His hands started roaming over me, down my back, over my thighs.
I pulled back, more abruptly than I meant to.
"I j- just... Don't know."
"Don't know what?"
I hesitated. "I don't know if I can go with you."
His hands stopped moving and he pulled his face away. "What do you mean? Why not?"
I shook my head. "My life is here. My job, my friends, my mother. My apartment. What would I do there? I just agreed to take on this new job at the Beach House. I've heard it's really expensive in Europe. How will I live? I don't want to use up all of my school savings. Can I work? Who will hire me? Are there immigration issues around that? Will I make enough to save and help my mom? I don't know anyone there, how will I-"
"Woah, woah, woah, slow down,” he said. “I would never want you to use up your savings. Look, I just assumed I would cover our expenses. I don't mean to get ahead of ourselves, but, I mean, I guess… I guess I figured you would live with me. I mean, we would live together. I know it's kind of quick, but- Em, you wouldn't have to worry about work. I mean, work, if you want to. Or don't. I was even thinking, you know, there's a branch of Le Cordon Bleu in London. I looked it up. You could go to culinary school while we're there. You can do whatever you want."
I knew—I knew—that I was supposed to be happy. I should be happy. But all I felt was panic.
We lay there in silence for a minute, then he hugged me, so tightly. I started crying again, didn’t even try to control it.
“I’m sorry, I’m ruining this amazing moment for you, Quinn. I hate myself right now. But I just- I need some time to think about this. Is that OK?”
When he pulled back, I could see there were tears in his eyes, too.
“I gotta be honest, you are putting a serious damper on things here, Em,” he said, probably half joking, but it broke the ice and we both chuckled a bit through the tears. “But of course, think about it.”
“Thank you. Thank you for understanding. I-” I swallowed hard. “I love you, Quinn.”
He smiled, and a few tears spilled out of his beautiful eyes. I wiped them away.
“I love you, too, Em,” he whispered, then kissed me, slowly and deeply. “Take all the time you need. I don’t have to be there 'til next Wednesday.”
CHAPTER 26
“What would you do?”
“It doesn't matter what I would do,” Erica sighed, putting her chai latte down. We had scored an outside table at one of our favorite local coffee joints.
We had been over and over and over the question about whether I would go with Quinn, and still hadn’t gotten anywhere. “What does your gut tell you?”
“I want to go, of course I want to go,” I said.
“But?”
“But, when I think about it practically, it seems really stupid. I’ve been saving for years, working my ass off. Now things are just beginning to turn around for me at work, my bosses want to help pay for school, and I’m supposed to just throw it all away, just like that?”
“I guess I’m not really seeing how this is throwing it away,” she said.
“Look, E, it all seems great now, but what if we crash and burn, and he decides he’s done with me? Then I have to get myself back here, thousands of dollars, find a new job and a place to live, basically start over. And I've lost the opportunity it took me six fucking years to earn. What if we’re there for two weeks and that happens?”
“I get it. But why would that happen? You’re in love, aren’t you? I don’t know the guy, but from what you’ve said, he doesn’t seem like the type to just ask you to go with him on a whim. I mean, do I have it wrong? Is he a flake?”
"No, he isn't. But, I don't know. Look what happened at his meeting. What if-"
"You mean the meeting when he made a huge mistake and then apologized up and down for it? That meeting?"
"Yeah. I know he did. But we don't know what will happen over there. And I've never been with him while he's been working before. It sounds like it will be nuts, the hours and everything. I'll be all alone. Plus, he's never been in a relationship with someone except a costar during a movie before. What if it just can't work?"
Erica sighed.
"Look, hon, I can't tell you what to do. And I don't want to convince you. I'm just playing devil's advocate here. He said you can go to culinary school there, right? They have Le Cordon Bleu?"
"Right. But when he's shooting, or they go somewhere for a week, on location-"
"Then you'll have a lot of time on your hands. So what? You'll be in school, and maybe you can get a cooking job or internship, too. And you'll make friends. You'll more than fill your time without being reliant on him, Emmy. I think you know that," she added, shaking her head at me. "This is about something else, not logistics. What is it?"
As she searched my face, I took a sip of my coffee and shook my head.
"I don't know, E. Something is blocking me here. I wish I knew. But I just don't know if I can do it."
"Hey," Quinn greeted me as he entered the Beach House kitchen in the late afternoon. Though he was smiling, he clearly was subdued, tentative.
He broke the no-PDA rule long enough to take my face in his hands and give me a slow, lingering kiss that conveyed so much emotion and made my heart speed up at the same time.
"Mmmmm," he let out, deepening the kiss, gently stroking my tongue with his. I melted against him, wanting more than anything to get lost in the feel of his mouth on mine, his warm body pressed up against me, his sweet scent filling my senses.
But he ended the kiss, as he had to, and we both came back to earth. He released my face and took my hands.
"How are you?" I whispered, tears filling my eyes.
His expression shifted, a frown marring his features.
"I don't know," he sighed. "In my fantasy I came in here and you threw your arms around me and said of course you would come with me. I guess I should have prepared myself better for the idea that you wouldn't do that."
I hugged him. "Can we do something later? I'll be done by 7. We can get some dinner at my place and talk."
He looked at me for a minute.
"I want to, but I can't tonight. I have to meet up with Griff, he's leaving tomorrow. Is tomorrow night OK?"
"Of course."
We stared at each other, then he looked away.
"It's killing me to see you so upset," I whispered through the lump in my throat.
"Then make me happy, Em," he admonished.
Now it was my turn to look away. "Let's talk tomorrow night, OK?"
"OK."
I hugged him again. "I love you," I whispered in his ear.
He gave me a little wave as he left without another word.
"Mom, what? What are you thinking?"
She wouldn't look at me, just kept shaking her head and taking small sips of her wine.
We were sitting at her kitchen table, finishing dinner. I had come over with a big container of mushroom-barley soup, her favorite, some for us to eat and extra to freeze.
"Buttercup, I just- you have to give me a minute, here. I just found out you know this man, let alone that you're dating him. Now he wants to take you away to England, for six months? For you to give up your job, all these opportunities- It's just a lot to take in."
"I know, Mom, I'm sorry. I'm just- I'm struggling with this, and I really need your advice."
She looked at me and shook her head slightly. "I can't tell you what to do."
"I know, Mom. I know that. But I need- I don't know. Can you just- talk it through with me. Take one side or the other and let's talk about the pros and cons."
She took a deep breath, let out a long sigh.
"Emmy, honey, I love you. And you know what's best. You're exceptionally bright, you always have been. Whatever you decide, you know I'm here for you."
Tears stung my eyes.
"That's it? Why won't you help me with this?"
Her eyes filled with tears. After a long
minute, she dabbed at them.
"I understand what you're feeling, Emmy. I do. I have been there. Part of me wants to hug you and say, 'Go! Follow your heart! Come what may.' But I can't do that. I did that, and look what happened. But I don't want to tell you that I think you shouldn't go, either. I want your experience to be better than mine was. I'm just too-" She stopped, sobbing softly. "I'm too frightened to tell you either way. You have to decide. I love you, no matter what. I'm sorry, Emmy, that's the best I can do."
"You're not coming, are you." It wasn't really a question.
Quinn and I were sitting on my couch, holding hands.
I turned to him, already crying.
"I can't," I sobbed. "I want to, I really do. But there's just too much that's unknown. I've worked so hard for so long, to give it all up with so much uncertainty-"
"You don't have to give it up," he choked out. "Just let me help. Why can't you? Pride? I promise, if the roles were reversed here I would let you."
"You don't know that. And you're not me," I shook my head. "It isn't pride, Quinn. I just- I have to live my life. I can't live yours. I'll end up resenting you."
"I don't want you to live my life. I want you to have your own. I love that you're strong and independent, that you want to do this on your own. But I can't believe you're letting it stop you from having this adventure with me."
There was a pause as both of us cried, but we didn't touch or comfort each other. I could feel the gulf widening between us, more as each second passed.
"Look, I'll come and visit you," I whispered. "I'll ask for a few weeks off. You said it's going to be six months. We can-"
"Don't."
"What?" I wiped my eyes, tried to stem the flow of tears that felt like they would never stop.
"We're just getting this thing, whatever it is, we're just, you know, at the beginning. I want you with me. If you can't do that, I understand. It's a lot to ask. But I can't pine for you for six months, and think about you all the time, and miss you. This is my shot, Em. I have to give it everything I have.
"I'm not saying it's the end," he added, though we both knew how it was likely to play out once we were apart. "Maybe down the road, you know…"
He trailed off.
I nodded, and then broke down, sobbing so hard I lost my breath. Quinn wrapped his arms around me and held me. Heartbroken, we held each other.
He wanted to leave, but agreed to stay after I basically begged him to. I needed one last night with him.
He wasn't scheduled to fly out for a few more days, but we both decided it would be best if he moved out of the Beach House the next morning, before I got there. He would spend his last few nights at Holly Kearney's house, finally making true the rumor I had seen about him on television when he first came to the inn.
Getting ready for bed, going through all the nighttime rituals of cleaning the kitchen and brushing teeth, felt awkward but also oddly comforting. We moved around silently, trying to pretend the night didn't hold the significance that it did.
When I walked into my bedroom after washing up, I found Quinn in bed, sitting up, bare chested with the blanket up to his waist. It was dark except for a few small candles. He wasn't texting or checking email on his phone, just sitting there, looking so beautiful and so dejected.
I opened my mouth to say something, more than anything I wanted to comfort him. But there was nothing I could say that would make him feel better, except the one thing I couldn't say.
We made love for hours, over and over, until we were both exhausted and unable to go on. Quinn was focused and passionate, working me over again and again until every part of me tingled and ached. There was no trace of the playful, uninhibited Quinn who challenged me to let loose and slough off all insecurities in bed, who made me feel beautiful and desirable, wanton and free. Instead he was utterly silent, except for a long, drawn out sigh each time he came, his soulful eyes staring into mine as we drank each other in.
It was the most intense, saddest night of my life. When we finally had to stop, he spooned me, holding on so tight.
"I love you, Em," he whispered, brushing his cheek against the back of my neck. I cried and cried until I fell asleep.
The sound of my front door clicking shut woke me a few hours later. Shuffling into the kitchen, I found a fresh pot of coffee and a note in Quinn's neat block-letter handwriting:
Em-
Change your mind.
I love you.
Q
CHAPTER 27
Of course, just when I needed to try and put Quinn out of my mind, he was everywhere. His re-emergence and exciting new role in the Who biopic were all over television shows, on magazine covers, anywhere I looked. The Los Angeles Times did a big story on the movie, and though the bulk of it was an interview with Griffin, the director, the photo that took up much of the Entertainment section front page was of Quinn, his beautiful face set in concentration as he listened to Griffin, his hair shaggy, dyed black and combed into a '60s mod style.
To make matters worse, he had mentioned in an interview that he had stayed at the Beach House while he was hiding out, and though I knew he meant it kindly, to drum up business, we were swamped, and all the new guests wanted to talk about was Quinn. Which room was his? What did he like to eat? Was he nice? Did Maya come and stay with him?
That was the other thing. Their "breakup" was all over the tabloids. Along with speculation about who would be Quinn's next love. A costar? Someone on the crew? A local London girl? So far he hadn't been spotted indulging in the famous nightlife there, but it was only a matter of time, right?
Sad, frustrated, uncertain, remorseful, disappointed, resolved. My emotions were all over the place. Every day I fought to concentrate, to smile at the guests, to stay on top of all of my new tasks.
I ran and ran and ran, miles and miles every day, forcing myself to take a morning off only when my legs felt like they couldn't move a step. It didn't make me feel better, just slightly less terrible.
Oddly, I had yet to gather the culinary school information for Lauren and Dennis. I knew I needed to, I couldn't risk appearing to not be serious about it. One night I had even visited the web site for Le Cordon Bleu in London, just to torture myself. There was a program beginning in about 6 weeks, right after the new year.
One Tuesday morning, my day off, I decided I needed a change of scenery, so I drove down to L.A. and wandered around the Farmer's Market. It was kitschy and not normally my thing, but I just felt the need to go somewhere different, break my routine. I hadn't heard from Quinn since he had left that note in my apartment. He had been gone for just over a month, and I kept waiting for it to get easier, as my mother and Erica assured me it would.
But it hadn't. If anything, I just felt sadder, more empty as the days went by and Quinn felt farther and farther away from me. Many times I reached for my phone to call him, send a text or email, but Erica constantly reminded me that getting in touch would only make it worse. We had agreed to not talk for a while; Quinn needed to focus on work and I had to get on with my life.
At the market I walked aimlessly, poking into stores, finally stopping for coffee and an apple fritter at Bob's Coffee and Doughnuts, a place I hadn't been to since my father took me when I was little. The treat perked me up a bit. Since Quinn had left I hadn't had much of an appetite, and between not eating much and all the running I was doing, my clothes had started to feel a bit loose.
I was checking email on my phone when a large figure loomed next to me, and I looked up.
"Well, well," Jordie said gruffly.
My eyes filled with tears and I jumped up to hug him. "Jordie! I'm so happy to see you!"
He tapped my back but didn't return the hug. When I pulled away and looked up at him, I could see he was not happy.
"Do you want to sit down? How are you?" I asked, wiping my eyes.
"I'm all right," he grunted, and remained standing.
"Jordie, what is it? Is it Quinn? Is he all right?"
"I'm fine, Emmy," he sighed. "I just don't get you. No, Quinn isn't all right. You broke his heart. I can't figure it out. Why are you here?"
"H- here in L.A.? I just needed to get away. I'm- I'm just so-" My eyes spilled over and I tried taking deep breaths to stem the flow.
"No. Why are you here? Why didn't you go to London? Quinn would have done anything for you, to make you happy. I thought you loved him."
His abruptness made my heart pound.
"I do. I do love him." I snuffled, and covered my face for a moment as I cried. When he didn't offer any comfort, I looked up and found him holding up a paper napkin for me. I took it.
He shook his head.
"I guess we just have different ideas about love," he said coldly, turning to leave. "You take care, Emmy. I hope you know what you're doing."
"Moping again?" Shari asked. She came into the kitchen to clean and found me making granola.
Since I had taken over as general manager at the Beach House, I wasn't cooking as much, and I found I really missed it. There was something therapeutic about measuring, mixing, beating, stirring, kneading—the physical act of cooking and using my experience and instincts to fix things on the fly. Doing a task and seeing the immediate result. Enjoying the satisfaction of seeing a guest's face as they "mmm"ed and savored the food. So I was making an effort to outsource other tasks to allow me to spend more time where I really loved to be, in the kitchen.
I had pecans, oats, coconut and spices in a bowl and had started mixing them with my hands. I stopped, remembering Quinn laughing at me for using my hands to toss the salad the first time I made dinner for him. I swallowed the lump that developed in my throat.
"Oh hey, Shar. I'm not moping. I'm just-"
"Pouting? Daydreaming? Solving world hunger?"
I sighed. "OK, OK. Maybe I was moping a little."
She put her hand on my shoulder. "Want to tell me about it? Does it have something to do with our favorite movie star being gone? As if I didn't know."
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