Chapter 92

Chapter 92
“I swear, Quinton,” his sister’s voice came through the phone, light and teasing, “I leave for a few days and suddenly you’re playing knight in shining armor? Café drama, James Bond night hikes, and a hospital stay. Are you and Neema auditioning for a television drama?”

“I see Isaiah’s big mouth has been at work again,” Quinton deadpanned.

Quinton sat on the edge of his desk in his home office, one hand pressed against his forehead as the other balanced his phone. The call had gone on for nearly twenty minutes already, but he couldn’t say he really minded. Listening to his sister tease him had an odd soothing effect on his nerves.

“Was it supposed to be a secret?”

He rubbed his temple and grimaced faintly. “Knowing that you would turn a near-death experience into an entertainment script… Yes. I wouldn’t have told you.”

“Ah! You wouldn’t dare keep something like this from me,” she said in clear mock horror. “And after I told you that woman would change your life.”

“Vanessa,” he warned, though the smile tugging at his lips gave him away, creeping into his voice.

“Don’t Vanessa me. You know I’m right. You were brooding, impossible, and emotionally constipated before her. Now you actually smile. And take kissy pictures. I take my payment in diamonds, by the way.”

Quinton couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped. “And what exactly am I paying you for?”

Vanessa snorted. “Uhm… Let me see… Dressing the woman up like Cinderella and practically shoving her under your nose so you could finally notice her and make your move.”

“That’s not how I remember it happening.”

“That’s because you have a bad memory. Just trust me. I remember exactly what happened, and you owe me,” she shot back with a grin in her tone. “Honestly, I’m just glad you finally let someone in. I was worried there for a bit. Thought you’d end up adopting ten cats and becoming a crazy cat man.”

“I prefer dogs.”

“And that was the main point in everything I just said,” Vanessa said before she clicked her tongue in disapproval.

Quinton sighed, rubbing at his temple again. “Okay. I’m sorry. I get your point.”

“Good,” Vanessa said, softening, “But, hey, seriously, I wish I’d been around through all this. I’m sorry I wasn’t.”

Sighing, Quinton moved to sit in his chair now, his gaze catching the photo frame on the desk of Neveah’s gap-toothed smile beside his. “That’s fine. We are all okay now.” Not fully, but somehow. Neema’s ankle was healing, and Social Welfare had taken Nevaeh to a safe home until they could sort things out. 

It irked him that he couldn’t just bring his daughter home, but there were a few issues. Isaiah had advised him not to make an appearance before he was called to avoid anyone knowing he’d been involved in the report and hence being accused of just trying to discredit Jacqueline to get the child. Also, all evidence proved he wasn’t Nevaeh’s biological father, and social welfare was reluctant to hand over a minor to a person not related to the child. It was all very frustrating.

“Hey, are you still there?”

The sound of Vanessa’s voice snapped him out of his wandering thoughts. “Yeah. I’m here.”

There was a brief pause, and Quinton hoped she wouldn’t ask. She didn’t. Instead, Vanessa asked something else that made him frown in confusion. 

“So… how serious is this, really?”

He tapped his fingers on the armrest. “Serious enough.”

“Serious enough as in… ‘I like her and we’ll see where it goes’ or serious as in ‘if I lost her, I’d probably lose my mind’?”

Quinton hesitated, dragging his thumb along the edge of the desk. To say that he wasn’t comfortable with this line of questions was an understatement. Still, he forced the answer past his lips. “Probably the second one.”

Vanessa made a low whistle. “Then why are you still dancing around it?”

“I’m not-”

“Oh, come on. I know you. You’ve always been the guy who overthinks your emotions until you either shut them away in a box out of frustration or the recipient of those emotions gives up and leaves.”

“That’s not fair,” he muttered, though he knew she was right.

“I’m just saying,” she continued, “It sounds like you already look at her like she’s oxygen. Maybe it’s time you make it permanent. Before she realizes she can do better than you.”

“Thanks for the confidence boost,” he said dryly.

Vanessa laughed. “You know what I mean. You’ve been through hell and back together already; that kind of connection doesn’t come twice in a lifetime.”

Quinton opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off. “So, when are you proposing?”

He froze. He couldn’t answer. His throat felt tight, and his heart suddenly felt like he’d run a marathon. Trust Vanessa to ask the tough questions.

“I can practically hear your brain grinding from here,” she teased when the silence went on for too long. Only when Quinton promised to think about it did the woman finally let it go and move on to discuss her trip.

When they hung up ten long minutes later, the silence that followed felt heavy. The word propose looped in his head, turning itself over and over until it began to feel like an itch under his skin. Marriage. The very thing he’d once sworn off was suddenly threading through his mind like a challenge he couldn’t ignore.

He tried to shake it, but it lingered. Vanessa’s words replayed, echoing like a stubborn melody.

Before he even realized what he was doing, Quinton found himself walking toward the living room where he’d last seen Neema before he took his phone call.

She was still there, curled up on the couch, her injured ankle propped up on a pillow, and a bowl of grapes balanced on the coffee table beside her, a few stems and seeds neatly arranged on the side like she didn’t want to make a mess even with the dirt. She looked peaceful, sunlight from the open windows spilling across her face. 

Her head tilted to the side as she scrolled through something on her phone with that small, thoughtful frown he secretly loved.

Quinton stopped at the doorway and just looked at her. Could he do it? Could he propose and get married? She’s it, his mind whispered. You already know it. That’s why you fought it so hard. The thought hit him harder than he expected.

Then, before his brain caught up with his mouth, he heard himself ask, “What do you think of marriage?”