The Beach House

by Jolie Campbell

  "Don't be silly, Mr. Buckley. I've just come in from a meeting. Everything all right out here?"

  "Oh sure. Em and I were just comparing notes about running."

  "Yes, yes, our Emmy is quite the little hamster on the wheel," Elaine said, glancing at me. "Speaking of which, shouldn't you be running along, Emmy? Thank you for doing the watering."

  "Uh yeah, I should go," I stammered.

  "She was very thorough with the watering, I can tell you," Quinn told Elaine, flashing a grin in my direction.

  I took off before I heard her response.

  “Whaddayou think you’re doing?” Elaine hissed in my ear, causing me to jump and nearly drop the platter I was holding. It was dark out, so the living room where I was setting up for the next day's breakfast service was shadowy and cool.

  “Oh! Elaine, you startled me,” I whispered, placing the platter on the big farmhouse table and bringing my hand to my heart. “What’s the matter?”

  “Don’t act all sweet an in’cent wit me,” she slurred, and then I caught the strong stench of scotch on her breath. “Wha’ were you telling Quinn Buckley about me, you lil’ bitch?” She shoved my arm roughly. My heart started to pound again.

  “Elaine, stop," I said quietly, taking a step back. She was a mean drunk, but she hadn’t touched me before. "I didn’t say anything to Quinn about you.”

  “‘Jus getting up?’” she drawled, imitating Quinn’s earlier question. “Don’ get any ideas, Miss Emmeline,” she hissed, spitting out my name like a curse and bringing her face right up to mine, her breath stale with liquor.

  “Stop it,” I repeated, more sternly this time, trying to back away from her again.

  She laughed. “Jus rember who’s boss.” She tried to push me a second time, and nearly toppled over from the effort. Then she pointed right into my face and got serious again. “You stay away from Quinn Buckley. Serve his breffast and thassit. Don’ go buggin’ him like some lovesick groupie.”

  “Jesus, Elaine. I-”

  “Don’ ‘Elaine’ me. You’ll do wha’ I say. There are plenny of other cooks out there, y’know. I could prolly pay a lil' Mexican girl half of what I pay you. One word from me to Dennis an Lauren and you are gone, lil' miss.”

  She stumbled out, making her way to the downstairs bedroom.

  A few days later I was in the kitchen just before noon, chopping up apples to go into raspberry jam. Elaine had been right; the guests loved the homemade jam, some had even asked to buy it. So I had begun experimenting with new flavors. Raspberries needed pectin to gel, and I had started using apples instead of the packaged stuff.

  Chopping apples was mindless, meditative work, which let me daydream as the Replacements played on Pandora in the background.

  If Elaine had any memory of our run-in the other night, she hadn’t mentioned it. She behaved as though nothing had happened, running hot and cold as usual. It wasn’t clear whether she even remembered it, though she had curbed the drinking a bit. I hadn’t seen her really impaired since that night.

  Lightening up on the booze made Elaine more reliable and even helpful around the inn—she had even done the flower watering yesterday—but it also meant she was out and about in the house much more. She hadn’t hid away the morning in the downstairs bedroom or disappeared for the afternoon since that night. I was glad she was doing better but it meant having to watch myself that much more.

  Considering that, and Elaine’s drunken threats, I knew I had to be all business with Quinn. I couldn’t let myself get into any kind of dialogue with him, let alone a flirtation. Plus, there was this crazy desire to jump him, which I obviously needed to work past.

  It wasn’t easy, though. He had this class-clown way about him, an easygoing charm that drew all of us to him. I’d even heard Anna giggling at one of his silly stories. Watching them made me smile; it was so rare to hear her laugh or really, make any sound at all. Then I saw her catch herself and rush off, no doubt with Elaine’s warning looming in her mind.

  Julianne’s comment from her meeting with Elaine also stuck in my head, that Quinn was just being nice, and didn’t really want to be friends with anyone. As much as I wanted to relax and enjoy the brightness, the energy he brought to the inn, I had to keep it all business as much as possible.

  I would fight the urge to just be near him, to breathe in his scent, to steal glances at his messy hair or let myself stare for a beat too long into those mischievous hazel eyes. It was too dangerous. I couldn’t risk my job, and I knew if I didn’t keep my distance, my little crush would get completely out of control and I’d make a giant fool of myself.

  Quinn has a girlfriend, and even a harmless flirtation could get me fired, I reminded myself constantly. He’s a special guest, that’s all.

  Just as I was resolving, again, to keep my curiosity about Quinn in check, he ducked into the kitchen, hair wet from a shower, looking sheepish.

  “Em.”

  “Quinn.” I didn’t look up from my work and bit back a smile.

  “I know it’s long after breakfast, but by any chance is there any-”

  “Coffee? Of course.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Because you’ve been here nearly a week and whenever you miss breakfast you come in here, skulking around, looking for coffee,” I teased.

  Oops. Knock it off, Emmy.

  “Skulking? I wasn’t skulking. As a rule, I don’t skulk.”

  I didn’t look at him, just raised my eyebrows.

  He laughed. “OK, so I’m skulking a little. You got me. Can I help myself?”

  He moved toward the china cabinet to get a mug.

  “I’ve got it. Sit there.” I pointed at a bench next to the island.

  He saluted before sitting. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Cream, no sugar, right?”

  “Just black, actually.”

  “Right! Sorry.”

  I caught his glare.

  “Sorry. Sorry for saying sorry.”

  “One of these days, Em,” he mock scolded. Then he smiled and sighed happily when I set the steaming cup in front of him.

  “So tell me-” I started.

  “Quinn! So nice to see you,” Elaine purred as she swept in. “You don’t have to drink your coffee in here. Come out to the porch, it’s so much nicer.”

  She slipped her arm through his and led him out, glaring over her shoulder at me.

  At home a few nights later, I was flipping channels when one of those entertainment gossip shows came on, and their lead story was about Quinn. I knew I should change the channel, but curiosity got the best of me. The host speculated about where Quinn was, offering up a rumor that he was holed up at the home of a former costar, Holly Kearney, with whom he had a well-publicized friendship. She's a few years older than he is, married with children, and though they had great romantic chemistry onscreen, they were platonic pals, according to the show's host.

  He went on to say that an unnamed source had said that Quinn had been living with Holly and her family since his blowup on the set of Kill Switch, following his costar-slash-girlfriend Maya Santos' confrontation with him about his philandering. Maya, the tall, curvy, preternaturally gorgeous 23-year-old starlet of the moment, hadn't commented, but the show flashed paparazzi images of her looking beautifully heartbroken as she left restaurants and yoga classes, sunglasses covering her no-doubt tearful doe eyes, her full lips set in a sexy frown.

  It all appeared so dramatic, but Quinn seemed more low-key than that to me, and not bothered at all by their breakup.

  Something about the whole situation felt odd.

  I was still thinking about it at work the next day. Oh well, I thought, grabbing a flat of eggs out of the fridge to get the custard going for bread pudding. Maybe he was just jovial and casual with the help, but the drama came out with his friends and girlfriends. My mother had briefly dated a man like that years ago; no celebrity, of course, just someone who seemed nice and normal until things went wrong, then h
e bounced off the walls, yelling, throwing things and slamming doors.

  "Girl, don't tell me you're making that evil bread pudding!" Shari bellowed as she clomped into the kitchen, Anna silently on her heels.

  "Evil? Nothing I make is evil," I smiled innocently at her. “Hi Anna.”

  "Ha! You can say that because you're so-"

  "Hello ladies," said Martin, the set designer who had decorated the inn, as he strolled elegantly into the kitchen. He had won several Oscars during his career, and now he was in his late 60s and retired. Martin was staying at the inn for a month along with Dan, his longtime partner, while the kitchen in their Malibu home was being renovated. They were regular guests, staying with us during their frequent renovation projects, or just to get away for a few days. Martin was also a client of Dennis’s.

  “Martin! How are you today?” I grinned at him. I loved him, and Dan, too. They were like the favorite uncles I’d never had, and they doted on me as much as I did them. He came over and kissed my cheek.

  “Emmy, love, what are you making for us? Is it that wonderful bread pudding?”

  “It is! Shari says it’s evil though,” I joked.

  “Well! If it isn’t ‘The Cleaner,’ and sweet Anna. Come here, you gorgeous girl,” he said to Shari, kissing her on both cheeks. “Nothing Emmy creates is evil.”

  “That’s what I said!” We all laughed, and I made my way to the fridge. “Martin, can I get you something? Would you like a glass of iced tea, or a snack?”

  “Iced tea would be wonderful, Emmy. May I have one for Dan also, please? I’m headed out to meet him on the porch.”

  “Of course! Go ahead and I’ll bring out both glasses. Would you like anything to nibble on to go with it?”

  “Oh Emmy, how can I resist you, darling? Yes, I’d love just a little something. Do you have any of those spiced nuts?”

  “Sure. I’ll bring some out for you.”

  With the tray taking up both of my hands, I had to back out onto the porch, using my elbow to open the latch on the screen door. When I turned around, I almost ran right into Quinn, who had jumped up from his seat to help me with the door.

  “Oh! I’m sorry!” I said, startled. “Yikes, I almost dropped this all over you.”

  We both laughed.

  “Well, you haven’t spilled iced tea on me yet. And you could always hose me off,” he said, winking at me.

  I was about to retort something back when I remembered my pact with myself. All business, Emmy. Good thing, too, because in my peripheral vision I caught Dan looking at Martin with raised eyebrows.

  “Ha! Right,” I said lamely instead, avoiding Quinn’s eyes and turning my smile to Dan as I set the tray down on the table next to him. “How are you doing today?”

  Dan reached up and cupped my cheek. “Just fine, sweetheart. Thank you for the tea. And oh! Spiced nuts. What a nice treat. You take such good care of us.”

  “It’s my pleasure. Quinn, did you want some iced tea as well? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were out here, I would have brought you a glass.”

  “Thanks Em. I’ll come in with you and get a glass,” he smiled at me.

  “No, no, it’s no trouble, I’ll get it. Be right back,” I said, scurrying out before he could stop me.

  I rushed into the kitchen and was mid-pour when I heard him walk in behind me.

  “Hey. I’ll carry it out, you don’t have to make another trip,” he said, coming right up next to me at the counter.

  God, he is so beautiful.

  I tried to take some deep breaths to calm myself down, without being obvious about it. “OK. But it’s really no trouble. Oh sorry, do you want it sweetened?”

  “Em, if you apologize to me one more time for something that isn’t your fault, I can’t be held responsible for what I’ll do,” he elbowed me lightly, giving me a big-brother smile.

  I opened my mouth and was about to say, “Sorry,” but I just closed it again. We both smiled.

  “That’s better,” he nodded, taking a sip. “Hey, this is good. What is it?”

  “Hibiscus,” I replied. “One of my favorites. Here, try it with a squeeze of lime.”

  I grabbed a lime out of a bowl on the counter, sliced a wedge and was about to squeeze it into his glass when he went to grab it from me. His hand covered mine and I sucked in a breath before I could help it.

  We both grasped the lime awkwardly. One of us needed to let go, but neither of us did. It was like one of those moments when you’re trying to pass a stranger in a hallway and you keep stepping the same way instead of around each other… except the whole room had shrunk down to his fingers holding mine around the lime. Neither of us moved. I still hadn’t exhaled, and my lungs burned while Quinn held my gaze for what felt like a few seconds longer than necessary. Finally I let go and turned away.

  “OK. Well, enjoy the tea. I ha- have to get back to this bread pudding,” I stammered.

  “Sounds delicious. OK then. Thanks Em,” he gave my arm a little squeeze and went back outside.

  CHAPTER 6

  A few days later at midday I was at the front desk, helping Martin choose a place for a special dinner party he was putting together for Dan’s birthday. The inn was quiet. It was sunny and cool outside, so nearly all the guests were out. Shari was cleaning, Anna had the day off. Elaine was down in Los Angeles at her monthly meeting with Lauren and Dennis.

  “Oh Emmy, I just want it to be intimate and special. I would have it at our house, but the work won’t be finished yet. Do you know if Flores has a private room?”

  “I don’t off the top of my head, but I’ll be happy to call them for you. Any other questions I should ask them? Do you want me to see if they’ll do a special menu, or would you rather have everyone just order what they like off the regular menu?”

  “That’s a wonderful idea. Would you ask them? I’d love to know about wine pairing, too. Dan can be quite the lush,” he joked. We laughed together.

  “Hey there,” said Quinn as he came in the front door, looking sexy as hell in steel-gray pants and an un-tucked black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. “What’s so funny?”

  “Oh, hi Quinn. Emmy is just helping me put together a little surprise soiree for Dan’s birthday,” Martin said.

  “Nice,” Quinn replied, nodding, looking back and forth between Martin and me. He had a strange expression on his face, but I couldn’t place it. Kind of sad, though he was smiling. “Well, I’ll get out of your way.”

  “Nonsense, you’re not in the way at all,” Martin said. “I’d love your help, if you don’t mind. Have you been to Flores?”

  “Sure. Actually, the chef is a friend. Are you having the dinner there?”

  “Thinking about it. Emmy recommended it. Do you know if they have a private room?”

  “Well, I’ll let you two talk this one over, guys,” I said, smiling as I stood up. “Martin, let me know if you want to go with it, and I’ll be happy to make the arrangements. Or if not, we can brainstorm some other places.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” he came over, put his arm around my shoulder and gave me a little sideways hug, then kissed my cheek. “You’re the best.”

  “It’s absolutely my pleasure,” I smiled up at him, hugging him back. “See you later.”

  I glanced at Quinn and gave a little wave as I went into the kitchen.

  Quinn ambled into the kitchen about 15 minutes later. I was sitting on a stool at the island, reading a book, and had just stuffed a big bite of salad into my mouth. Lunch for me was always a catch-as-catch-can meal, usually devoured while working on other things. I covered my mouth with my napkin as I chewed, gave Quinn the “1 sec” gesture and an embarrassed grimace. After what felt like a long minute I finally got the bite down, and wiped my mouth with a napkin.

  “Hi. Sorry,” I said, and he shook his head at my apology. “What can I do for you?”

  “Is this Gram Parsons?” he asked, looking quizzical.

  “What? Oh, the
music? Yeah,” I smiled. “Do you like him?”

  “This is 'Hickory Wind.' God, this is one of my dad’s favorite songs,” he shook his head. “I haven’t heard this in- Jesus, I can’t remember the last time. But he played it all the time when I was a kid.”

  We were quiet for a minute, just listening to the music, both having our own thoughts. Then he leaned against the counter and looked at me.

  “Em, can I ask you something?”

  “Of course,” I said, standing up and heading over to the fridge. “Would you like something to drink?”

  I pulled out a pitcher of limeade I had made that morning and heard him blow out a breath as I began moving across the room for a glass.

  “Stop,” he said sharply. I froze, then put the pitcher down on the counter and turned around to face him.

  “Sorry,” he murmured, looking down and running a hand through his hair.

  He approached me.

  “Is something wrong?” My heartbeat picked up. If he was unhappy with something, that could mean trouble for me or someone else on the staff.

  “Well, yeah. I mean, that’s what I want to ask you,” he said, speaking more quietly than usual. “Is there something I’m doing that’s making everyone dislike me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. You’re so friendly with the other guests. I mean, I know you’ve known them longer, but…”

  Now my heart was full-on pounding. “Quinn, have I been unfriendly to you? I’m sorry, I-”

  “No, Em, not unfriendly. You’ve been perfectly…” he hesitated, “cordial. So has everyone else. But like just now. You and Martin were having a really nice time, and as soon as I walked in, you couldn’t wait to get out of there. Am I just being paranoid? I know everything isn’t about me, but I feel like this happens every time I walk in, or talk to someone who works here. They, like, rush off. Especially you.”

  I hesitated, looking away. Glancing at the counter, I looked at his hand, which was still for once. For a fleeting second I imagined putting mine over it, how warm it would feel, whether his skin would be rough or smooth. Then I shook my head slightly at my own ridiculousness.