“We can break ground once the frost-laws are lifted in the spring,” Mr. Dawson says. “But it’ll still take several months until the house is built.”
“I know,” Quinn tells him. “We’ll probably rent something downtown until then.
“Live here!” Mrs. Dawson exclaims.
Logan lets out a snort of laughter. “They finally move in together and live here,” he says sarcastically.
“What’s wrong with here?” Mrs. Dawson shakes her head. “I’ll be around to help with the baby.”
The dogs start barking and scuttle to the garage door. Jackson runs in ahead of Wes, lunging into my arms. I pick him up, setting him on my lap, and he picks food off my plate to eat.
“Sorry we’re late,” Weston says, stepping over the dogs. He came from work and is still wearing his police uniform. “I was talking to Sheriff Reynolds.”
“Everything okay with him?” Mr. Dawson asks as Wes pulls up a chair.
“Yeah. He thinks I should run for Sheriff once his term is up though.” Wes shakes his head like the idea is crazy.
“You should!” everyone agrees at the same time.
Wes shakes his head. “I’ll think about it.” He picks up his fork and knife, cutting into the chicken on his plate. “How’d the interview go today, Archer?”
“Good,” I say, and set Jackson in his spot next to me. Looking around the table, I know we made the right choice. Things still aren’t ideal, with Quinn having to stay in Chicago for another few months, but perfect doesn’t have to be ideal.
32
Quinn
“You’re such a bitch for leaving,” Marissa says, standing next to my desk. “I’m going to miss you.”
“I’m here for two more weeks,” I remind her. “And Eastwood is two hours away. Less if traffic moves quickly.”
“Which happens so often.”
“I know. But I’ll be in the city at least once a month.”
“You better tell me every time you’re here.”
“I will,” I say and look up from my desk. I put in my two weeks’ notice today. I’d been dreading doing it and actually put it off for a full week before talking to my boss. I’m sad to leave, and part of me will miss this place. But it’s mid-January and I’m so ready to go home and be with Archer.
We have a small apartment downtown and have been finalizing plans for our house to be built this spring. Feeling like I’m becoming my mother, I’ve been pinning and saving posts on Pinterest like crazy. Archer made a list of things he wanted and has left the rest up to me. I’m having too much fun.
“Anxious to go see your man?” Marissa asks, sitting across from my desk.
“Yes. It’s almost worse having him be so close. People do commute from Eastwood to Chicago, and it’s so tempting to stay there.”
“Why don’t you?”
“I’ll have to get up at like five a.m.,” I reply with a laugh. “And it’s so cold to be taking the train and driving.”
“You are such a diva.”
“My coat doesn’t fit.” I put both hands on my large belly. “I have two months left. I’m not going to be able to move once March rolls around.”
“Speaking of March, is Kara still being a twat about the wedding photos?”
“Ugh, yes.” I save my work and shut down the computer. “Things seemed better after we said we didn’t want to even talk about wedding planning until after Emma is born, and she even allowed Dean to move their shower date so we could take December, but now she’s a bridezilla again. If I get like this before my wedding, please slap me.”
“I would have slapped you even if you didn’t ask.” She shakes her head. “My sister got like that with her wedding. Two years later he cheated on her and now they’re divorced.”
“I don’t get it. It’s so much money too.” I heft myself out of my office chair and change from my Toms to snow boots. I’ve given up on stylish footwear for the rest of my pregnancy. “Archer suggested a destination wedding.”
“Oh, those are nice!”
“He thought Hawaii since we went there, but I’m kinda leaning toward Disney World.”
“Please have it there! I need an excuse to go.”
I laugh. “We’ll start seriously planning after Emma. Though if we do want Disney, I’ll probably have to book it soon. I assume they fill up fast.”
“I’m sure they do.”
She stands and puts her coat on. I do the same and struggle to get the zipper to go up past my stomach. Not wanting to rip it, I give up and follow her out. She hugs me goodbye and I go home so I can feed the cats.
“Two more weeks and you’ll be coming with me,” I tell them, running my hand over Neville’s sleek fur. I debated bringing them for the weekend but don’t want to stress them out too much by traveling back and forth.
I change into leggings and an oversized sweater and lug two very full suitcases down to my car. I’ve been bringing stuff little by little each trip, and movers are coming at the end of next week to pack up the heavy stuff.
We’ve been in the transitional phase since Archer started the new job in Eastwood, slowly filling our little apartment with all my stuff. We’ll be cramped for sure, but it’s temporary. What doesn’t fit in the apartment is going in my parents’ basement until the new house is built.
I text Archer when I leave so he knows when to expect me home. It’s been snowing off and on all day, making us both a little nervous about me making the drive home. Part of me hopes I get snowed in Sunday night and have to take an extra day off this weekend before driving back up to Chicago.
He’s at work now and is supposed to be off tonight and all of tomorrow. Currently, the hospital is slower paced than what he’s used to, which is both good and bad for him. I know he’s looking forward to the next few years when the new hospital is up and running. He’ll have a bigger team and probably his own residents ‘to boss around’ as he likes to joke.
Traffic is slow thanks to the snow and several accidents, and I have to stop to pee before I make it into Eastwood. Archer calls to check on me, saying he’s getting ready to scrub into surgery to do an emergency appendectomy.
Fifteen minutes after we hang up, I pull into the parking lot of our apartment complex. It’s the only one in Eastwood and has been here since the 1970s and looks very much like the original.
Our door opens to the outside instead of a hall, and there are no attendant or security measures like my swanky place in the city. Neither are really needed here in Eastwood, but bad shit tends to happen when you get complacent.
I’m dragging one of the suitcases up to the door, debating on taking this one back to the car and keeping it at my parents’ house since it’s full of summer clothes when I notice the footprints. They’re not fresh, but they’re not old enough to be Archer’s either.
And they go around to the side of the house.
I let go of my suitcase and pull out my keys, quickly unlocking the door. Snow crunches under someone’s feet and I open the door just in time to step in.
“Quinn?” someone calls, and I catch a glimpse of Bobby walking around.
“Oh, uh, hi.”
Archer’s parents bought a cute little house in downtown Eastwood, with a ‘man cave’ over the garage that they’ve converted into a house for Bobby. They haven’t been here that long, and we think Bobby’s been clean this whole time. Archer doesn’t seem that optimistic, but he’s been talking to his brother more than he has in years.
“Is Archer home?”
“No, he’s at work.” Bobby isn’t wearing a coat and has his arms wrapped tightly around himself. “Come in and warm up.”
“Thanks,” he says with a nod and follows me in, stopping when he sees the suitcase. “Is this yours?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll get it. You shouldn’t be carrying heavy stuff, right?”
“It’s not too heavy but thanks.” I’m probably stronger than Bobby, but the gesture is nice. We go in and, after taking of
f my boots and coat, I invite Bobby into the kitchen, which lacks a table at the moment. We’ll use mine, though even with the leaf taken out, it’ll be a tight fit. There’s no point in buying new furniture before we move though.
“Want some coffee or tea or anything?”
“Coffee’d be great. Thanks.”
I turn on the coffee pot and microwave a cup of water to make myself some tea.
“I had a British friend,” Bobby says, eyeing the microwave. “He’d throw a shit fit if I made him tea that way.”
Leaning against the counter, I laugh. “I’ve heard they think microwaving water is gross. I’m too lazy to use the kettle.” I get out a tea bag and a jar of honey. “Do you and Archer have plans to hang out later?”
“Nah. I was walking around and got bored. Thought we could talk.”
“That’s nice. I’m glad you two are getting along. I know Archer likes it too.”
Bobby diverts his eyes and nods. It’s strange being around him, and I feel bad that I don’t trust him. But he’s family and if he and Archer can have some sort of relationship, it would be great.
We take our tea and coffee into the living room, and I turn on the TV to keep the awkwardness at a minimum. I debate texting Sheila and inviting her over for dinner or something. I don’t want to have dinner with Archer’s family tonight, and I don’t want Bobby to think I don’t trust him. I’m trying too, and I understand more why Archer feels the way he does.
Bobby finishes his coffee and gets up to use the bathroom. I slowly sip my tea, not really liking it but drinking it because it’s supposed to be good for pregnancy. An entire commercial break plays through on the TV, and Bobby still hasn’t come back. Getting up with the pretense of heating up my tea, I look down the hall.
The bathroom door is open, and I can see Bobby’s shadow moving around in our bedroom. Dammit. I close my eyes and let out a sigh. Setting my mug down, I sneak down the hall, keeping one hand on my belly. My heart starts to speed up, and I stop right outside the door, looking in at Bobby.
My first thought is that he’s looking for prescription pads, which is probably why he came bursting into Archer’s apartment back in Indy. Instead, he’s sitting on the foot of the bed looking through an old photo album.
“Bobby?” I ask, stopping by the doorframe.
“Sorry.” He closes the album and looks up, eyes glistening a bit. “I saw it on my way out. I haven’t looked at these in years.”
“Bring it out in the living room. I’ll look at it with you.”
Nodding, he stands, tucking the book under his arm. He gets a second cup of coffee and sits on the couch next to me, going through the photos of him and Archer when they were children.
“Things were simple then,” Bobby sighs.
“They can be again.”
“Nah, I’ve fucked up too many times. Arch wants nothing to do with me.”
I press a smile, knowing it’s true. “He wants to give you a chance,” I tell him. “It’s never too late.”
33
Archer
“Is it just me or is this really awkward?” Quinn leans in, resting her plate of appetizers on her belly.
“It’s awkward. I feel like we should leave.”
Her aunt Belinda comes over, arms extended. Quinn’s eyes widen, and she nods, putting on a fake smile. We’re at Dean and Kara’s wedding shower, and Quinn and Dean’s relatives are more excited about Emma’s upcoming birth and the house Quinn and I are building together than the wedding.
Kara has been giving Quinn the stink-eye all afternoon, and Quinn and I retreated to the back of the venue, trying to escape the limelight. Quinn hands me her plate and gets up to hug her aunt. She winces when she stands, making me even more glad she’s done with her job in Chicago. Emma is due in a month and the round ligament pain has gotten worse, as well as Braxton Hicks contractions. She’s been a trooper though, hardly complaining at all. I’ve been working a lot of nights and weekends, paying my dues as the new guy on the team, and she’s been dealing with a lot of this alone.
“Uncle Greg sent me over to look at this ring. He said it’s impressive,” her aunt coos, taking Quinn’s hand. “He wasn’t kidding!”
It’s over the top, I’ll admit, but I’ll be able to pay it off in a year…or two. She lets go of Quinn’s hand and rubs her belly. I can see Quinn grit her teeth. She hates when people touch her stomach.
“And you’re still in the wedding party?” her aunt goes on.
“Uh,” Quinn starts, eyes darting to mine for help. Kara tried to play it off as being concerned for Quinn’s well-being, but even Dean finally admitted she’s being petty. Kara doesn’t want the attention on Quinn, and since Quinn’s bridesmaid dress doesn’t fit well anymore, Kara thinks she’ll stand out ‘in a bad way’ in pictures. As of right now, Quinn has been officially kicked out of the wedding party, and it’s been a mess since she got the boot.
Mrs. Dawson is upset. Quinn’s feelings are hurt even though she’s trying hard not to show it. I wasn’t sure if I should refuse to be a groomsman with Quinn getting kicked out. In the end, Quinn assured me she’s fine with me being in it. It’s Kara acting crazy, not Dean. And things were strained with Dean long enough there’s no point in making it a problem again.
I know he’s torn between standing by his wife-to-be or his sister. I’d be torn too, though I can’t imagine Quinn turning into such a bitch over a wedding. We decided on a destination wedding, and while we didn’t want to do any actual planning just yet, we did have to book our date before the venue filled up.
“Maybe. We’ll be cutting it pretty close to when this little girl makes her debut.”
“You haven’t dropped yet,” her aunt goes on, running her hands along Quinn’s waist. “My guess is you’ll be a day or two past your due date.”
“Hey, if I am, then at least we’ll make it through the wedding.”
Her aunt laughs and talks to Quinn for a bit more before leaving. Quinn sits next to me again, letting out a sigh of relief. She tries to get comfy, propping her feet up on a chair across from her and rests her head on my shoulder.
“And now I have to pee.”
Chuckling, I set her plate down and get up, holding out a hand to help her to her feet. I walk with her to the bathroom and wait for her in the hall right outside. Quinn takes my hand when she’s done, and I pull her in for a quick kiss.
“Did I tell you I loved you yet today?” I ask, lips brushing against hers.
“Only once.”
I wiggle my eyebrows. “One time isn’t enough.”
She smiles and slides her hands along my waist. “I know.”
“Gross, guys,” Dean says, coming down the hall.
Quinn kisses me again just to mess with Dean. “You’re still not used to us being together?”
“No, I think it’s cool. But I’ll never be used to seeing anyone shove their tongue down my sister’s throat.”
“That’s not all he shoves his tongue down.”
“I fucking hate you,” Dean says with a grin, shaking his head.
“Is Kara okay?” Quinn asks, turning the conversation serious. “I’m sorry everyone keeps asking about the baby. Jackson was the last new baby and people are excited.”
Dean waves his hand in the air. “She’s being dramatic, but can you blame her?”
Yeah, I can. But I don’t say anything. Quinn winces and leans on me.
“You okay, babe?” I slip my arm under hers for support.
“Yeah.” She rubs her stomach. “I’ve had enough practice contractions that real labor should be a breeze.”
“Let’s hope,” I say with a laugh. We go back to the party and hit the buffet one more time. Quinn makes it halfway through her plate when she starts to feel even more uncomfortable.
We’re both happy for a reason to leave early, and I help her to her feet and held her hand on the way out. We get stopped by another Dawson relative, who’s talking to Quinn’s mother and Kara.
/> “Look at you!” she exclaims, coming in for a hug. I think she’s one of Quinn’s cousins, but I can’t remember her name. “You look good for being eight months pregnant. I looked like a hot mess from five months out.”
Quinn laughs. “I feel like a hot mess. I can’t believe I have a month left to go. I’m huge.”
“You’re tiny. You remember how big I was after my third. I looked like a Mack truck.”
Quinn shakes her head. “You looked great, and you do now.”
“Thanks for lying,” her cousin says. “Ohhh look at that rock! Damn, girl!” She looks at me. “You did good.”
I smile. “Thanks. I knew it would take something special to get her to say yes to me.”
“Isn’t being pregnant before your wedding reason enough?” Kara says, trying to be funny but the insult is there.
Quinn’s cousin makes a face, looking uncomfortable. “Hey, I was pregnant when I walked down the aisle. No one knew it yet, but I was.”
“It’s modern times,” Mrs. Dawson says. “All I care about is getting another grandbaby. Married or not, I’m looking forward to holding that little girl. Though I am excited to help with wedding planning. They’re getting married at The Grand Floridian in Florida!”
Kara purses her lips, looking annoyed. She turns away, finding someone else to talk to. Quinn looks even more uncomfortable, and I want to take her home, rub her feet, and hopefully lay down and take a nap along with her.
“Thanks, Mom,” Quinn says quietly.
“Are you two headed out?” Mrs. Dawson asks, realizing we were walking toward the door.
“Yeah,” Quinn tells her, hand on her stomach again. “I’m having bad Braxton Hicks and need to lay down with my feet up.”
“Should you go to the hospital and get checked out?”
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