by Jewel E. Ann
He turned to face me. “Jesus, Addy, you own one small café, but you’re talented enough to own a successful chain of them. You live in this dinky loft filled with mismatched furnishings and drive a car that’s ten years old. You refuse to indulge in anything luxurious but you have a fucking million dollar yacht docked at the marina. Most women I meet want me for a shopping spree on Fifth Avenue and have dreams of a big diamond from Tiffany’s. But you …” he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration “ …you go out of your way to feed the homeless and risk getting arrested to voice your objection about something that offends you. Don’t you get it? I’d lay the fucking world at your feet if you just asked me! But not you, Addy, you just want sex with no strings attached.”
My heart and my brain were at war. I felt lost. I didn’t want him to walk out that door because I knew I would never see him again, but I also knew I had offered all I had to give. Quinn wanted to piece me together like a puzzle, but too many of my pieces were gone. I was forever incomplete.
Silence filled the space between us as he waited for my response. I had nothing.
“Is that all you got? Christ, Addy, can you at least look at me?!”
It took everything I had to lift my head. Just as my eyes met his angry, dark glare, they spilled over with tears. Like blood oozing from a lifeless body, I stood motionless, not one sob, not one sniffle, just tears.
Quinn’s brows knitted together conveying either pity, pain, or confusion. He leaned into me and kissed the stream of tears on both of my cheeks then rested his forehead on mine. It had become a common gesture between us, maybe symbolic of an unspoken understanding or maybe it was his way of trying to read my mind.
“Goodbye, Quinn.” I closed my eyes to guard my courage.
He rocked his forehead side to side against mine. “Never goodbye,” he whispered.
A sharp click resounded in my ears. The door was shut. I opened my eyes to the void before me. Like waking from a beautiful dream, I smiled thinking about the memories. Then it slowly faded as the disappointing pang of reality reminded me that it was in fact, just a dream. He left and once again. I was alone.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Birthdays are good for you. Statistics show that the people who have the most live the longest.”
~Larry Lorenzoni
DEEP BREATH … I am peaceful, I am strong.
It had been one month since Quinn walked out my door. It had been one month since my past came back to haunt my present and robbed a piece of my future. I’d found balance in my life, it was a grueling journey, but I’d made it. Equal parts pain and pleasure, but for me the balance was a sacrifice on both sides. In order to keep the pain at bay I had to limit my pleasure. Quinn magnified a pleasure I hadn’t felt in seven years, and pain reared its ugly head to bring my life back into an acceptable balance.
The buzz of my door interrupted my thoughts. I peeked out the window and saw Conner opening the back door to the Architectural Salvage delivery truck. It was my birthday and I was certain my best friend had sent me something great; she had much better style than I could ever dream of having.
“Conner!” I yelled, heading down the stairs.
“Hey, gorgeous, happy birthday.” He gave me a big hug. It made my day that much better.
“Thanks, whatcha got in there?”
“Maybe I was just in the neighborhood and wanted to stop by and wish you a happy birthday.”
“Maybe, or maybe my BFF paid you way too much money to deliver my present on a Sunday.”
He flashed me his sweetest smile. “Maybe.”
Peeking into the back of the truck I saw a four tiered shelving unit made from reclaimed wood and cast iron. “Oh my gosh, it’s amazing.” I was taken aback because the piece presumably cost between three and four thousand dollars.
“She has good taste,” he commented while sliding it forward.
“Too good. I don’t deserve her.”
“Well, you might not say that once I inform you she said you’d use your freakishly strong little body to help me carry it up these stairs.” He looked me over, obviously questioning my strength.
“Tip it forward. I’ll take the top.”
He raised his brows in uncertainty. “Okay, but if you drop it, remember, it’s a one of a kind.”
“Yeah, yeah, let’s do this.”
We made it up the stairs but it was a heavy son of a buck. However, I think Conner left with new respect for his favorite “little” chef.
I grabbed my phone and instant messaged Mac.
Love, love, love it! Way too expensive, but I’m keeping it anyway:) Thank you, dear friend of mine!
Happy birthday, sweetie, you are very welcome. Can’t wait to see you for dinner tonight. Your cake looks so yummy, if I may say so myself.
Mmm, Mac’s awesome carrot cake. My favorite, see you soon!
Later that afternoon, I was getting ready for my birthday dinner with Mac and Evan when my door buzzed again. A quick peek out the window revealed a floral delivery van.
Who’s sending me flowers?
I opened the door.
“Adler Brecken?”
“Yes.”
“Hope you have some empty counter space.”
“Excuse me?”
“I have thirty-two floral bouquets for you.”
“What? Who are they from?”
“Not sure. I think one of the bouquets has a card. Where would you like them?”
“Uh, the kitchen island and that empty shelving unit, I guess.”
I stood at the doorway stunned, watching him bring in thirty-one bouquets of pink daisies and lilacs. The thirty-second and final bouquet was a dozen lavender roses with a card. Without reading it I knew who had sent them.
Happy birthday, beautiful!
*
“He sent you thirty-two bouquets of flowers and all the card said was ‘happy birthday, beautiful’? He didn’t even sign his name?” Mac questioned in shock.
“He didn’t have to. The lavender roses were his signature.”
When I said the words out loud, I uncovered emotions that compromised my guarded heart. The man I had been using for sex sent me thirty-two bouquets of flowers. I referred to Quinn as a stalker, but even though I would never have admitted it, I was flattered that he knew it was my birthday. It had been a month, but he was still thinking of me. The truth was there wasn’t a day I didn’t think about him, and not just the sex. I missed being with him. Sharing a meal with him felt like we’d done it a million times before. When I talked he was so attentive, as if I was the most interesting person in the world. He captivated me with his hardcore persona that didn’t match the look in his eyes. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was just as scared of me as I was of him. The vulnerability of being with someone who could see past all the illusions that were meant to guard something so deep was terrifying. I knew I’d just barely scratched the surface of Quinten Cohen. Somewhere beneath my own emotional shield was a voice that silently confessed just being near him made me feel necessary.
“You should call him, at least to say thank you.”
“I thought about it, but it would be awkward. I don’t know what else I would say.”
“You’d say, ‘my lady parts are in desperate need of your service.’”
“Oh jeez, Mac, TMI,” Evan blurted. “I’m going to get the cake from the kitchen, wrap it up while I’m gone.”
We both laughed. It didn’t take much for Evan to turn red with embarrassment, and Mac’s unfiltered mouth kept him flushed most of the time.
“Seriously, Addy, you know I understand you better than anyone, which is why I don’t push you on this. Having said that, I also love you more than anyone, which is why it breaks my heart to know that happiness waits for you on the other side of the mountain. I don’t want to watch the pain you’d have to go through to make the climb, but I would love to see you alive and happy at the other side.”
I nodded and gave her a forced smile. “You
’ve always been good at narrating my life in metaphors.”
“I don’t know, Addy, I think all these candles may melt the frosting,” Evan interrupted, easing his way into the dining room with my carrot cake decorated to perfection but with way too many candles.
“Evan! You butchered an hour of decorating by sticking all those stupid candles in the cake,” Mac screeched.
“No way, babe, as I recall you two ladies just about burnt the house down with all the candles you crowded onto my birthday cake last month.”
Mac immediately glared at him throwing daggers; talk of burning buildings was considered taboo around me.
“Oh shit, Addy, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I said that.”
He set the cake on the table and wrapped me in his arms like a little child.
“Stop, both of you. How many times do I have to tell you to stop walking on egg shells around me. I know you would never say something to intentionally hurt me. And I refuse to be the elephant in the room every time people who know about my past try to censor their conversation when I’m near, okay?”
They both stared at me as if trying to gauge my mood.
“So are you two just going to stand there or are you going to feed this birthday girl some cake?”
Mac picked up the knife as Evan started to remove the candles.
“Don’t, Evan! Put the candles back on and light them. I’m not worried about the house burning down,” I spoke slowly to emphasize the fact that I was better, not great, but certainly better.
*
I arrived home from Mac and Evan’s a little after ten. My loft was filled with the fragrance of lilacs. It reminded me of my first encounter with Quinn. My spiritual journey that started seven years ago had taught me to find purpose in everything no matter how random it might seem. I struggled to see why Quinn came into my life and what I was supposed to learn from him and our time together. I decided to text him instead of calling since I was unaware of his whereabouts or of who he might be with. If he was home in New York it would’ve been an hour later so he might have been asleep.
Thank you for the flowers.
Extravagant, over the top, signature you.
I pressed send leaving my phone on my coffee table, but before I reached my bedroom it chimed.
You’re welcome. Hope you had a great day. Goodnight, birthday girl.
His message haunted me. I couldn’t stop staring at it. The stupid part of me was hoping he would have said more. Hell, the stupid part of me had wished the flower delivery guy had Quinn in the back of his truck wrapped in a bow. I missed him, not just the sex, but him. I missed who I was with him because I had a small reminder of what it felt like to have my heart beating for a purpose beyond circulating my blood. It thrilled me and scared me. Mac was right, he might be on the other side of my proverbial mountain, but most of the time it felt like he was at the bottom of a steep cliff that I was standing atop. Would he catch me if I jumped?
CHAPTER NINE
“He that is not jealous is not in love.”
~St. Augustine
“ADDY, MY MOM and dad just showed up. Addy, are you hearing me? Sweetie, you need to help them make funeral service arrangements.”
Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump …
“Addy, oh God, Addy, I don’t know what to do for you. I’ll do anything, just don’t leave me, I’m worried you’re slipping further away everyday. I can’t lose you too.”
Th-thump, th-thump, th-thump …
“Okay, Addy, I’m going to take care of everything, but when it’s over you are going to get out of bed and find something worth living for, do you understand me?”
Th-thump, th-thump, th-thump …
*
October flew by. I spent all my spare time sailing with Mac and Evan. Sweatshirts and parkas were dress code on most days, but the sun graced us quite often. Sage Leaf Café was transitioning the menu to incorporate a wide variety of root vegetables and squashes as well as lots of pumpkin and apple creations.
Early November surprised us with mild weather, but Mother Nature changed her mind real quick. By the Monday before Thanksgiving we were shoveling snow. I spent Thanksgiving with Mac and Evan in Chicago at Gwen and Richard’s house. It took hours of meditation, repeated mantras, and Mackenzie pep talks for me to agree to going back to their house. I think Mac talked to Gwen beforehand because there was only one picture from my past that I saw. It was a family photo taken a few months before Malcolm died. Seeing it still cut me open, but not as deep.
When we returned from Thanksgiving I prepared for my next trip. Mac had so very kindly volunteered my expertise at a culinary institute in New York. An instructor from there visited the café in November and gave my menu rave reviews then inquired as to where I’d received my training. Mac told her the University of Chicago which elicited the normal lost look. Then she proceeded to tell her I was self-taught and rarely ever used recipes. If I ever needed an agent to sing my praises, Mac would have been it. Ironically, my lack of formal training impressed the instructor just that much more, and she insisted I come to New York in December. Eventually and against my better judgment, I agreed.
The day before I left Mac came over to help me pack. “You’re going to love New York in December. Rockefeller Center decorated for the holidays is worth the trip all by itself.”
“So you’ve told me a hundred times already.” I rolled my eyes as I sat on my suitcase trying to zip it shut.
“Well if the lights don’t do it for you, there’s always the optional booty call.”
“Dream on. We haven’t had any sort of contact since my birthday, that was two months ago, three since I’ve seen him … in case you’ve lost track.”
“So?”
“So, if he wanted to see me he would have called by now. Besides, I’m quite certain Quinten Cohen does not have to make a trip to Milwaukee to have his sexual needs met. I doubt he has to leave his house. They’re probably lined up at his door.”
Honestly, the thought made me sick to my stomach, however, a part of me—the pathetic part—was secretly excited about being closer to Quinn. Although it was ridiculous since I had no idea if he was even in New York and I highly doubted I was going to get up the nerve to call him.
“Addy, just promise me you’ll enjoy yourself. Do some Christmas shopping, maybe even spoil yourself a little. Good food that you don’t have to make, a spa day, maybe take in a Broadway show. Just make the most of your time there, okay?”
I pulled her in for a big hug. “I’ll try.”
*
New York during the holidays was picturesque. Mother Nature delivered a light blanket of snow creating a winter wonderland. Exquisite holiday window displays adorned the stores along Fifth Avenue. Ice skaters glided along the skating rink at Rockefeller Center under the massive tree that glowed beneath the skyline. I had decided to immerse myself in the city and take it all in.
I arrived Monday evening, checked into my hotel, and ordered in dinner while I planned out my week. I was scheduled to speak and do demonstrations at the culinary institute Tuesday and Thursday from one to four. Friday morning the students were to make their own plant based creations, and I was asked to “judge” their work. I purchased tickets to two Broadway shows that week, The Book of Mormon and Houdini. Broadway shows were not a cheap endeavor, but I had promised Mac that I’d “live it up” while in New York.
Tuesday morning I grabbed breakfast, which turned out to be easy since New York City is quite vegan friendly. Shopping, my least favorite activity, was next on my list since I had to find some dressier items for the shows because my wardrobe at home felt inadequate for Broadway. Over three grand later, I had two new dresses and coordinating shoes but vowed to sell them on eBay when I arrived back home and donate the money to a worthy cause. The sales associates at the boutiques assured me I was getting a bargain compared to other Fifth Avenue stores. However, bargain would not have been my description. My wallet had been kidnapped and bea
ten, but not raped, was more accurate.
My afternoon at the culinary institute was more enjoyable than I had anticipated. The students were gracious and eager to learn, and the three hours there flew by.
When I arrived back at my hotel, I changed into a non-Broadway dress for dinner and headed out to a new raw vegan restaurant that had recently opened. The instructor at the culinary institute suggested it. She said it was a bit pricey but the atmosphere was intimate and I might get a secluded table where I wouldn’t feel self-conscious about eating alone. She also told me their wine list was incredible, but I had no intention of getting tipsy by myself in the middle of Manhattan.
Mac had spent the past two days texting me wanting a play-by-play of everything I had been doing. When I told her where I was going for dinner she freaked out.
OMG! That is a very exclusive restaurant. I’m so jealous.
Do you have reservations?
No, didn’t think it would be necessary on a Tuesday night.
Think again, sweetie. Just make sure you have a Ben Franklin on you.
That might be your only ticket to getting a seat.
Mac, I am not paying more for my seat than I am for my dinner.
Live it up … remember you promised, have fun!
The phrase “Mac was right” came out of my mouth way too often, but once again she was. The maitre d’ had to hold back a smirk when I told her I didn’t have a reservation. My ego flared up but I reined it in and handed over the cash. Within minutes I was seated at a small table in the corner. The atmosphere was dark and intimate with candles on every table. The soft jazz that played in the background warmed my skin with a seductive allure. It was the kind of music that awakened nerve endings and fed passion. The menu didn’t list prices and I had to repress the guilt as I ordered my five course meal. My waiter offered me a taste of their house wine, and I couldn’t refuse having just one glass. After my soup was served, I made a trip to the ladies’ room before the next course. When I walked out past a row of half-circle, button tufted booths, I felt someone grab my wrist halting my motion. The touch was electric, sending a jolting energy up my arm. I looked down at the hand wrapped around me. It stretched out from a white dress shirt and black suit coat. I moved my eyes up the arm to a sharp jaw line covered in dark stubble, and then dark eyes met mine.