Just Desserts

by Tricia Quinnies

“I know.” Quinn eased Paul into the rear seat of his hatchback and then put on the Jeep’s bikini top so he wouldn’t wake up and be burnt to a crisp like Doug in the movie Hangover. “Sleep it off. We’ll get this deal done.”

  Paul grunted and curled up on the seat.

  The tiger tune from the Hangover popped into his mind as he jogged back to the diner. Before he went inside, he called Eddie. “Hey, need your help. Can you take over at the job site today?”

  “Yeah,” Eddie said, sounding half asleep.

  “If you see Lindy can you send her to Ms. Katie’s?”

  “She just left. I think she had to make a run into Chicago.”

  “Damn. I’ll call you later, thanks. If you need anything, I’ll be at the diner for the day.”

  When Quinn came back into the diner, the fluorescent lights in the kitchen cast an eerie yellow glow. Sadie was no longer sprawled out on the table. Quinn heard the bang and clatter of pots. He rushed to make sure she was all right and slammed open the stainless doors. Mixing bowls were strewn over the stainless island.

  “What did you do with my dad?” Sadie asked as she stretched up and grabbed a sack of flour off the top shelf of the baker’s rack. “Damn. This is so old it’s filled with meal worms.” She tossed the bag into the garbage. “So much for making fresh quiche.”

  “I dragged him to the Jeep where he can sleep it off.” He inspected her face. “Your dad’s a tough man. He’ll be okay.”

  Sadie nodded and then crossed her arms tight around her chest.

  “You look a little tired.” There weren’t any red streaks or blotches on her cheeks and she’d glossed her lips with pinky goo.

  “I tossed and turned all night.” She mechanically twisted her hair and rolled it into the ball on top of her head. “I have to get this place open.”

  Sadie was beautiful and too good for him.

  “I’ll play chef for the day if you’ll trust my minor barbeque skills.” He lifted his hand in the Boy Scout pledge. “I promise to do my best for you.”

  ***

  “Really? If last night is any reflection of your best can you give me an idea when you’ll be making your escape?” Sadie yanked her apron off the wall hook next to the bakers rack and slipped it over her head. She wished that she hadn’t willed herself out of bed that morning. “I should have known something was up with Pop. The house was too quiet after you took off.”

  He shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and shifted his weight. “Yeah. About last night.”

  “Never mind.” Sadie’s exhaustion left her no energy to have a discussion with the man about their one night stand. Romping on the floor with him hadn’t been the quick fix she’d wanted; instead, it nearly broke her. She marched through the stainless kitchen doors into the diner. “It still reeks in here. I don’t know how I’ll get the stench of stale liquor out before opening.”

  Better than the smell of peanut butter.

  After Quinn came over, she’d hoped a night of empty sex would erase the last trace of her deluded crush on Bryan. Even though Quinn treated her with delicious orgasms, one night stands weren’t her thing. The moment he had come inside her, Sadie felt her heart ache.

  She strode to the booth where her dad had passed out, grabbed the empty bottle of Jameson, and threw it into the recycling bin behind the counter. Then she flipped on all the ceiling fans and cranked up the air conditioning. “I need to blast out the aroma of pure-pot green barley.”

  Quinn was folding up the tablecloth that he had picked up off the floor. “Paul has good taste in whiskey.”

  “Yes, considering he was born in the States. I have a detailed knowledge of Jameson Whiskey thanks to my father.” Sadie retrieved the U2 album cover that had been plastered against her dad’s face and cheek while he had lain, passed out, on the table. She wiped a spot of drool off it. “I’ve found him in this condition several times. But he usually comes to just in time to open and cook his way through the day. Still inebriated, his cooking never falters. This time, though, he was passed out cold. Like he was dead.”

  Quinn lifted the red and white gingham tablecloth. “And this was for his wake?”

  “I thought I could hide him before opening.” She tucked Rattle and Hum under the counter.

  Quinn set the cloth on a table and stood beside her. So close, she knew he felt her shiver. He pressed the palm of his hand gently against her cheek. “Sadie, your father is a survivor. He’ll be okay. I’m sorry about ditching you last night.” With his knuckle, he lifted her chin up and kissed her lightly.

  Sadie let Quinn’s warmth calm her and stepped away from him. “Don’t apologize. We had a quickie. It was fun.”

  Liar.

  He took in a deep breath and rubbed his jaw. She noticed he hadn’t shaven and there were dark shadows under his eyes.

  “I have to fire up the stove top and grill.” She stumbled away and went into the kitchen.

  She needed to work.

  Quinn followed her. “Tell me what to do. I’ll do anything short of making beef burgers.”

  She pulled out patties of veggie burgers from the freezer. The blast of cold air cooled her down. “Sure. Pour some canola oil into the hot oil vat and start it up.” She threw him a bag of frozen sweet potato fries.

  He caught the bag. “Gotcha.”

  “I still don’t know what to serve for breakfast,” she said, using her best-sounding gourmet dictator voice.

  “Uh, how about eggs?”

  She stopped pacing.

  “I can make over-easy or scrambled. And I’ve ordered enough omelets from Ann Sathers to figure it out.”

  She tried to contain it, but her lips betrayed her and she smiled. Damn.

  “Eggs will work.” She went to grab a couple cartons of organic brown eggs from the refrigerator. “The diner has never been closed. Even on holidays, my mom had insisted there needed to be a place for anyone to have a healthy home-cooked meal. On the day of her funeral, Lindy ran this place for her.” She set the eggs down next to the griddle.

  “I won’t disappoint your mother.” He glanced at her. “Or you.”

  “Thanks.” She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath.

  Uncertainty threatened to suffocate her, but she wasn’t sure if it was the diner or Quinn.

  The usual morning customers came through the door. The menu changed to accommodate Quinn’s minimal chef skills, and none of them seemed to notice.

  All day, as long as Sadie served any manner of eggs or burgers, the customers, both hicks and chicks, were happy.

  Waitressing kept her busy enough that Sadie had to keep her talk with Quinn in simplest terms.

  She said order.

  He said order up.

  Sadie took the order from the last remaining lunch customer and clipped it on the order wheel. She glanced at Quinn. When he reached above the Viking stovetop for the peppercorn grinder, she was riveted. His jeans dropped below his waistline and split apart from his white tee. She peeked at his smooth back, just above his black boxer briefs. She’d caressed his hips and lovely butt the night before as he dozed peacefully in her arms. Then scared him away without even a BOO!

  She shook off her disappointment and went into the kitchen. “Can you serve up that burger? I need to clean up.”

  “Of course.” Quinn flipped the veggie patty onto a bun and slid it on the plate. “Not bad for a neophyte?”

  Sadie shrugged and headed to the bathroom. The tank top she’d thrown on this morning stunk like dirty laundry and stale whiskey. Whipping it, and her bra off, she punched the wall hand dryer on, and glided her bra under the stream of hot air to freshen it up. The machine’s hum lulled her into a trance.

  Her mom was dead. Dad was a drunk. He was probably dying a slow death every day he lived and breathed in this place without her. Depressing.

  The dryer clicked off.

  “Sadie, I have your rhubarb, babe,” Lindy said as she pounded on the bathroom door.

  “Wh
ere have you been? I could have used your help this morning. Didn’t you get my messages?” Sadie cracked open the door. “I’ll be right out.”

  Lindy busted into the compact bathroom and sat on the toilet seat. “Eddie, Quinn, and you all left me messages. I was in Chicago. Growing Power was selling some greens. I couldn’t miss it. You all right?”

  “As well as can be expected since my dad’s a drunken bum.”

  “I checked on him. He was sleeping like a baby in Quinn’s Jeep. I detected a faint grin, so I suspect he’ll come around as soon as Quinn gets him home.”

  “Pop’s enjoying his only day off in a year and sleeping through it.” Sadie grabbed her bra and a pink T-shirt from the backup stash. The extra T-shirts from the fundraising run were folded on the shelf above the toilet. She shook it open and admired the line drawing of cupcakes on the tee. The run had garnered thousands and paid for her mother’s hospital bills.

  Suddenly, Lindy grabbed her arm. “Oh my. It looks like someone had a good time.”

  Sadie looked in the mirror at her bare breasts. The tender tissue around both her nipples was spotted about with rosy chafe marks.

  Souvenirs from Quinn and his passionate kisses. Funny, she hadn’t noticed them. Sadie slipped her bra back on and pulled on the T-shirt. Quinn was a one-night stand, nothing more.

  How could she have been so naïve? She squeezed her eyes shut to block out his look of panic when he had run from the kitchen and pushed his apology out of her mind. “A silly mistake. That’s all, Lindy.”

  “Really? And was the silly perpetrator Quinn?”

  “Yes. Actually, he was more like scared silly.” Sadie stepped out from the bathroom. “Where’s the rhubarb?”

  Quinn was noticeably missing.

  “If he’s hurt you, I’m putting him on my shit list.” Lindy grabbed her rhubarb and dumped it into the utility sink. “I’m taking over. You have had it today.”

  Sadie heard the cowbell sound as a late lunch or early dinner customer came into the diner. She sighed but didn’t roll her eyes. “Where’s Quinn?”

  Lindy turned off the faucet. “He’s tucking your dad in, nighty-night, as we speak. Then he’s coming back to finish the dinner shift with me. I’m making the strawberry rhubarbs.”

  “You’ll need flour,” Sadie said wearily.

  “Hop on your bicycle and wheel on home for a hot bath and a night of television. It’s Tuesday; maybe How I Met Your Mother is on.” Lindy lightly shoved Sadie’s suede-fringed messenger bag into her chest. She was so tired she wobbled.

  “Thanks, hon,” Sadie said, relieved that the diner was in good hands. “I don’t know if my legs will pump. I might have to stop and take a dip in the lake before I get home.”

  A phlegmy-like cough snatched their attention and they both looked out of the kitchen and into the diner.

  “If you’re tired, Sadie, I can take you home,” Bryan said.

  Chapter Seven

  Sadie, plum tired, didn’t have any fight left in her. She gaped at the latest view of the new version of Bryan. He wore his Birkenstocks and khakis, but this time he sported a tee with a graphic of a cannabis plant on the breast pocket. She scanned the diner for his cosmic girlfriend, but no Bridget. “Why are you here?”

  Bryan tugged at his beard. “I wanted to see you.”

  Sadie raised her arms and pivoted around in a circle. “Now you see me.” She winked at him, grabbed her bike, and headed toward the back door. “Now you don’t.”

  Sadie heard Lindy’s laughter as she made her way out of the diner and into the parking lot. She hopped on her bike and rode through the back alley. When she stopped to check for traffic on Main Street, Bryan stepped off the curb and blocked her path.

  “Please. I need to apologize.” He grasped the handlebar. “Amsterdam. It changed me, Sadie.”

  “Amsterdam? Or Bridget?” She struck his knuckles with her fist. “I have to go.”

  He released the bike and flapped his hand. “I was under a lot of pressure. With my father. I’m not a broker-type. When I met Bridget, she made it. I don’t know. Better.”

  “Not my problem.” Sadie tightened her helmet strap so hard that it pinched her gullet.

  “Well. I am sorry. And you, you’re with him? The Wrigley dude?”

  “No. Yes. None of your business.” Sadie shoved her foot in the pedal bracket and pushed off to get away from him. She rode into the street and sped up to get ahead of an oncoming car. It honked as she cruised past the pier. Once she cleared Main Street, she slowed down and glanced behind her shoulder. Bryan was gone.

  Getting dumped twice in twenty-four hours. Must be a record. She started riding again and pumped the pedals hard to get home and check on her dad.

  She should have known better. Bryan and his family were crazy prominent in Chicago. His father held several seats on the Board of Trade. Bryan spoke of his dad’s accomplishments more often than his own. It irritated her. Weren’t parents supposed to be the ones to put their kids up on pedestals? Maybe she was spoiled by her ever-loving and supportive mom and dad. The wealthy must view family differently. Either way, Bryan was a mess. Lesson learned.

  Pedaling up the last hill, and the steepest, every muscle in Sadie’s thighs burned. At the foot of the porch steps, she dropped the mountain bike and yanked off her helmet. Sitting on the top step, she massaged her legs until the sting faded.

  Quinn’s Jeep was nowhere.

  She listened to hear for her dad inside, figuring that he had come out of his Jameson stupor. Sadie karate chopped her legs to get the blood flowing and waited another minute before she went in to see her embarrassed and, she hoped, remorseful father.

  “Pop?”

  His cell and keys were on the dining room table; she dropped her fringed saddle bag next to them.

  Sadie glanced in the living room and none of her mom’s quilts had been strewn over the couch. He hadn’t crashed on the sofa.

  “In the kitchen.” He sounded like his mouth was stuffed with cotton.

  Opening one of the swinging saloon doors, she peeked in, terrified to see him in his hungover condition. The kitchen table sparkled from the treacherous western sunlight beaming in the window and spotlighting the rock sugar from last night. The day-old glittery mess temporarily stunned her.

  “Sadie, honey, I’m down here.” He jarred her back to the present.

  She turned to see her dad lying on his back on the floor with a screwdriver in his mouth, a wrench in one hand, and a flashlight in the other as he gazed into the under belly of the old Jewel Tone oven in the corner of the kitchen. It was her mom’s idea to use it in the diner, but when the cast iron stove couldn’t heat up, it turned out to be a beautiful pink antique storage bin.

  “Quinn.” He stretched out on the floor in front of the oven. “He took a look at it with me when he brought me home. There’s a good chance we can bring this baby back to life.”

  “Back to life?” Sadie parroted. “Looks like it’s not the only one that’s getting back in working condition. What happened to you? I expected you to still be sleeping and dreaming of whiskey snorts!”

  So what if she sounded snarky? But blasted, she was spent. He had no right to be so perky or cheerful after what he put her through today. Sadie wanted him to be miserable, like her. Damn. He’d showered, shaved, and looked fresh and clean. She even caught a whiff of his Old Spice as he sat next to her at the table. If an alien crashed down in the kitchen at that moment, it would never know that this man was the same one who had reeked of sour barley and drooled onto the table that morning.

  “I’m better than I’ve been in the past six months.” He held her hand. “I needed last night. I’m sorry for the hell I put you through today. But, with my mate Mr. Jameson, I made some vital decisions.”

  Brushing the specks of sugar off the table, she said plainly, “You’re selling the diner to Quinn.”

  “Look at me.” He tilted her chin up to face him. “We’re drowning. You and me, lovey
. When your mother died she left us with her beloved diner, and she would never have given it to us if she knew we’d be turning it into the Titanic. She’s watching over us now, rolling her eyes.”

  “Now I know where I got that annoying habit from.”

  He smiled. “She’s gone, and we can’t change that by burying ourselves in her memory and suffocating in the diner.”

  “No. It’s not. I can take care of it and you without a hitch.” She struggled to keep her voice from cracking, and willed the stupid tears back behind her eyeballs.

  “I won’t have you looking after me. It’s not right. I’m the parent, and yes, not the brightest pop around, but smart enough to recognize his own stupidity. Lovey, after this week you’ll be back in Chicago. I will survive at the diner without you. Your job is to finish your thesis. You need to be working and doing what you love. Preserving historical buildings. After that, we’ll talk again.” He hugged her. “You’re fired from Ms. Katie’s Diner.”

  “What?”

  “Let me show you the plans.” He pulled her to her feet.

  She stumbled behind him and into the dining room.

  Strewn about the dusty teak table were notes and design scribbles that she hadn’t noticed earlier. She stared blankly at them as her dad babbled on about the generous offer he’d accepted from Quinn and his sleek designs to expand the diner. “He’s going to double the size of it, by knocking it into the defunct pet store next door. And Quinn assured me that the menu will remain focused on good, healthy, and organic just as your mother wished.”

  Her pop’s voice faded in and out and Sadie started feeling nauseous. She’d been so hell bent on taking care of him and the diner she’d scarcely thought of her mother. It was like she’d been paroled from one sentence only to be jailed again for a lesser crime. Her legs started aching again. “Pop, I’m shattered. Is it okay if I look at these designs tomorrow? I’m desperate for a hot bath.”

  “Sure. I’m going over to the diner but not to work. I’m leaving that to Lindy and Quinn. They’re two capable gems. I’m going to fix that album I tore off the wall. U2’s Rattle and Hum needs to get back to its rightful spot next to Joshua Tree.”