A Breath of Jasmine (The Merriams Book 6)

by Ava Miles

  The kitchen was crowded when he entered. Aileen dropped an unbaked scone she was handling. Alice nudged Hargreaves, who was piping another chocolate creation onto parchment paper in the shape of a flower. God, Amelia was going to love that. She exclaimed over every shape they created, and the pure innocence of it always brought a smile to his face. Chef Padraig sprinkled the last of the rosemary on a giant leg of lamb.

  “Sorry to bother you, but I was hoping to cook something for Francesca and myself tonight.” He shifted on his feet, feeling an unusual flush coast up his neck. “Like for a date. If you could point me toward the icebox.”

  Chef Padraig picked up his knife and extended it like a saber in his direction. “You wish to cook in my kitchen?”

  No, I’ll build a fire outside like a caveman and hope Buttercup doesn’t lick me. “Yes, if you would be so kind.” Should he have asked Becca first?

  “You can work over there.” He pointed his knife regally to the station to the right of Alice and Hargreaves. “You will be quiet.”

  “Of course. Thank you.”

  “Pour l’amour, on fait ce qu’on peut,” he replied with a shrug.

  When he reached his assigned space, Alice leaned closer and said, “Chef Padraig said, ‘for love, one does what one can.’ Don’t worry. He usually warms up to people after a while.”

  Quinn didn’t plan on being there that long. “I only need to cook dinner for tonight.” Of course, who the hell knew how long they were going to be in lockdown? Maybe he’d have to do this again. Better to be on his best behavior.

  “Let me show you what we have,” Alice said, wiping her hands on her apron.

  “A capital idea, Quinn,” Hargreaves said, giving him a firm nod. “Flynn was talking about something similar.”

  “I told that dear boy I’d be happy to cook for him and Annie,” Aileen said. “They have their hands full entertaining the girls even if they are the sweetest angels alive. Who can blame the little ones? I’m going stir-crazy, and my days aren’t much different now than before this horrible virus started plaguing us, God help us all.” She crossed herself.

  “Would you cook for me?” Quinn brightened at the very thought.

  “Ah, boyo, it’s Flynn who’s stolen my heart after your dear brother Trevor.” She made eyes at him. “Maybe after I get to know you better.”

  Turned down flat. Wasn’t that his luck these days?

  “Come on,” Alice said, grabbing his arm. “Clifton and I will help you.”

  “Indeed, Master—Quinn.” Hargreaves—Clifton—gave a sardonic smile. “Old habits are hard to break.”

  “But you’re doing marvelously,” Alice said, picking up a semi-soft truffle and popping it into her mouth.

  “There she goes again, Clifton,” Aileen said, clucking her tongue. “She’d eat all of them if you turned your back.”

  “I’ll only make some more,” Clifton said, his brown eyes warm as he glanced at Alice.

  “She’s a vixen and a chocolate thief,” Chef Padraig said with a gruff laugh, “but she’s so sweet you can’t be mad at her. Come here, cherie, and taste the mushrooms I will serve with our beautiful lamb.”

  Alice made the expected humming sounds, making Chef Padraig offer her another piece. Quinn had to stop himself from tapping his foot. He wasn’t a man who liked waiting, and he didn’t savor being the outsider in another’s space.

  When Alice showed him the choices, he went for the steaks. “Those babies. They’ll be easy to grill.”

  “Are you going for easy or for romance?” Alice asked. “Francesca’s top ten dishes don’t involve steak.”

  “Not even if they were served with the best Parisian frites,” Chef Padraig said and then muttered something in French Quinn imagined wasn’t flattering.

  Other than the breakfast they both enjoyed, Quinn realized he didn’t know many of Francesca’s favorite meals. She loved fish and shellfish and she’d eaten beef, pork, and chicken in his presence. He asked with dread, “You aren’t going to encourage me to cook Indian food, are you?” A cold sweat started to coat his skin.

  Alice and the others began to laugh, and again, Quinn felt a flush coat his neck. Dammit, this was getting embarrassing.

  “Indian food!” Alice cried out, laughing. “I’d love to see that. Right, Clifton?”

  “I expect Quinn can cook anything he puts his mind to,” Clifton said diplomatically.

  No, not Indian food. The taste profiles were much too complex. They were insane, perhaps hopped up on the gas coming from the warming stove in the corner. “Thank you for the vote of confidence, Clifton. Perhaps I need to do some research and plan better.” Or beg J.T. or his mother to cook. Surely they would take pity on him. Or he could pay them. Anything at this point.

  “How about we make some beef bourguignon together?” Alice said, clapping her hands, her brown eyes flashing. “I’m sure Chef Padraig would give us a few of his precious mushrooms.”

  “Maybe,” the chef said with a mock glare.

  “Oh, please!” She rushed over to him and kissed him on the cheek, and he laughed.

  “For you, ma belle,” Chef Padraig said. “She’s irresistible, this one. A siren in the kitchen. I don’t know what I will do when she leaves. Perhaps, she will stay here forever with us. N’est-ce pas, Aileen?”

  “That would be grand,” Aileen said, setting the scones in the oven. “Clifton as well. The kitchen will be too quiet without them.”

  “I thought you liked a quiet kitchen, Chef Padraig,” Quinn said.

  “Only guests must stay quiet.” He kissed Alice again on the cheeks. “These two have become family.”

  Which seemed to be everyone’s reaction to the duo. “All right, Alice, if you’re willing to help me.”

  “I’ll do what your mother did with you for our first brunch at their home,” Alice said, grinning now. “You can chop.”

  He had to give her credit. There was something charming about her. So he chopped the ingredients he was given, grateful for her and Clifton’s help. They debated the amount of red wine to add after the beef cubes, mushroom, lardon, and onions had been sautéed with garlic, thyme, and bay leaf. Chef Padraig hotly debated the absence of carrots in the dish, and Quinn learned Alice and Clifton were passionate about it adding a sweetness to the dish they disdained. Disdained. When had he ever acted like this around food? Oil prices, certainly, and the stock market. He supposed to each their own.

  After the wine issue was resolved, Alice patted him on the back. “Now, we leave it to simmer. Do you want candles tonight? How about eating in the wine cellar? It’s private and so cozy. Flynn’s idea—I can’t take credit.”

  Flynn was Mr. Pandemic Romance, it seemed. But did he have a tuxedo? He doubted it. After thanking everyone in the kitchen, he went to find Trevor. His brother was in the dyeing shed with Becca, and they were stirring a pot of beet-colored water.

  “We can’t wait any longer to shear the sheep, Trev,” Becca said. “I swear I saw a few of the sheep glistening with sweat in the sunlight. It’s been warm for this time of year.”

  “We’ll have the shearers wear masks,” Trevor said. “Farming is considered essential, so it shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll talk to Liam about arranging it.”

  Quinn had been so caught up in Merriam Enterprises that he’d forgotten Trevor had other concerns. He was glad Trevor had a role to fulfill at the inn, but would it be enough for him after the company folded? He realized he wasn’t ready to ask that yet, of his brother or himself. Or talk with Caitlyn or Annie about the logistics of planning the spin-off Francesca had envisioned.

  He’d been content for Caitlyn and Annie—and Flynn, for that matter—to work remotely in whatever way they could right now. Company operations were different with their employees working from home, if they had roles that allowed it. Some were furloughed, of course. None yet knew the plans Quinn would soon reveal about the end of Merriam Enterprises as they knew it, and the spin-off. But he imagined anyone wi
th a brain who looked at the market and their stock price would know they were headed to bankruptcy.

  “Should we invite the others to watch? I would feel horrible if anyone became ill after coming to the shearing,” she said, blowing out a breath.

  “We have a little over a hundred cases here in Cork,” Trevor said. “We’ll keep being smart, Becca. It’s our only defense.”

  Was it? Quinn still wasn’t so sure after reading the news. He was starting to believe the virus would spread regardless of what anyone did to stop it. “Excuse me.”

  They spun around, Becca lifting a hand over her heart. “Goodness, but you gave me a fright, Quinn.”

  “Sorry,” he said, a now familiar rush of embarrassment cresting up his neck. “Trev, can I speak to you for a minute? It’s not about business.”

  His brother crossed to him. “What’s up?”

  “I’m doing a pandemic date night. Do you have a tux? Uncle Arthur thought dressing up—”

  “I’ve read about people doing that.” His brother’s lips twitched. “Are Aunt Clara and the singing mice going to make Francesca a ball gown?”

  He gave his brother his best sneer. “Only after Uncle Arthur blows the glass for her slippers.”

  “Nice one.” He slapped him on the back. “Back in a jiffy, babe. Romance calls.”

  They left the shed and headed to the Grace O’Malley tower where Trevor and Becca made their home. Hatshep met them at the top of the stairs and wove figure eights around Quinn’s feet.

  “She likes you,” Trev exclaimed. “Holy shit. I can’t believe it.”

  “She likes you, doesn’t she?” He wasn’t going to admit he’d spent the night with Hatshep in his lap. The three people who knew—Alice, Hargreaves, and Francesca—had shown remarkable restraint.

  “Of course. I’m charming.” Trevor pushed open the deluxe closet.

  “I’m charming,” he protested, admiring the rows of Becca’s handknit fashionwear. The bold colors were like a rainbow on a waterfall. God, he’d been in Ireland too long.

  “You’re something, all right.” His brother pulled out the tuxedo, hanging on a wire hanger. “It might be a little loose on you—especially in a certain area.”

  Were they back to third grade and who had the bigger dick? He welcomed the normalcy somehow. “In your dreams. If I rip the seams down under, I’ll have it repaired.”

  “Hah!” His brother pressed the hanger at him. “That will be the day. You can change in here later if you want to keep it secret.”

  “Thanks, man,” he told Trev. “I have to check on dinner now.”

  “Don’t burn it,” his brother joked as they walked out together, Hatshep mewing softly as they passed her.

  “I still can’t believe she likes you,” Trevor said.

  Quinn only smiled, and to his surprise, his smile held steady the entire way to the kitchen. The aroma of stewed meat, garlic, and wine was redolent in the air, mixed with the buttery deliciousness of the scones.

  Alice jumped up from the table she was sitting at, her teacup wobbling until Hargreaves righted it. “Good! You’re back. I was hoping you wouldn’t bail.”

  “Never.” He made his face very serious.

  She laughed. “Okay, let’s check this baby. Then you can peel the potatoes and we can talk about dessert.”

  He settled on chocolate mousse after Alice made a passionate argument for it being one of Francesca’s favorites. Beating the egg whites ended up being easier than separating the eggs. Alice had spooned out the egg yolk he’d broken and then taken over in a polite but officious way that was impossible to deny, not that he had a mind to. Clifton had watched with a fond smile he couldn’t quite conceal.

  When everything was ready, Alice volunteered to get Francesca dressed and down to the cellar. Clifton took over the final touches, allowing Quinn the opportunity to get spiffed up too.

  As he was going back through the main hall, having dressed in the tux in Trevor’s room, someone whistled. “Looking good, Quinn Anthony Merriam. Hot date?”

  He looked back and spotted his mother at the top of the stairs, a warm smile on her face. “Yeah. Come down. I need you to fix my tie.”

  He didn’t, but it was a happy reminder of his first prom. She’d been the one to help him. His dad had worked late, he recalled, missing the whole event. He’d been oddly disappointed.

  “Where’s Dad?” he asked.

  She sighed, a shadow crossing her face as she made it down the stairs and crossed to him. “Watching the news like usual. I keep telling him there’s nothing he can do about it and becoming too embroiled isn’t good for anyone. But does he listen?”

  They were all acting a bit obsessed over the news, but it was changing constantly, and no one knew where the bottom would be—or when they would reach it. “How are you holding up, Mom? Really.”

  She drilled him with a quiet stare before retying his bow tie. “I’m hanging in there like everyone else. Making the best of things. Counting our blessings. I know things seem hard right now, but we have each other, Quinn. That’s everything.”

  “Truly?”

  Her hand was comforting when she touched his face. “You’re so like your father. You and Connor always were the closest to him in personality. My serious boys, so ambitious. Yes, that’s everything. So long as we all stay healthy, that’s all I care about. The rest of this… We’ll weather it. And when I need reminding, I look at one of my mother’s letters to my father during the war. There’s a lot of wisdom in there. I was so glad Trevor brought them out. They helped Becca, you know, with her fears, and many others. If you need them, they’re yours, Quinn. Your grandfather made a great life for himself after the war took everything. So did your grandmother. You remember that.”

  When she kissed his cheek, he held her to him longer. “I love you, Mom.” He realized he didn’t say it enough.

  “I love you too,” she whispered. “This time together is hard, but we’ll remember the karaoke and the family dinners and the laughs and the tears. It’s life, sweetheart. We take what comes and steer ourselves forward. Always together. Have fun on your date.”

  She paused then, and something flashed in her eyes. He knew that look. She was about to deliver one of her mother smackdowns. “I probably shouldn’t butt in, but since you’re like your father, I’m going to trust my instincts and give you a push. Are you finally going to propose to Francesca again?”

  He could feel himself drawing back in response, old fears rising up. “Now?”

  She kissed him again on the cheek. “The only way to find out is to ask. With the world being as it is, in such a state of uncertainty, my perspective is: if not now, when? Don’t you agree?”

  Oddly, he did, but Francesca had wanted a clearer sense of her future career before she fully committed herself. And yet, the future wasn’t clear for any of them. There was no predicting what would happen next month or next year. He was going to take his mom’s advice. She’d never steered him wrong. “I’ll just head back to my room and grab the ring I bought,” he said.

  She laughed. “I was hoping you were prepared, Quinn Anthony Merriam. A man should have a ring when he proposes marriage, but I was willing to lend you the ring your father gave to me the night he proposed.”

  He was deeply touched and hugged her warmly again. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “We take care of each other. Go get ’em, tiger,” she said and sailed off, whistling.

  He detoured to their room, checking to make sure Francesca wasn’t inside. Retrieving the ring from its hiding place, he tucked it into his jacket pocket and let himself into the hallway.

  His gaze tracked down the hallway to his parents’ room. His mother had said he was a lot like his father, and he knew it was true. Did Francesca have to work overtime to pull him out of his funks? Yes, you idiot, his mind supplied. She’d taken him to a rabbit shed, hadn’t she? He vowed to do better. Before he could chicken out, he started walking toward his parents’ room.

&nb
sp; He knocked, and after a brief wait, his dad opened the door. “Where’s the party?”

  “Date night with Francesca.” He brushed his shirt front. “Trev was good enough to loan me his tux.”

  “Looks good.” His dad’s hair, which had been silver for years, had whitened at the temples in the past few weeks.

  “Actually, I’m going to propose tonight.” His stomach quivered a touch, but he kept his face impassive.

  “Good decision. She’s a wonderful woman and the perfect match for you.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” He smiled when his dad put a hand on his shoulder in an unusual display of affection. “Hey, maybe you should take Mom on a date. I mean, she mentioned it sounded like fun. I’ll let you get back to the news.”

  He was turning when his dad said, “Thanks, Quinn. A date with your mother would be nice. Think Trevor would loan me his tux?”

  “Sure. I’ll make sure it’s cleaned and pressed for you.”

  “Perfect.” His dad shifted. “Good luck tonight.”

  “Thanks. See ya, Dad.”

  “See ya, son.”

  There was a warmth to the word that made it sound like an endearment, and it touched him. His mother was right. There were parts of this lockdown he would remember fondly for the rest of his life.

  He was about to make it even more memorable.

  Chapter 30

  Dressing for dinner sounded like the perfect antidote to the ever-present blues in the inn.

  As Alice clucked over her red silk harem pants and ivory cashmere sweater—her dressiest and still warmest outfit for the changeable April weather—she held up the silver heels she was thinking of wearing.

  “Yes!” Alice cried out. “Make sure you wear one of your darker red lipsticks. Tonight is going to be so much fun.”

  “You look terrific,” Francesca said, gesturing to her friend’s soft peach sweater and black wool pants.

  “Clara was a peach—bad pun—to knit me a thank you present for helping Clifton blossom. I mean, he did all the unfurling.”