Updated Apr 19, 2026 • ~12 min read
Chapter 15: Ruby’s Drawing
Quinn
Quinn is restocking the bakery display case on a quiet Tuesday morning when Ruby appears at the door with her backpack and her stuffed elephant, clearly having convinced Asher to make a detour on the way to school, and she’s carrying a folded piece of paper with the kind of careful reverence that suggests whatever’s on it is very important to a six-year-old.
“Quinn!” Ruby announces, rushing into the bakery with her usual enthusiasm. “I made you something! It’s for you to keep!”
Asher follows behind looking apologetic for the interruption, and Quinn waves away his concerns because Ruby showing up at the bakery has become one of her favorite parts of most mornings—the burst of energy and innocence and uncomplicated affection that Ruby brings into every space she occupies.
“What did you make?” Quinn asks, wiping her hands on her apron and crouching down to Ruby’s level.
Ruby unfolds the paper with dramatic flair, revealing a drawing done in crayon and marker with the kind of confident artistic vision that only children possess—three stick figures holding hands, a house in the background with flowers, a sun with a smiling face, and across the top in Ruby’s careful kindergarten handwriting: “My Family.”
Quinn’s heart does something complicated in her chest as she looks at the drawing more closely—the stick figures are clearly labeled with names written in Ruby’s wobbly letters: “Daddy” for the tallest figure, “Me” for the smallest one in the middle, and “Quinn” for the third figure with long hair and what appears to be an apron.
“Ruby, sweetie, I’m not—” Quinn starts, not sure how to handle this gently, aware that Asher is watching with growing concern from near the door.
“But I want you to be!” Ruby interrupts with passionate conviction. “You’re nice and you make Daddy smile! And you teach me to bake and you braid my hair and you came for Halloween and we took family pictures! That’s family stuff, Quinn!”
Quinn looks up at Asher helplessly, not sure what the right response is here—she and Asher confessed their feelings just a few days ago but they haven’t discussed what that means for Ruby, for their family dynamic, for the future they might be building together.
“Ruby,” Asher says gently, crossing to them and kneeling beside his daughter. “We talked about this. Quinn is very important to us, but we need to take things slowly—”
“But you love her!” Ruby protests with the blunt honesty of a child who hasn’t learned to filter observations. “I heard you tell Uncle Cole! And she loves you! I can tell because she looks at you the same way Mama looked at you in the wedding pictures!”
Quinn’s breath catches because Ruby comparing her to Emma feels significant and terrifying and she doesn’t know if she’s ready for that kind of responsibility—being not just Asher’s girlfriend but a mother figure to his daughter who already lost one mother and might lose another if this doesn’t work out.
“That’s true,” Asher admits, and he’s looking at Quinn with an expression that’s equal parts apologetic and vulnerable. “I do love Quinn. But love is complicated, sweetheart. Adults need time to figure out how relationships work before we make big changes.”
“But you already did make big changes!” Ruby argues. “Quinn comes for dinner all the time and sleeps over sometimes—”
“Ruby!” Asher interrupts, his face going red. “Quinn does not sleep over. She stays late sometimes and falls asleep on the couch, which is different.”
Quinn is desperately trying not to laugh because Asher’s embarrassment is adorable, and Ruby clearly doesn’t understand the distinction she’s implying, but the larger issue—Ruby thinking of Quinn as family and drawing pictures that assume a future Quinn isn’t sure she’s ready to promise—still needs addressing.
“Ruby-roo,” Quinn says gently, taking the little girl’s hand. “I love your drawing. It’s beautiful. And I love spending time with you and your daddy. But being a family is complicated, and we need to make sure we’re doing it right so nobody gets hurt. Okay?”
“You’re not going to leave like Mama did?” Ruby asks with sudden vulnerability that breaks Quinn’s heart. “Daddy says Mama didn’t mean to leave, that it was an accident, but what if you leave too?”
Quinn pulls Ruby into a hug, looking over the child’s head at Asher who’s clearly fighting tears at his daughter’s fear of abandonment.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Quinn promises, even though she knows she probably shouldn’t make promises she can’t guarantee. “I’m right next door. I’m part of your life. And I’m not planning to leave, sweetheart.”
“Promise?” Ruby asks, pulling back to look at Quinn with those grey eyes that are exactly like her father’s.
“I promise I’ll try my very hardest to stay,” Quinn hedges, because she can’t promise forever when life is unpredictable and people leave even when they don’t want to.
Ruby seems satisfied with this answer, and she hands the drawing to Quinn with renewed enthusiasm.
“So you’ll keep it? And put it somewhere special?”
“I’ll put it right here,” Quinn says, walking to the bakery counter and taping the drawing to the wall behind the register where she can see it while she works. “So I can look at it every day and remember how lucky I am to be part of your family.”
Ruby beams with satisfaction, kisses Quinn on the cheek, and announces that she’s ready for school now, apparently having completed her mission of ensuring Quinn understands her place in the Brooks family dynamic.
After Asher takes Ruby to school—with promises to discuss this later—Quinn stands behind her bakery counter staring at the drawing and trying to process the weight of what just happened.
Ruby thinks of her as family.
Ruby drew her into their family portrait.
Ruby is already emotionally attached in ways that could be devastating if Quinn and Asher don’t work out.
The bakery door chimes, and Mabel enters with her usual perfect timing and knowing expression.
“Saw Ruby leave looking very pleased with herself,” Mabel observes, setting her purse on the counter. “What did our favorite matchmaker-in-training do now?”
Quinn wordlessly points to the drawing, and Mabel studies it with the kind of attention usually reserved for fine art.
“She drew you into the family portrait,” Mabel says with satisfaction. “That’s significant.”
“That’s terrifying,” Quinn corrects. “Mabel, what if this doesn’t work out? What if Asher and I break up? Ruby’s already thinking of me as a mother figure, and if I leave—”
“You’re not going to leave,” Mabel interrupts firmly. “And neither is Asher. You two are so clearly endgame that watching you worry about it is almost amusing.”
“You can’t know that,” Quinn protests. “Marcus and I were together five years and engaged, and that fell apart. Asher and I have been dating three weeks—”
“You’ve been building toward this for three months,” Mabel corrects. “Since the moment you climbed his roof to rescue that damn cat. And honey, what you have with Asher is nothing like what you had with Marcus. Marcus was comfortable and convenient. Asher is terrifying and real. That’s the difference.”
Quinn knows Mabel is right, but the fear remains—fear of hurting Ruby, fear of promising something she can’t deliver, fear of being the second woman to leave this child who’s already lost so much.
“Ruby lost her mother,” Quinn says quietly. “If she starts seeing me as a replacement and then I disappoint her—”
“You won’t disappoint her,” Mabel says. “And you’re not a replacement for Emma. You’re something new and different and exactly what both Ruby and Asher need. Stop catastrophizing and just love them, Quinn. That’s all they’re asking for.”
Asher returns to the bakery during Quinn’s lunch break, and they sit in the back room surrounded by flour and the lingering smell of fresh bread while Quinn shows him the drawing that’s still taped behind the register.
“She drew this,” Quinn says unnecessarily, because Asher was there when Ruby presented it.
“I know,” Asher says, and he’s studying the drawing with an expression Quinn can’t quite read. “I’ll talk to her. She shouldn’t assume—”
“It’s okay,” Quinn interrupts. “It’s sweet.”
“Is it?” Asher asks, turning to look at her directly. “Or is it confusing her? Making her think we’re further along than we are? Ruby lost her mother, Quinn. She’s desperate for that mother figure, and if she gets attached to you and then we don’t work out—”
“Are you planning for us not to work out?” Quinn asks, echoing the question from when Marcus showed up.
“No!” Asher says quickly. “But I’m being realistic. We’ve been dating three weeks. We’re still figuring out what this is. And Ruby’s already drawing family portraits that include you like it’s a done deal.”
“Maybe it is a done deal,” Quinn says quietly. “Maybe Ruby sees what we’re too scared to admit—that we’re already a family, whether we’ve officially acknowledged it or not.”
Asher is quiet for a long moment, turning the drawing over in his hands.
“When I look at this,” he says eventually, “I see everything I want and everything I’m terrified of losing. I see the family we’re building. I see Ruby happy and whole with a mother figure she clearly adores. I see a future that looks perfect. And that terrifies me because I’ve lost perfect before, and I don’t know if I can survive losing it again.”
“So what do we do?” Quinn asks. “Ask Ruby to stop thinking of me as family? Create distance to protect her from potential heartbreak? Stop building what we’re building because it might not work out?”
“No,” Asher says firmly. “We keep going. We’re honest with Ruby about the fact that relationships take time. We don’t make promises we can’t keep. But we don’t stop this just because it’s scary.”
“I told Ruby I’m not going anywhere,” Quinn admits. “I know I probably shouldn’t have promised that, but she asked if I was going to leave like Emma did, and I couldn’t—”
“It’s okay,” Asher interrupts, taking her hand. “I understand. And Quinn, I don’t think you will leave. I think you’re as invested in this as we are. I think you love Ruby as much as she loves you. I think we’re building something real that’s worth the risk.”
“I do love her,” Quinn confesses. “And that terrifies me because I never thought I wanted kids, and suddenly I’m halfway to being a mother to a six-year-old who draws me into family portraits and calls me when she’s sad at school and trusts me with her feelings. What if I’m not good enough at this? What if I mess her up?”
“Join the club,” Asher says with a slight smile. “Every parent worries about messing their kid up. The fact that you’re worried about it means you care enough to try your best. That’s all Ruby needs.”
They sit in comfortable silence for a while, processing the weight of Ruby’s drawing and what it represents—not just a child’s art project but a declaration of how she sees their family, a vision of a future that both Quinn and Asher want but are terrified to fully embrace.
“I’m going to keep the drawing,” Quinn says eventually. “Behind the register where I can see it every day. Is that okay?”
“It’s perfect,” Asher says. “And Quinn? Thank you for being patient with Ruby. And with me. We’re both disasters at this, but you’re handling it with so much grace.”
“I’m not graceful,” Quinn protests. “I’m terrified and making it up as I go and probably doing everything wrong.”
“You’re doing everything right,” Asher corrects. “Ruby adores you. I love you. And we’re figuring this out together. That’s all that matters.”
That night, Quinn lies in bed staring at her ceiling and thinking about the drawing now taped to her bakery wall, about Ruby’s innocent assumption that Quinn is already family, about the weight and beauty of being trusted by a child who’s already lost so much.
Her phone buzzes with a photo from Asher—Ruby asleep in bed, clutching her stuffed elephant, with a new drawing on her nightstand that appears to be a sequel to the family portrait, this one featuring the three of them baking together with hearts everywhere.
“She made another one,” Asher’s text says. “Apparently the family portrait series is ongoing. Fair warning: tomorrow’s will probably feature a wedding and/or a baby. Six-year-olds have no chill about relationship pacing.”
Quinn laughs and types back: “Tell Ruby I love her artwork and I’m honored to be included in the family portrait series. Even the hypothetical wedding/baby ones.”
“She’ll be thrilled,” Asher responds. “Also, I love you. In case I haven’t said it enough today.”
“You can never say it enough,” Quinn sends back. “I love you too. Both of you. Even when it’s terrifying.”
“Especially when it’s terrifying,” Asher corrects. “That’s how you know it matters.”
Quinn falls asleep thinking about family portraits and six-year-old wisdom and the terrifying beauty of being loved by people who’ve already lost so much and are brave enough to risk their hearts again.
And she thinks that maybe Ruby’s right.
Maybe they are already a family.
Maybe Quinn’s been part of the Brooks family since that first baking lesson.
Maybe all the fear and caution and careful pacing is just delaying what’s inevitable.
And maybe—just maybe—being included in Ruby’s family portrait is the greatest honor Quinn’s ever received.
Even if it’s terrifying.
Especially because it’s terrifying.
Because that’s how you know it’s real.
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