The Beach House

by Jolie Campbell

  And yet, I couldn't really believe that Quinn was... that he felt...

  “Em.”

  “She said that I’m it,” the tears started flowing, I couldn’t help it. And with them came the words. “There isn’t anyone else here for you to flirt with. She said she’s sure that you like me, but you like a lot of people and she didn’t want to see me hurt.”

  "Fuck.” Quinn took a deep breath and sighed audibly. “Goddamn it.”

  I kept my eyes on the road.

  “It’s not true,” he said, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Jesus, of course, no wonder things have been so weird. You don’t think you can trust me.”

  I couldn’t answer. I just tried to get my breathing under control.

  “Em, this isn't the first time this has happened," he said.

  A sick feeling rose up in my stomach. It isn’t the first time a woman got the wrong impression about his feelings. So Julianne was right. He enjoyed my company, liked kissing me, but the rest was in my head.

  "She cares about me, she takes my successes and failures personally," he explained. "It's good that she cares so much, but this isn't the first time she's overstepped. I don't need to be handled. Julianne is there to make sure I’m taken care of and to help manage my life, but not to get involved in my relationships or friendships. The line blurs sometimes. But I'm a grown man. I don’t need her to speak for me."

  I didn't say anything, just nodded. Julianne had been right about what she told me, but he didn’t want her to be the one to say it.

  He was shaking his head, muttering to himself, and finally he slammed his hand on the dashboard. “Goddamn it! I’ve had enough. This is too much, she took it too far.”

  He was seething.

  “Quinn, I—"

  “No,” he bit out through clenched teeth. “It’s bad enough everyone at the Beach House thinks they’ll get fired if they look at me the wrong way. That’s ridiculous. But this—speaking for me to a woman, getting involved in my private life. It’s just, it’s so fucking wrong.”

  We were silent for a minute. I couldn’t begin to imagine what he was thinking.

  He took a deep breath. “That’s it. I have to let her go,” he said quietly.

  My mouth fell open.

  "Don’t think I'm an asshole." He grimaced. "Look, I’m sure you think it's nice that she's looking out for me, and I'm being a dick. Just put yourself-"

  "Quinn," I said, swallowing hard. "I don't think that. At all. You're right."

  "Ugh, don't humor me, Em."

  "Humor you? Seriously? Have I ever done that?"

  He thought for a moment, then smiled faintly. "No, actually, you haven't. I think that's part of why I like you so much."

  I hoped he couldn't see the anguish that I was sure was on my face. Keep it together, Emmy.

  “You can’t fire her, Quinn,” I said. “Not for this. You said it yourself, it’s just because she cares so much. If you let her go over this, you’ll regret it. Talk to her.”

  “I have,” he snapped. “I have talked to her about this. She doesn’t get it. She really thinks she knows better than I do what I want and what I need.”

  “I understand,” I said, thinking I must be crazy to defend someone who tried to keep me away from Quinn. But I couldn’t really be mad at her, because ultimately she was probably right about his feelings for me. And I couldn’t stand the idea of being involved with someone losing their job. “But just give it another try. Be really blunt with her. If she oversteps again after that, then you can let her go and not look back. But it’s really hard to find people who care so much. I think you should give her one more chance.” I forced myself to glance at him with a weak smile.

  “That’s my expert opinion, as someone who has never had an assistant before.”

  He paused. "Well, you’re right about that. She is much smarter and more loyal than most assistants. And I trust her about most things.”

  “So, maybe give her one more chance?”

  Another silent pause. “OK,” he said, sighing. “This is good advice, and God knows she doesn’t deserve this from you. Thanks.” He reached over and gently brushed a tear off my face. “You’re all right, you know that?” he said. “If only you could fucking cook."

  The joke broke the tension and we both laughed, relieved.

  “Are you OK? I’m so sorry about all this,” he said. I could feel his eyes on me.

  “Of course,” I replied, forcing a smile. He would probably be gone in another month or so anyway. I would force myself to just enjoy his friendship and not hope for more. “Perfectly fine. It’s all going to be OK.”

  “Are you OK, buttercup?”

  “I’m sorry, what did you say, Mom?”

  We were sitting outside at Yolanda’s, a popular Mexican restaurant. It was usually packed at lunch, but we had come in at 1:30, after the rush, so we got to enjoy a quiet meal. I usually put away a plate of shrimp fajitas or fish tacos, but I hadn’t had my usual appetite lately.

  “You hardly touched your salad, and you seem sad, sweetie,” my mom said, covering my hand with hers. I got my short stature and small frame from her, along with her fair skin and slate-hued eyes. The grayish eye color stood out more on her, with her fine, silky dark-brown hair. On me they looked more faded, since I had inherited my hair from my father, and it was its odd not-brown-but-not-red shade and noncommittally wavy.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I just have a lot on my mind. I don’t mean to be bad company,” I said. “What’s happening with you? Hey, whatever happened with Peter at work? Did you go back to him about your raise?”

  She smiled. “Oh Emmy, you’re my favorite company, no matter what mood you’re in, you know that. There’s nothing new for me at work, I’m afraid,” she sighed. “I just have to be patient and keep doing a great job, exceeding his expectations. He’ll come through for me, I know he will.”

  I mustered up a thin smile for her and went back to picking at my salad absently.

  She cocked her head. “Emmy, what’s on your mind? Do you feel like talking about it?”

  “No. I really don’t. But thanks, Mom.”

  “Is it something at work? Did Elaine say something to upset you?”

  “Mom, please. I said I really don’t want to talk about it,” I snapped, more harshly than I meant to. She looked away.

  I took a deep breath.

  “I’m sorry,” I grabbed her hand. She looked at me and I saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes.

  Emmy, you are a monster. “Mom, when I do, you’ll be the first person I call, OK? I just have to work some things out.”

  Like, how to stop having feelings for the movie star who is staying and the Beach House, flirting with me because there’s no one better around. It feels like I’ll never have enough money to go to culinary school, and even if I do, once I get there I’ll find out I don’t have any real talent. I’ll end up working at the Beach House until I’m Elaine’s age and probably also drinking myself into a stupor every day.

  She sighed. “OK, buttercup. You know I’m always here for you. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re a remarkable young woman with everything in the world ahead of you,” she said emphatically, squeezing my hand. “This is one of the best parts of your life, I just hope you’re able to really enjoy it.”

  CHAPTER 12

  “Welcome back,” I greeted Heather and Tim as they made their way into the kitchen after checking in. One of the nice by-products of having Quinn staying at the Beach House was that all the other guests were people who stayed with us often, or were friends of Lauren and Dennis’s, so it almost felt like a family reunion.

  “Emmy, it’s so good to see you!” Heather said, hugging me. “How have you been? Still running? What smells so good?”

  They were a sweet, fun couple in their late 30s from Chicago who came to Los Angeles once a year for some kind of convention, then stayed at the Beach House for a few days on vacation. Heather was also a runner and we had go
ne together a few times.

  “Of course! I’d love to go while you’re here, if you’re up for it. And it’s banana bread. You’ll see it on the breakfast table tomorrow.”

  “Great! Well, I’d love to run,” she smiled up at Tim. “But I’m afraid I haven’t been feeling too well lately.”

  “Oh no, I’m sorry,” I said, furrowing, wondering why that made her smile. Then it hit me.

  “Oh! Hey! Any news you want to share?” I grinned. She had confessed the year before on a run that they had been trying for a baby.

  “Yup, we are preg-o. Just passed the first trimester,” Tim boomed, tossing an arm around Heather’s shoulders.

  “That’s wonderful! Congratulations!” I hugged them both. “Are you OK? Morning sickness?”

  Heather nodded. “Yeah, I’m afraid so. I’ve never been so happy to be sick. The doctor says I can run, but I’ve been mostly walking, since the last couple of times I tried jogging I lost my breakfast. But I’ll take a walk with you, if that isn’t too wimpy?”

  “Not at all, I’d love that.”

  “Man, she must like you. She makes me run, no excuses,” Quinn said from the kitchen doorway. I had been so distracted that I hadn’t heard him come in.

  “Oh, hi there,” Heather said, giving him a big smile.

  “Hi, I’m Quinn,” he said warmly, extending his hand. I had seen him do this with everyone, offer his hand and give his name, not assuming anyone would know who he was. It was a small thing, but I really liked it. Tim shook his hand, and he and Heather introduced themselves. After a bit of small talk, Quinn said, “Em, do you have any more of that lemonade?”

  “Sure,” I said, noticing that he had his e-reader. “Heading out to the porch? I’ll bring it to you. Would you like a snack?”

  “Thanks. No, just the lemonade. I can take it out.”

  “Let me get the bread out of the oven and I’ll bring a glass out to you,” I said.

  He shrugged. “OK. Thanks. Nice meeting you two. Hope I’ll see you around.”

  He smiled at Heather and Tim and wandered out.

  Heather sidled up next to me. “Wow, he is gorgeous,” she whispered. “I could hardly believe it when Elaine called to tell me he would be here. He’s even cuter in person. And he seems nice. Is he?”

  “Yeah, he really is,” I said, smiling.

  “And you’ve been running with him?” She squeezed my arm. “Oh my God! Has he talked about it at all, what happened? Has he been here the whole time? Has Maya been here? Tell me everything!”

  I laughed. “Heather, I had no idea you were into celebrity gossip.”

  Tim rolled his eyes. “Are you kidding? This girl”—he pointed to Heather with his thumb—“is the smartest person I’ve ever met. But she is like a squealing teenager the second she gets her hands on Us Weekly.”

  “It’s my guilty pleasure. Don’t worry, I won’t say a word to anyone,” she said. “But I have to know! Has Maya been here? Are they getting back together? Are they going to finish the movie?”

  “Heather, I wish I had information for you, but I just don’t,” I laughed. “Seriously, I just serve him breakfast.”

  “No way,” she mock-scowled at me. “You run with him. You must have talked about it? Or did you just stare at him the whole time? God, he is so hot.”

  “OK, OK, enough girl talk,” Tim said, exasperated. “Heather, let’s go upstairs and take a rest.”

  “OK, honey. Em, you’ll have to tell me more later,” she giggled.

  “See you later, guys,” I waved.

  I pulled on oven mitts, and bent down to take the banana bread out of the oven. As I turned around to place it on a cooling rack, I found Quinn leaning on the counter.

  “Oh!” I jumped, startled. “Sorry! Was I taking too long? I’ll have that lemonade out to you in just a sec.”

  He studied me for a moment.

  “What?” I asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  He smiled. “I wasn’t looking at you,” he teased, “I was staring at that banana bread. It looks just like my grandma Mary’s.”

  “I hope that’s a good thing?”

  “Em, thanks.”

  “For the bread? Of course,” I shrugged. “This is what I do. I’m glad you told me you wanted-”

  “No, not for the bread. I mean, that, too. But thanks for the way you handled those questions just now.”

  “Of course,” I said, as I pulled the lemonade out of the fridge and poured each of us a glass. “I’m not going to gossip about you. Ever. I hope you know that.”

  “I do,” he said, clinking his glass with mine. “I trust you. I just wish you trusted me, too. I’m working on it.”

  He left before I could ask what he meant. Then Mr. Matthews came in, and I had to shift my attention to him.

  It was cloudy and drizzling on Wednesday afternoon and the inn was quiet. Elaine was out, most of the guests had disappeared and Quinn had left early in the morning for a meeting in LA. I didn’t know when he was due back.

  I was using up the last of the bananas, turning them into little energy bites by grinding them up in the food processor with oats, chia and hemp seeds and almond butter. Then I scooped the mixture into little balls, rolled them in toasted coconut and froze them. Whenever guests inquired about local hikes, I would pack a few of the energy bites for them to take along.

  I had the Marvin Gaye station on Pandora going as I gathered the ingredients, and before long "Shake Your Body" by Michael Jackson came on.

  As I bopped around the kitchen, Shari swooped in, cranked the music up, grabbed me and started dancing.

  "Woo hoo, girl, shake it!" she cried. She was a great dancer in spite of her awkward, large form, far better than I was. But I couldn't resist and boogied with her.

  Then Dan and Martin came in, gave a whoop and joined us. Before I knew it, even Mr. Matthews had crammed into the kitchen and we were having an impromptu dance party. The song switched to “Got to Give It Up” by Marvin Gaye, one of my favorite songs of all time, and everyone cheered and kept going.

  "Go Dan!" Shari shouted as he showed off his moves. We were all laughing and dancing like crazy, as though we were at a party, not the kitchen in a sleepy bed and breakfast in the middle of the afternoon.

  I was dancing with Martin, giggling and jumping with my arms up in the air and just for a moment I shut my eyes. But they snapped open again when I caught a drift of a familiar sweet scent. There was Quinn, right behind me, holding Shari, dancing slow-dance style but moving to the beat. She was bright-eyed and laughing, trying to lead.

  I faltered, suddenly self-conscious. But before I could think too much, Dan grabbed me and we danced together for a minute the same way Quinn and Shari were. Suddenly, Quinn shifted and the two men switched partners, so Dan grabbed Shari and Quinn was holding me.

  Time stopped as I felt one of his hands circle my waist, and the other taking mine firmly. His smile faded for a second when he caught my eye, and we stared at each other for a long moment.

  The heat, the desire. Did he feel it, too? I wanted so much to believe that he wasn't just passing the time with me, that this wasn't all in my head. For a moment I let myself go, let it wash over me, the feeling of his arms around me, his hand squeezing mine.

  As if he read my mind, his hand on my waist tightened. A slight furrow crossed his brow as his eyes searched mine.

  Quinn’s lips parted slightly, bringing my gaze down to his mouth. It mesmerized me; I ached for him to press it against mine again, for his hands to roam over me, to-

  No. It couldn't be. “You’re it,” Julianne had said. “There’s no one else here for him to flirt with.” I hesitated, drawing away slightly, but Quinn grasped me tighter, sought out my eyes again.

  My breathing picked up, and it felt like his did, too. But-

  Then he was pulled across the room by Martin, and the two men held each other and danced. He stared at me over Martin's shoulder.

  Shari rescued me, g
rabbing my hips from behind and moving me to her rhythm.

  Then the song ended, a commercial came on and the spell was broken. We all slowed to a stop, smiling at one another and laughing. One by one everyone filed out, even Quinn, who was wedged between Dan and Martin. He shot me a quick smile over his shoulder as he exited the kitchen, and I finally exhaled.

  CHAPTER 13

  “Hi Emmy, how you doing today?” Shari smiled sweetly at me as I added the caraway seeds to the dough for Irish soda bread. That’s what I was making the day I met Quinn and got flour all over him. Remembering how much he loved it, I thought I’d make it again.

  As a bonus, Elaine loved it, too. She had been really down lately, alternately looking very sad and snapping at everyone even more than usual. I hoped the bread would at least get her day started on the right foot.

  I eyed Shari suspiciously. “What’s wrong?” She never came into the kitchen just to see how I was doing.

  “Wrong? Nothing! So what are you making, hon?” She came over to peer into the bowl.

  “Shari, seriously, what is it?”

  She frowned, then dropped her voice to as close to a whisper as she could manage. “I thought you and Quinn were, you know, getting close,” she said, making air quotes around the last two words.

  I blushed. “What do you-”

  She rolled her eyes. “Girl, please. A blind man could see the sparks between you two. You know I wouldn’t say anything.”

  I took a deep breath, then smiled. “I don’t know,” I whispered. Then I remembered why she was here and my brow furrowed. “So what’s the problem?”

  “It’s just- Oh, never mind. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  “Shari!”

  She leaned her hip on the counter. “It’s just that, well, I just saw him and Julianne upstairs and-”

  “Shari, she works for him. She’s in his room all the time for meetings and stuff.”

  “Yeah, I know. But usually they aren’t hugging.” She looked at me pointedly.

  I froze. “Hugging?”