By now my heart felt like it might burst out of my chest and I was starting to sweat. "I appreciate that, Julianne. It's OK, just tell me what you want to say," I choked out.
"Quinn is, you know, he's magnetic. And he's used to lots of attention. He says he hates it, but he really doesn't, he loves it. He's an actor; let's face it, they all thrive on attention."
"OK," I said, furrowing, not sure where this was going.
"Emmy, I think he's paying extra attention to you, and I just don't want you to get the wrong idea and end up hurt. I know we don't know each other very well, and it's none of my business, but I've seen him be his charming self before and lead girls on, without meaning to. You're here, you're sweet and kind and pretty, and, please don't take this the wrong way, but you're it. There's no one else here that he can really flirt with.
"I'm not saying he doesn't like you, I'm sure he does. But I just want you to understand. Quinn likes a lot of people. When you're the object of his attention it's impossible not to get sucked in, but-"
"I get it," I practically whispered, gulping down the lump in my throat. "Julianne, I really appreciate your talking to me about this. I-"
"Emmy, you look so hurt. I'm sorry, I didn't intend-"
"No, Julianne, really, it's OK," I smiled at her, swallowing hurt and rage and humiliation. "Seriously, I'm fine. Thanks for the talk."
Just as I was getting up, I felt him in the doorway, even before I heard him.
"The talk? What were you two talking about?" He eyed us both with a tentative grin.
"Oh nothing. Just girl talk," I tried to sound casual, but I knew my voice was too high and I was speaking way too quickly. I sounded manic. "OK you two, you have a meeting and I have work to do. Time to go! Let me know if you need anything."
I made the briefest bit of eye contact with Quinn as I all but ran out of the room.
"What was that about?" I heard him ask Julianne as I went back into the kitchen.
I did my best to avoid Quinn, but I tried to make it look like I wasn't. Luckily I was done with the overnights, so I wasn't there when he went for his morning runs. I tried to make myself scarce when I knew he was most likely to be around, like breakfast and tea.
When I did see him I was friendly, but I didn’t make eye contact, and I made sure we were never alone.
It was exhausting, but I knew it was what I had to do to protect myself. Falling for Quinn when he was just passing the time flirting with me would be very, very bad for me.
A few days later I came in early in the morning, thinking I would get breakfast ready and served so I could leave to run errands for the inn before Quinn woke up. I was in the kitchen, All Things Considered on the radio, cooking bacon that I was going to crumble and fold into the batter for maple-bacon multigrain pancakes, when suddenly I felt big, warm hands on my shoulders.
"Oh!" I jumped, nearly dropping my tongs.
"Hey stranger." Quinn began massaging my shoulders, and it was all I could do to keep myself from letting my head fall back against his chest.
Control, Emmy! I pulled away as gently as I could, and crossed the room. "Hi there. You're up early. How are you? Want some coffee?"
"Yes, please. I'm good, thanks. Except that I have this feeling you're avoiding me." He swiped a piece of bacon from the pile that was draining on a plate next to the stove and bit into it, giving me a "Who, me?" look.
I poured him a cup and handed it to him. "Avoiding you? Don't be silly. You've been busy, I've been busy-"
"I haven't been that busy," his words were serious, but he was smiling and kept his tone light. "And you have been avoiding me. Look, about the other night, I-"
"Ugh Emmy, I need some of that coff- oh, Mr. Buckley! Good morning," Elaine quickly switched gears from hangover sufferer to hotel proprietor. "You’re up so early! What can we do for you?"
"Smelled Em's delicious coffee and came in for a cup, just like you," he smiled at Elaine. "Em, thanks for agreeing to help me with that project, I really appreciate it."
"Project?" Elaine asked, shooting me a look. I tried to keep my face neutral.
What is he doing?
"Yeah, I'm up for a part as a chef, so I asked Em if I could interview her a few times, observe her in the kitchen a bit. Nothing that will interfere with her work, I know how busy she is. She graciously agreed to help, after a little coaxing," Quinn flashed Elaine a killer smile. "She thought you might not like it, but I assured her you would approve, since it's helping me."
"Of course, of course! Anything we can do to help you, Mr. Buckley. We are all at your service. Emmy will be happy to do it. Right, Emmy?" Elaine cooed.
I hesitated a few beats longer than I should have, but I couldn’t form a simple answer. I wanted to scream, ‘Yes! I’ll do anything for him,’ and run away, all at the same time.
Then I realized they were both looking at me, waiting for a response, and the pause was awkward.
"Uh, yeah. Hey, why don't you two take your coffee out on the porch?" I said, gesturing toward the door. "You can chat while I finish up the breakfast prep." I had to get rid of both of them so I could finish making breakfast and panic about Quinn in peace.
Quinn held his arm out to Elaine, glancing at me meaningfully over his shoulder. "Great idea, Em. Talk to you later. So Elaine, how was your vacation?"
With that they strolled out, leaving me to think about how I was going to manage this new "project" of his.
Quinn flew to Las Vegas for a friend’s bachelor party, so a few days passed before I saw him again. In that time I'd had several conversations with myself and with Erica about how to handle Quinn's "project." Erica had threatened me with bodily harm if I didn't avoid him as much as possible. Though it weighed heavily on me, because it was the opposite of what I really wanted, I knew she was right. The fact that I did want to be with him so much was the exact reason I had to stay away.
He had charmed Shari into giving him my cell number and occasionally texted me with weird, off-the-wall questions about cooking ("What makes a pot a 'Dutch oven'?;" "Isn't 'oil-poached' just a fancy way of saying 'deep fried'?"), which made me laugh in spite of myself. There was nothing I could do to stop it, even though I knew he had made up this alleged chef role.
I had just delivered some mid-morning snacks and iced tea to Dan and Martin on the porch when the phone rang. I gave the usual greeting.
"Emmy, how are you?" It was Lauren, one of the owners. She was in her early 50s, with ash-blonde hair, striking green eyes and a killer curvy figure. I rarely saw her in person but when I did she always looked impeccable, with just a hint of an edge, whether she was dressed up for work or casually, like when she stopped in for breakfast on a weekend day while on her way somewhere with Dennis.
Lauren's goddess-like figure and sexy style belied what a lion she was in the boardroom, Elaine had told me. And though she was always pleasant toward me, there was something about her that made you feel like you didn’t want to get her angry. I was always a little in awe of Lauren and definitely intimidated by her.
"Hi Lauren. I'm well, thanks. How are you?"
"Just great, thank you. I just wanted to call and thank you for everything you've been doing for Quinn."
"For Quinn? Uh, sure. I mean, of course. All of us here want him to be comfortable."
"Oh yes, I know, and the whole staff has been great. To be honest, it's exceeded my expectations, and Dennis's. But beyond that, he's told his agent how especially helpful you have been. It was passed along to us. I just wanted to call and thank you personally."
He talked to his agent about me?
"Thank you, Lauren. I really appreciate it. I'm happy to help."
"How long have you been with us at the Beach House, Emmy?"
"Just over six years."
"And are you happy? Feeling challenged? You haven't grown bored, have you?"
Is this a trick question?
"It's OK, Emmy. Please be honest. I asked because I really want to know."
She chuckled, and my stomach dropped. Great, she’s laughing at me.
"Well, I should think so. You're very bright, and our guests always love your cooking. We should get together and talk about your ambitions, where you see your future headed. Dennis and I have a few other ventures and, I don't know, perhaps there's an opportunity for you that's a bit larger in scope. Let me think about it. In the meantime, Dennis and I realized it has been a while since you've had a raise, beyond the cost of living increase everyone gets annually. Take a look at your next paycheck, I think you'll be pleased."
"Th- thank you, Lauren! I don't know what to say. That's so nice of you."
"I’m not being nice. Dennis and I are running a business, and we feel it's important to reward excellent work and retain the best talent. That's you, Emmy. Please don't share this information with any of your co-workers. All right? We'll talk soon."
Click, and she was gone, before I had a chance to thank her again or even say goodbye.
CHAPTER 11
When Quinn returned to the Beach House, he started hanging out in the kitchen while I cooked, and accompanying me on my twice-weekly trips to the market for supplies.
I began going to the store early in the mornings, before our breakfast service began at 8:30. The store was nearly empty at that hour, so there was less chance of anyone noticing Quinn. He always wore a baseball cap and kept his face subtly turned away, so the few other shoppers and staff didn't pay him any mind.
"Do you have brothers and sisters?" he asked me one morning as I drove us to the store. I needed to pick up buk nuts and oats for granola and a few other things.
"No, it was just my mother and me growing up."
I parked and we made our way into the store. "Tell me about your mom. What's she like?"
"Um, she's very kind, very loving," I started to say, not sure how much I wanted to reveal or how much he even really wanted to know.
"So nothing like you," he joked, smirking at me.
"Yeah, polar opposites," I smiled. "Oh look at this, dried mulberries."
I pointed at the packages on display.
He looked at me quizzically. "Are you changing the subject?"
"No, just really excited about the mulberries."
"No offense, but you need to get out more," he said, chuckling.
"Ha, spoken like someone who has never experienced dried mulberries before."
"Go ahead, say 'mulberries' again. I dare you."
I laughed. "Sorry. Maybe I do need to get out more. What can I tell you? My mother—her name’s Leona—um, she’s a very sweet woman, she's been very good to me, always encouraging."
"But..." He cocked one eyebrow.
"But. Well, she hasn’t had the best luck with men,” I sighed. “I mean, it wasn’t really bad luck. She made some very bad decisions. She isn’t a flake at all; she’s a romantic. But she doesn't know her worth. So if anyone seemed like they would love her, she jumped, and that led to her downfall, more than once.”
“Why is she like that, do you think?”
I paused to think about it. “She's always had this attitude that she's lucky to have anything she has, not that she deserves it,” I said. “So she always takes what she’s given and doesn’t ask for more. At work, too. She’s smart, and she has the best work ethic of anyone I know. But she just feels grateful that she has a job, she doesn’t demand what she deserves."
"Well, that sounds familiar," he said.
We were in the produce aisle now and he grabbed a big bunch of bananas and put them in the cart I was pushing.
"Need some potassium?" I pointed at the bananas.
"No, some banana bread. If only I knew an awesome baker. Anyway, you were saying..."
I smiled wanly at him. "OK, enough about me-"
"Nope, not done with you yet."
I stopped. "Hey, what did you mean by 'sounds familiar'?"
"What do you think?"
"I'm not like her,” I insisted. “I do stand up for myself and-"
"Look,” he said quietly, not looking at me. “I’m just talking about work. It's none of my business, but I really think you don't know your worth either. You live in constant fear of being fired, as if they could just carry on without you at the Beach House."
"I know they rely on me, but no one is irreplaceable,” I was talking quietly but forcefully. He had struck a nerve. “And the fact is that I can't afford to miss a paycheck. I help my mother out a bit along with having my own expenses, and I'm trying to save for school, so my job is really important to me."
Quinn stopped walking and touched my shoulder gently. "Hey, I know. I didn't mean to sound flip. I'm sorry. Em, look, your friendship is important to me."
Right. Friendship. Of course.
As I started walking again, I glanced at him, and he was frowning. “I don’t mean friendship, exactly, I mean-”
“It’s OK, Quinn. I get it. You don’t have to explain.”
“What do you mean? What do you ‘get’?”
“Nothing. I- look, you’re a nice guy. I’m not going to get the wrong impression. Don’t worry about it.” I kept walking, certain my face was bright crimson, desperate to change the subject. We were in the bulk aisle now, and I busied myself with scooping the ingredients I needed into plastic bags.
"The wrong impression about what? Em, stop," he took my arm. Just that simple touch made me suck in a breath. It was so stupid to think I could keep my feelings in check, and now I’m making a huge fool of myself. I lowered my head so he wouldn't see me blush, and as I tried to step aside, I stumbled. He grabbed me around the waist to steady me.
Jesus, Emmy, hold it together. I shuffled, pulling away before he could feel how even such a casual touch affected me.
"S-sorry. I'm fine," I stammered. Tears began to form in the corners of my eyes and I fought to hold them back.
"What is going on with you?" he said quietly, looking concerned. He shook his head.
“Maybe it’s me who got the wrong idea," he murmured. Then his voice grew huskier. "The other night, I… I thought we, I don’t know, connected. We really... talked. And then, kissing you. I-"
I didn’t say anything, but felt a lump in my throat that I was willing down with deep breaths.
“Am I being a fucking idiot here?” he whispered earnestly. “I thought you, that we-. Just tell me, Em. I don’t talk to people the way I talked to you. Ever. I thought we were, I mean... Shit. I don’t know what I thought.”
He looked away.
Now I was really confused. He seemed sincere, but I couldn’t get Julianne’s words out of my head. Is this all part of the act? Is this just what he does?
“Quinn,” I whispered. “You’re not being an idiot. We did connect. And that- that kiss was… amazing. I haven’t been able to think about anything else. But I-” I stopped.
Holy shit, Emmy, shut up!
"What?" He looked at me. "What is it?"
"Nothing," I shook my head and pushed the cart toward the checkout. "Do you want anything else before we go?"
He took my arm again. "Yes. I want to know what just crossed your mind back there."
"I don't want to start any trouble-"
"Trouble? What does that mean? Is this about Elaine and your job? Em, just tell me," he leaned in, and stared into my eyes. The look on his face, his scent, his warmth… it was all too much. I would have done anything he asked in that moment. Anything.
"I don’t know. Maybe I misunderstood. But Julianne-” I stopped again.
He straightened, dropping my elbow. "Julianne? What about her?"
I stalled, now truly frightened. She had been working for Quinn for years, she was his right hand. She knew him, maybe even better than he knew himself.
"What did she say to you? That ‘girl talk’ I walked in on. What was tha
t?”
I didn’t answer, just shook my head, still mesmerized by his sudden intensity.
“Fuck, I should have known something was up. What did she say, exactly?" he whispered forcefully.
"Paper or plastic?" The checkout girl asked. I saw her look at Quinn and then look back at him again. He noticed it too, gave her a quick closed-mouth smile and looked away.
"Oh, I have bags," I said, handing her my canvas shopping bags, trying to draw her attention back to me. It didn't work.
"Hey, are you-"
"Quinn Buckley?" He asked in a strange, higher-pitched voice. "No, but people say that I look like him sometimes."
"Oh!" She laughed. "Yeah, you really do."
"Thanks," he said, grabbing the bags as I signed the credit card slip.
We had loaded the bags into the trunk and were back in the car heading to the Beach House before Quinn spoke again. He snapped off the radio. "Em, please tell me what Julianne said," he whispered, staring straight ahead.
I hesitated.
"I just don't want you to get angry at me," I said meekly. Ugh Emmy, you are such a wimp. Erica would know exactly how to handle this. Shari would just blurt it out, no fear of repercussions.
He sighed. "I'm not going to get angry, Em. At least, not at you. I want to know what's being said for me. Wouldn't you want to know, if it was you?"
He had me there.
"She just warned me that you... do this. This happens to you."
“What does that mean?”
I was fighting back tears again. “That you’re, you know, magnetic, and nice to people, and they get the wrong impression. Especially girls. They think you’re really interested in them. I mean, more interested than you maybe are.”
He looked at me for a brief moment, an unfamiliar gleam of fury in his usually gentle eyes, then faced forward again. “Is there more?”
“No,” I squeaked.
“Em, tell me." His voice was still quiet, but his anger was heavy in the air between us. The atmosphere felt charged. Part of me wanted to pull over and look him in the face, find out what he was thinking. Or see if he would kiss me again. He said he felt that we connected, he didn’t have to say that. Why would he lie?
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