. She swiped a napkin and coughed so hard her face turned red.

  Loraine set her fork of watermelon down. “My, child, are you all right?”

  Chase stretched across the table. “Aunt Loraine, did I
show you my pictures from a recent trip to Oklahoma? They had hail the size of baseballs.” As he redirected Loraine’s focus to the images on his phone, he cast a subtle wink at Quinn.

  “Thank you,” she mouthed.

  “Would anyone like seconds?” her dad asked again.

  Everyone’s gazes bounced around the table in an awkward dance of not knowing what to say.

  Chase tapped a hand over his dad’s. “You just asked us that, Dad. Everyone’s all set.”

  A squint of confusion sputtered across his face.

  Mrs. Thompson glanced from her husband to Quinn, a fractured look stealing the usual glint in her eyes again. She sprang up from the bench. “Good gracious, I almost forgot the ice cream.”

  Cooper rose. “Let me help you with that.”

  Inside, Mrs. Thompson busied herself with pulling out bowls from the cabinets. “There’s vanilla and rocky road in the freezer, dear.”

  He withdrew the tubs of ice cream and set them beside her working space on the counter. Above the sink, the window brought a clear view of Quinn playing with Brayden outside. Someone must’ve turned on a sprinkler. As soon as the water touched Brayden’s skin, his smile almost outshined hers. Few people had the kind of smile that could change a person.

  “She’s a special girl,” her mom said.

  Cooper blinked away from the glare outside. Heat climbed his ears at knowing she’d caught him admiring Quinn from a distance.

  “She’s as determined as they come, that one.” Her eyes dimmed. “And more fragile than she lets on.”

  With the scoop over one of the bowls, she shook off a glob of ice cream along with whatever it was she wasn’t saying.

  Cooper’s phone rang from his pocket. Drew. He ignored the call, not ready to deal with trying to hide things from his brother right now.

  Mrs. Thompson tapped the scoop over another bowl. “Something you and Quinn have in common.”