by Amy E. Lilly
“What do you want to do?” Grandma Rose asked.
Harold stood up and said, “I think I’ll go get myself something to drink and let you ladies talk. It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Daniels. Anytime you want to flirt with an old man, you come see me. It boosts my fragile ego after spending the afternoon with your grandmother.” He gave Grandma Rose a cheeky grin and walked away.
“That man is incorrigible,” Grandma Rose said, but Quinn could tell she was secretly pleased at the attention.
“So, what’s up with this Harold character? Do I sense a little love connection?” Quinn asked, glad to delay talking about her future for even a few minutes.
“At my age? Certainly not!” Grandma Rose protested. “He’s just a friend. We play cards together and talk about when we were young. Besides, he’s too old for me.”
“How old is he? Eighty?”
“He’s sixty-seven, but if I’m going to have a late in life romance, I want them to be too young for Medicare. A girl has to have standards, you know.”
“Grandma!” Quinn pretended to be shocked. Her grandfather had died in his early fifties from a heart attack. Her grandmother had been alone for a long time and Quinn had never heard her talk about another man. It actually pleased her to see a twinkle in her grandmother’s eye when she joked with Harold.
“Enough about me. I’m old news, figuratively and literally. What’s going on with you? How’s your love life?”
“What love life? I finally broke up with the musician. I’ve decided no more artistic types. They might be fun and romantic, but it’s like dating a teenager. No sense of responsibility.”
“Responsibility is important, but you can be responsible and still be romantic. Your grandfather used to save his pennies every week so once a month he could take me to the movies and buy me a single red rose. He made sure he paid the bills, but he also made sure he showed me how much he valued me.”
“You never told me that,” Quinn said. She didn’t really know her grandfather since he had died when Quinn was just a little girl. Her grandmother would regale her with stories about his years working on the railroad and how poor they were when they were young, but she had never shared the softer side of her husband.
“Well, I think sometimes we fail to appreciate the little things the people we care about do for us. The important thing is to not take those things for granted because if you do, one day you’ll miss them.” Grandma Rose’s pale blue eyes softened and she seemed far away for a minute.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone do little things for me like Grandpa did for you,” Quinn said sadly. In fact, thinking back through her short list of relationships, Quinn seemed to do the pursuing and most of the work to keep the relationships going.
“Then you haven’t found the right man, dear,” Grandma Rose said. “You’ll know he’s a good man when he remembers the little things like how you drink your coffee and that you don’t like Brussel sprouts or gravy. When they remember those little things, it tells you that they are invested in you and your happiness. Just make sure you’re worthy of that investment. Don’t ever take advantage of it.”
“I won’t,” Quinn promised. She sat silently for a minute and gazed out the windows at the rose garden. “Grandma, do you think I should go to culinary school?”
“I think you need to do what makes you happy and stop worrying about what makes me, your uncle or your parents happy. At the end of the day, you have to look at yourself in the mirror. If you aren’t doing right by yourself, then how can you do right by others?”
“I guess so. I need to think about it some more before I decide. It’s a big step.”
“I’m proud of you no matter what you decide to do,” Grandma Rose leaned over and gave her a hug. “Now, on to more important matters. Have you made my strawberry rhubarb pie for Hanrahan’s yet?”
Quinn spent the rest of the afternoon into the early evening talking to her grandmother about different recipes. Her grandmother would offer her suggestions and Quinn faithfully jotted her hints into a small notebook she carried in her purse.
Later that evening as she sat reading on her couch, she thought about how much she enjoyed her day. She had spent the morning working in the restaurant creating desserts meant to top off people’s evening out and hopefully, create memories. She had then spent the rest of her day reliving memories with her grandmother and creating new ones. She scratched Fat Panther behind his ears and whispered to him, “I hope that one day, I’ll love someone as much as Grandma Rose loved Grandpa.”
Chapter Thirteen
The next two days passed in a blur. Quinn took her grandmother’s advice and made her strawberry rhubarb pie much to the delight of her uncle and the guests at his restaurant. On Saturday evening, Quinn came home and peeled off her dough-splattered jeans and put on a pair of faded black yoga pants and oversized t-shirt. She turned on her television and sat munching on a bag of potato chips. She was too tired to cook dinner. If she could motivate herself, she would get up a minute and fix herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
A knock on her door, roused her from her couch potato state. Zach stood on her doorway with a brown paper bag in his hand.
“Hi! I see you made it back from your trip? How was it?” Quinn asked. She liked how he sported a little bit of a five o’clock shadow on his chin. It made him appear a little bit mysterious without being sketchy.
“It was busy but productive. I wanted to thank you for feeding my fish while I was gone, so I brought Chinese food. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?” Zach held up the brown paper bag. Quinn could smell the food and her stomach growled loudly in response. “I guess not.”
Quinn blushed in embarrassment. “I’m starving. I was so tired from work today that I was just going to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. You’re a welcome sight.”
“Stick and slide is great for lunch but doesn’t cut it for dinner.” Zach walked in and set the bag on the table. He pulled several white containers and some cellophane-wrapped egg rolls from the bag. “Where are your plates?”
“I’ll get them.” Quinn opened her cupboards and pulled out two plates. She grabbed some silverware and a pitcher of iced tea from her refrigerator. “Stick and slide?”
“That’s what my mom used to call peanut butter and jelly sandwiches when we were kids,” Zach explained. “The peanut butter is sticky, but the jelly is all ooey, gooey and slides across the bread.”
“Ah. Makes sense. I don’t think my mother called them anything. Of course, my grandmother was the one who would pack my lunch for school and she would send enough to food for the entire class.” Quinn opened the containers. She saw that he’d ordered one of her favorite dishes, Black Pepper Chicken. She scooped onto her plate and then handed the container to Zach. “You brought my favorite Chinese dish.”
“Good. I took a stab in the dark. Since the drink you fixed me the other evening was spicy, I figured a spicy dish would be okay.”
“You picked well,” Quinn said and took a bite. “Mm mm…you have no idea how yummy this is right now. You are my hero.”
“It was the least I could do. I really do appreciate you feeding the fish. They aren’t much of a pet, but I like to look at them. I find them peaceful.”
“Not a problem. Anytime you need a fish sitter, I’m your gal. Easiest job in the world.”
“So how is the new job going?”
“Great! I love it! My desserts even got mentioned in a review of the restaurant.”
“That’s awesome. I’m still holding you to your promise to teach me to cook. Once I get done with this latest job, I’ll be home more and you can teach me how to boil water.”
“The key to great boiled water is in the water,” Quinn said with a wise nod of her head. “I wasn’t being nosy, but I saw you had the latest Christoff novel on your shelf. He is my all-time favorite writer.”
“Mine, too. I always think I know who the criminal is, but I’ll miss some vital clue an
d when I get to the end, it’s always a surprise. You can never go wrong with a good suspense novel.”
“Mystery and suspense are my favorite, too. Same thing with movies,” Quinn said. She took another bite of her chicken. Her stomach rumbled in appreciation.
“I like a good suspense, but action comes in a close second. Don’t tell anyone,” Zach lowered his voice, “but I’m a huge Jackie Chan fan. Favorite actor of all-time.”
“Really?” Quinn wrinkled her nose in puzzlement. “I like him okay, but I’ve only seen one or two of his films.”
“He is underappreciated as an actor,” Zach said seriously. “He does all his own stunts, he sings, produces, acts…he is a Chinese Renaissance man.”
“If you say so,” Quinn said with doubt.
“I tell you what, why don’t I bring over one of his movies tomorrow evening and you can watch it with me. If you don’t love him by the end, I will concede defeat.”
“It’s a deal,” Quinn laughed. “I’ll even make dinner.”
“Score! Dinner by a famous chef and I get to watch my favorite movie.” Zach raised a fist in triumph.
They spent the next hour eating and chatting about different books they had read and movies they both enjoyed. Quinn had to stifle a yawn near the end of dinner. Although Zach was good company, she was exhausted from the long week. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “It’s not you. The restaurant has been booked all week, so I’ve been running around like crazy trying to bake enough rolls and desserts.”
“I understand,” Zach said. “I need to get going, anyway. I promised my buddy, Jeff, I’d meet him for drinks at the Dirty Dawg. He has some girl he wants me to meet. He’s as bad as my sisters trying to set me up. Actually, it’s his wife, Cindy, not Jeff. She seems to think that I can’t take care of myself and I need a woman in my life.”
“Well, you clearly need someone to cook for you,” Quinn joked. She felt a slight twinge of jealousy at the thought of Zach sitting in a bar drinking cocktails with an attractive woman.
“I have the fastest speed dials for takeout in the city. Plus, I tip well, so I will never go hungry.” Zach responded. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Six o’clock good?”
“Perfect.”
Zach stood up, washed his plate off and placed it in the drainer. Quinn followed him to the door and said her goodnights. Zach lingered for a moment in the doorway like he wanted to say something, but then with a nod at Quinn, he went down the stairs to his apartment.
Quinn plopped back down on her couch. She was full from dinner and content from the good conversation with Zach. He really was a nice guy. Thoughtful, too, unlike most of the guys she dated in the past. Not self-absorbed at all. Perhaps she would rethink her self-imposed moratorium on dating artists and musicians. But then she thought about how she had cried herself to sleep at night when her last boyfriend had repeatedly cancelled dates, borrowed money, then would come back with sweet words and promises that he would change. “Nope, Fat Panther. Nice guy or not, he is off the menu.”
Chapter Fourteen
Sean Carlos and Indie showed up the next morning to drag Quinn out to brunch.
“I cannot believe you took her speed dating,” Sean complained. “That is so early two thousand. The hot new thing is to exerdate.”
“What in the world is exerdating?” Indie asked.
“You meet a guy and go on a date to a gym and workout together.”
“Why in the world would I ever in a million years do that?” Quinn asked incredulously. “I mean, I am just so freaking attractive while I’m sweaty and trying to do lunges and squats. No guy wants that. Ever.”
“You don’t have to lift weights. You can go to a spin class, yoga, anything,” Sean explained.
“I’m not downward facing dog with any guy on a first date,” Indie said. “I’m saving that for marriage.”
“That’s funny!” Quinn snorted. “I might have gotten a date without any help from you two chuckleheads.”
“Spill,” Sean commanded.
“I ran into a guy I went to college with named Doug Martin. Nice guy. He’s a middle school teacher now and is pretty cute. Anyway, he asked for my number, so I actually may have a date in the works with a decent guy.”
“The realtor was a decent guy. He had weird proclivities in the bedroom, sure, but that was his only drawback,” Indie protested.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not calling my boyfriend “Sir” and asking if I may please have another. Not happening,” Quinn said emphatically.
“I am with you one hundred percent on this one, Quinn,” Sean said.
“Are you ready to order?” Their waitress stood poised waiting for them to order.
“Coffee all around and for me, I’d like the sweet potato pancakes with maple syrup and butter,” Quinn said. She closed her menu and handed it to the girl whose nametag said Angie.
“Sweet potato pancakes are just wrong on so many levels,” Sean gagged. “What’s wrong with good old American pancakes?”
“Says the Mexican crossdresser who pretends to be American,” Indie laughed. “Leave Quinn alone. She has the palate of a food artist.”
“Don’t say artist,” Quinn groaned. “A cute guy moves in and he has to be an artist. Why couldn’t he be a banker or a doctor?”
“I like Zach,” Sean said. “He’s cute. He’s polite to my abuela and he has good taste in clothes. If I was a single man, I’d be all over that like butter on pancakes.”
“Give the waitress your order, Sean,” Quinn said. “Sorry. My friends seem to think my love life is in need of fixing and can’t focus on anything else.”
“It’s okay,” Angie said. “I see and hear all sorts of weird things here. You should see the drama that happens on the graveyard shift. Nothing uglier than two people coming from a club after too much to drink and slobbering all over each other in a corner booth.” She shivered in mock disgust.
“Great.” Indie looked around with a leery gaze. She grabbed a napkin from the dispenser on the table and discreetly wiped the seat next to her.
“Don’t worry,” Angie said, “we wipe the booths down before we start the morning shift.”
“Good to know,” Quinn said.
“I’ll take two eggs over easy, a rasher of bacon and rye toast. Oh, and a bowl of fruit,” Indie ordered.
“Where do you put it all?” Sean asked. “I’ll take oatmeal. I’m watching my girlish figure.” He slid his hands down his slim sides.
“That all?” Angie asked. When they all said yes, she left to go turn in their order.
“Indie, you slay me. I can’t even eat a peanut without gaining weight. It’s a good thing I walk everywhere or I’d weigh five hundred pounds,” Quinn said.
“So how’s the pastry business?” Sean asked Quinn. He took a sip of the coffee Angie sat in front of him. He winced then grabbed the sugar container and proceeded to dump a half a cup of sugar into it. Satisfied, he took another sip, nodded and smiled. “Now that’s a good cup of coffee.”
“It’s a miracle you don’t go into sugar shock,” Indie commented.
“Darling, I’m just a walking, talking box of sugary sweetness. Nothing’s gonna hurt this delicious diva.”
“Good grief,” Quinn groaned. “I really like working at the restaurant. As a matter of fact, Uncle Patrick offered to pay for me to go to culinary school as long as I agreed to come back to work for him afterwards.”
“You should do it,” Sean said.
“Definitely,” Indie agreed. “You’re the best baker of breads and cakes I’ve ever met. It’s a good thing I have a fast metabolism, otherwise I’d be the one weighing five hundred pounds from eating your pastries.”
“Mom would be livid if I chucked journalism and went to work in a restaurant permanently.”
“That alone should make you want to do it,” Sean chuckled. “Girl, you’ve got to live your life to please yourself. You are twenty-six years old and look for your mama’s approval like a ten-year old.
It’s not healthy.”
“They spent a lot of money on my education. I don’t want to disappoint them, either.”
“Quinn, they are your parents. Even if you disappoint them, they are still going to love you,” Indie said in a quiet voice. “You need to give your parents a little more credit.”
“I know they’ll still love me. I don’t want to hear for the billionth time how my mother worked her way through college as a waitress and sacrificed so that she could give me a better life. Personally, I think life with Grandma Rose was pretty awesome.”
“Well, I’m behind you one hundred percent if you decide to go back to school,” Sean declared.
“Thanks. Change of subject. I think Quinn’s Life under the Microscope needs a break, so I want to know what’s going on with you two. Sean, any new guy on the horizon?”
“Moi? Like this diva’s heart can belong to just one man.”
Indie rolled her eyes. “Sean, you can’t keep jumping from guy to guy. Don’t you want to settle down? Date one guy? Have a little stability?”
“One day, sure, but I haven’t met the one. The good guy shortage isn’t just going on in the hetero world, you know.”
“I found a nice guy,” Indie said.
“What?” Quinn and Sean both exclaimed. Quinn leaned forward and fixed Indie with a penetrating gaze. “Spill it.”
“He’s a computer programmer and he works at an insurance company downtown. He’s a few years older. Never been married. No kids. Has a couple of cats, though.”
“So basically a computer geek who lives alone with a bunch of cats. He’s a male version of you!” Sean said.
“What’s his name?” Quinn asked. “How long have you been dating? When you say older, how old? Geriatric age or hitting thirty?”
“Whoa. What’s up with the third degree? It’s like being around your mom.”
“Burn!” Sean cackled.
“Hey, now that was just wrong. I’m curious about my friend’s new love interest. I do not approve or disapprove.”