Chapter Thirty-two: Archer

Chapter Thirty-Two

Archer

“Everything was perfect at the latest scan,” I say, taking the ultrasound photos from Quinn. We’re at her parents’ house again, two weeks after getting engaged. It’s Thursday afternoon and a bit early for dinner, but Quinn has to drive back to the city tonight for work in the morning. I was able to get back in for an interview at the local hospital, and after talking with the head surgeon again, I think things went as well as they can after you turn down a job because you didn’t think it’d be challenging enough.

“The OB thinks she’s going to be big,” Quinn says, cutting into her chicken.

“You are looking like a beached whale already,” Owen tells her with a wink.

“I think you look radiant,” Logan counters. “Simply beautiful.”

“Flattery isn’t going to make you be the godfather, dumbass,” Owen spits, rolling his eyes at his twin.

“We already know it’s going to be me,” Dean counters, twisting the cap off a hard lemonade. Owen and Logan have been giving him shit all evening for drinking those over beer. “Archer is my best friend.”

“How was the interview?” Mr. Dawson asks, talking over the guys bickering.

“I think it went well,” I tell him. “I’m hoping for a letter of recommendation from a doctor at Northwestern.”

“I’ll blackmail him into it,” Quinn says with a smile. “I’ll refuse to let his son shadow me at work if he doesn’t write you one.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “That’s not blackmail.”

“It’s along the same line,” Mrs. Dawson muses. “But I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Mr. Dawson nods. “We got the plans for the offices approved today. I’ll have to show you.”

“I don’t want to get ahead of myself,” I reply, though I am curious to see the plans. Mr. Dawson’s already pulling out his phone and opening the email with the sketches. I imagine my name on the sign in front of the building.

“I have a good feeling about it.” Quinn rests her hand on my thigh. “And I’m always right.”

“Usually right,” I say with a smile.

“So, have you two thought about when you want to get married?” Kara asks, trying to sound casual. Quinn and I both know she’s worried we’re going to get married before Emma is born, which means having our wedding before hers and Dean’s.

I had wanted to at first, but Quinn wants to wait and not be pregnant at our wedding. And with everything else we have going on, planning a wedding is the last thing we want to do right now.

“I’ve always wanted a June wedding,” Quinn answers and Kara visibly relaxes before tensing again.

“This June?”

“Next,” I tell her, looking at Quinn. “Emma will be a year old and can maybe walk down the aisle as the flower girl.”

“And I’ll have time to lose the baby weight,” Quinn adds with a laugh.

Mrs. Dawson gets excited. “Do you have any idea what type of wedding you’d like? Outdoor weddings are beautiful in June around here.”

“Mom,” Quinn says slowly. She doesn’t want to upstage Kara and Dean or take the attention away from their wedding any more than she already is, even though it’s through no fault of her own. But that’s Quinn for you, always thinking of others.

Fuck, I’m so lucky.

“We’re not in a rush or anything, okay?” Quinn smiles, trying to tell her mom to chill the fuck out as nicely as she can. “Right now, we’re focused on work and having a baby.”

“Right.” Mrs. Dawson unfolds her napkin and puts it on her lap. We say grace and then start eating. We make it maybe thirty seconds before Mrs. Dawson starts talking about future plans again.

“Assuming you do get the job here, what’s the next step?”

“Look for somewhere temporary to live until Quinn can join me.”

Mr. Dawson turns to Quinn. “You won’t be out here by the end of the year?”

Quinn flicks her eyes to me. “We’re not sure,” I answer.

“Not sure?” Mrs. Dawson echoes.

“Assuming we get the green light on starting this company,” Quinn explains. “It’ll be a while before I can operate from a remote location. And I’ll still work through a full two-week notice before leaving my current job. I’ll be here before Emma, that’s for sure.”

We’re in love, getting married, and starting our family. But proposing didn’t make all our other issues go away, and we still have shit to sort through until we’ll finally be together. She’s going back to Chicago and I’m going back to Indy for the time being, which fucking sucks.

But we’ll get through it together.

“I was hoping,” Quinn starts, putting her hand on her stomach. She does that whenever Emma moves, and I don’t think she realizes it. It’s become a habit and it’s adorable. “When I’m here for Thanksgiving, Dad, you could show me some lots for sale.” She looks at me, green eyes sparkling. “We want to build.”

Mr. Dawson beams. “I can certainly do that.”

“Are you coming for Thanksgiving?” Dean asks me.

“No. I work that weekend. But my residency contract is up before Christmas. It’ll be the first time since med school I haven’t worked on Christmas.”

“We’ll make sure to have the best Christmas ever then.” Quinn smiles at me, then picks up her water to take a drink. She was a little disappointed to hear about Thanksgiving and was more than willing to come down to Indy and eat a to-go Thanksgiving feast in the hospital cafeteria with me. Just offering was enough for me, and it took a lot of convincing to get her to go to her parents’ instead—and save me a plate or two of leftovers.

“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.