The Romance Report (6 page)

chapter ten

Quinn woke up at five a.m. on Monday morning. She
planned to arrive at work early this morning so she could try a new recipe. She
had been experimenting with tiramisu and wanted to make it and a traditional
peach pie.

She did her morning yoga. She finished her routine
and took a quick shower. Once dressed in a pair of jeans and a navy blue V-necked
t-shirt, she poured herself a cup of coffee and turned on her computer to check
her email. As she scanned her inbox, she was surprised to see it was flooded
with comments forwarded from her new blog, The Romance Report. Many of the
comments posted were supportive although a few made snide remarks. Pleased, she
closed her laptop, fed Fat Panther and headed to work.

By noon, Quinn had finished making her desserts
and had the rolls prepped to go into the oven. Monday nights were often the
restaurant’s slowest, so Quinn made a smaller batch. Her uncle arrived shortly
after twelve to start prepping for dinner. He was thrilled with her desserts
and Quinn felt a small rush of pride.

“I love baking. It makes me think of Grandma. Speaking
of which, Mom wants you to call her and give her your list of guests for the
big birthday celebration,” Quinn informed him.

“I only have a few folks I want to make sure are
invited. If I know your mother, she probably has a list of two hundred people
written down and has to figure out who to offend and who she needs to curry
favor.”

“Not saying a word. I’m Switzerland when it comes
to you and mom.” Quinn held up her hands in mock self-defense. “I said I would
ask and my duty here is done.”

“It’s fine. I have forty-five years of big sister
self-defense under my belt,” her uncle laughed.

“I bow to the master,” Quinn made a gesture of
obeisance.

“Quinn, I wanted to talk to you about an idea I’ve
been kicking around in my head.”

“Okay. What’s up?”

“You have talent. Real talent and I’m not talking
about your writing. Don’t get me wrong. I think you’re a talented writer, but I
think you should go to culinary school,” Uncle Pat said.

“Oh, wow! I’ve never even thought about culinary
school. I mean, Mom and Dad pretty much expect me to follow in their
footsteps.”

“I’m not saying being a journalist isn’t a good
career for you. What I’m saying is that you have a real gift in the kitchen.
You always have. You love food. You love to cook. Maybe you would like to
follow in your Uncle Pat’s footsteps and become a chef.”

“You really think I’m a good cook?”

“Definitely. I want to show you something.” He
walked into his office and a moment later came out with a newspaper and handed
it to her. “Read Jacob Malachy’s column.”

Quinn started to read. It was a review of her
uncle’s restaurant. “Sounds like Jacob Malachy is a fan of Hanrahan’s.”

“Keep reading.”

Quinn continued reading the article. Hanrahan’s
not only boasts a vibrant menu of fresh dishes sure to please even the most
discerning palate, it serves the most delicious desserts this writer has had
the pleasure to taste in some time. The chocolate orange cake melted in my
mouth. It was a taste heaven here on earth.

“Quinnie Bee, Ma passed her gift in the kitchen to
me and you. I’m not saying you need to make a decision or even go to school if
that’s not what you want. I want you to think about it. If you decide it’s
something you want to do, I’ll pay for you to go.”

“I can’t let you do that, Uncle Pat,” Quinn
interrupted.

“I wasn’t finished. I will pay for you to go to
school with the condition that you come work for me afterwards for at least a
year.” Her uncle held up his hand to stop her from speaking. “Don’t answer me
right now. Take some time and think about it.”

Quinn impulsively hugged her uncle and kissed him
on the cheek. “You’re the best uncle in the world.”

“It’s because I’ve been blessed to have the best
niece.” He patted her back and kissed her on her forehead. “Now go home and
wash that flour out of your hair. You look like a bad imitation of a ghost.”

“Will do!” Quinn brushed through her hair with her
fingers. “See you later.”

A half an hour later, Quinn arrived at the
brownstone and found Indie waiting on the front steps. Her bright blue spikes
bobbed in time to whatever music she was listening to on her IPod. Her eyes lit
up when she spotted Quinn. She popped the earbuds out and hopped up off the
step.

“What are you doing here?” Quinn asked.

“I stopped by the restaurant to give you a ride
home and your uncle said I’d just missed you. Due to Herbie’s turbo speed and
light traffic, I made it here before you. You need to get cleaned up so we can
head down to Espresso Yourself.”

“Why?”

“We are going to experience speed dating,” Indie
said excitedly. “I’ve always wanted to try it. Sean called to say he saw a
flyer posted when he bought his coffee there this morning. Best thing is that
you only have two minutes to decide if he’s a winner or a wiener. If he’s not a
catch, you have an easy escape.”

“Ugh. Really? After the Dark Dreams fiasco, I
don’t know if I’m up to meeting a bunch of losers one right after another. I
might go into overload.”

“I promise you it will be a blast. Besides, the
event only lasts an hour so we’re there and done by eight. If you come with me,
I’ll treat you to Genova’s Pizza beforehand,” Indie wheedled.

“With mushrooms and olives on the pizza?”

“Of course. What kind of bribe would it be
without?” Indie joked.

“Alright. I’ve got to feed the Zach’s fish before
we go out,” Quinn said.

“Aren’t we getting domestic and cozy with the hot
new neighbor.” Indie raised her eyebrows.

“It’s not like that. First of all, he asked me to
do him a favor and feed his fish while he’s out of town for a week on business.
Second of all, he’s an artist so I’m so not going down that path again. No more
poor, starving artists who need drama to feed their artistic angst. No more
rock musicians begging for cash to get their guitars out of the pawn shop. No
more broke deadbeats for me. From now on, I want a safe, responsible guy with a
401k.”

“Sounds boring to me,” Indie said dryly. “Not all
artists are broke and not all musicians are jerks. You had a run of bad luck
with two guys. To quote your Grandma Rose, don’t throw the baby out with the
bath water.”

“Boring is what I’m looking for right now. Not
everything has to be rainbows and unicorns,” Quinn defended herself.

“If you say so,” Indie followed Quinn up the
stairs. “Personally, I love rainbows and unicorns. I think you should wear that
orange top Sean picked out for you. It looks good on you.”

“Orange isn’t usually my go to choice, but maybe
it will become my lucky color if I meet a nice guy tonight.”

chapter eleven

http://theromancereport.blogathon.com

The Romance Report

A blog dedicated to the pursuit of love and happiness.

Monday, September 16, 9:17 p.m.

  
Dear
readers, I knew I was right to be afraid when my dear frenemy returned with a
proposal. “Let’s try speed dating,” she said. “It will be fun,” she said. Well,
let me enlighten you. Having a tooth pulled without Novocain is more fun.
Stubbing your toe on a chair as you make your way to the bathroom in the dark
of night is more fun. Listening to your friend’s child play
Twinkle Twinkle
Little Star
at their first violin recital is infinitely more fun. Well, you
get the point.

  
The
evening didn’t start off too badly. I did get a free pizza out of the deal.
Frenemy (as she will now be forever named) and I shared a bottle of cabernet
and a medium veggie pizza at my favorite pizza joint, Genova’s, before heading
to Espresso Yourself.

Some brilliant barista decided that speed dating
hadn’t completely died out and wanted to revive it at my favorite coffee spot.
(If you haven’t had their Mocha Monkey Chino, you are missing a coffee dessert
explosion in your mouth. Try it. You’ll thank me later.)
 

Frenemy and I arrived at the coffee house a few
minutes before the torture was scheduled to start. The place was packed. To be
honest, I was secretly glad that I wasn’t the only person who needed help to
get a decent date. Some of the guys there were good looking although there were
a few duds in the crowd. Of course the first guy I was paired up with was a
mini Donald Trump with a bad comb over and socks with sandals. The only people
who wear socks with sandals are mental patients and prisoners. He was an
accountant so my mother would have loved him despite his fashion faux pas. She
would look at it as a challenge and opportunity to do a makeover. Downside (not
including the sock/sandal disaster), he had the personality of a slug. I felt
like a spreadsheet with my assets and liabilities being entered. From his
reaction to me, I could tell he felt I had a negative balance. I gave a silent
prayer of thanks when the timer buzzed and we changed tables.

Guy Number Two was a construction worker who was
divorced twice, thirty and had three kids. Need I state the obvious. I’m not
looking for love in that wrong place.

Now for the highlight of the evening. The frosting
on the cupcake. The marshmallows in the hot cocoa. Guy Number Three or should I
call him Inmate 5486955. Why you ask? Let me set the scene for you, dear
reader.

“Hi, my name is Quinn.”

“I’m Luke. Nice to meet you . You’re too hot for
speed dating.”

“Ah, thanks.” I blush and bat my eyelashes coyly
because this guy is hot. Black hair. Blue eyes. Tight white t-shirt that showed
his magnificent physique. I knew it was too good to be true.

“I’m a pastry chef and a journalist. Kind of
trying to decide between the two. What do you do?”

“I’m looking for a job. I just got done doing a
dime.”

“A what?”

“A ten year stretch.”

“Ah. So you were in the military? Cool. My
grandfather was in the military. What branch of service?”

“Nah. Not the military. I just got done serving
ten years in the state penitentiary. Armed robbery. But don’t worry because I’m
completely reformed. I got my G.E.D. and my college degree in marketing while
inside. I’m ready to start a new life with a good woman by my side.”

“Armed robbery,” I squeaked. I searched
frantically for a policeman, security guard, a granny with a gun in her purse.

“Don’t freak on me. I’m serious about turning over
a new leaf. Just ask my parole officer. You’re gonna meet him. He’s at the next
table.”

I didn’t wait for the timer. I grabbed my purse,
grabbed Frenemy and hit the door. I’m glad I didn’t give the guy my last name.
Even so, I put a chair under my front door for good measure.

Until next time, dear reader, goodnight and good
luck in love.

Comments:

CourtneylovesTom: Yikes! I almost went to this
tonight. Glad I dodged that bullet! Better luck next time.

QuinnieBee: Thanks. I don’t think I’ll try speed
dating again. Not really my thing.

Shawnalovesboys: Girlfriend, did you wear that
orange shirt I gave you because you would have had better luck if you had.
Orange is lucky for love.

QuinnieBee: Yes, I did, and no, it clearly is not.
Orange is also the color of the jumpsuits at the county jail. Hmm…Coincidence?
I think not.

Grayson14: Hi. My friends and I saw your picture
and if that’s really you in the picture you’re hot. We want to know why you
can’t get a date.

QuinnieBee: I ask myself that very question every day.

Grayson14: If you’re still single when I’m a
senior, will you go to prom with me?

  
QuinnieBee:
Sure.

  
      
Grayson14: Do I get to touch you?

QuinnieBee: Isn’t it past your bedtime?

Dreambuilder: So you like dark hair and blue eyes?

QuinnieBee: Not necessarily. I don’t have a type
when it comes to looks. I like a guy who is funny and smart. No artists. No
musicians. Other than that, I’m not particular.

         
Dreambuilder:
Good to know.

Chapter Twelve

Quinn spent the rest of the week in a haze of flour,
cocoa powder and yeast. Hanrahan’s was booked solid for the week with
reservations, so Quinn spent her afternoons and evenings that week sorting
through her Grandma Rose’s recipe box to add new items to her dessert
repertoire. On Thursday afternoon, she decided to take a detour on her way home
and went to Mary’s Garden Home to visit her grandmother.

The assisted living apartments they had moved her
Grandma Rose to were very nice. Each resident had their own apartment with a
kitchenette; however, it was still difficult for Quinn to see Grandma Rose in
new surroundings. She missed the scarred wooden floors and outdated cabinets of
her Grandma’s house. It was where she spent much of her childhood while her
parents were busy working. Quinn, Grandma Rose and her Uncle Patrick would cook
and sing up a storm in the evenings. Quinn knew every dirty Irish limerick and
pub song much to her grandmother’s chagrin and her uncle’s amusement. Uncle
Pat’s sense of humor sometimes drove his mother to rap him gently on his
knuckles with her wooden spoon and admonish him to “stop teaching the child to
sing those dirty ditties!” Quinn smiled at the memory.

She knocked on her grandmother’s apartment door.
She waited a moment and knocked again. When she still had no answer, she headed
to the community house in the center of the assisted living complex. Seniors
could play cards, dance, watch movies or just sit and visit. Quinn knew her
grandmother loved her card games. Hopefully she wasn’t fleecing her fellow
residents of their pensions.

She spotted her grandmother sitting with an older
gentleman in the solarium. They were listening to music and appeared deep in
conversation. Her grandmother’s face lit up at the sight of her. Quinn leaned
down and kissed her on her cheek, then sat down at the table.

“Quinnie Bee! What brings you to visit my tired,
old bones on this beautiful fall afternoon?” Grandma Rose asked. “I’m glad of
the visit, mind you. Gives me a break from all these old timers.”

“Hey now. I’m one of those old timers!” The older
gentleman sitting with Grandma Rose protested.

“Harold, I’m not talking about you.” Grandma Rose
patted him on the hand, then to Quinn said sotto voce, “Actually, I am.”

Quinn grinned and held out her hand to Harold.
“I’m Quinn Daniels, Rose’s granddaughter. Nice to meet you.”

“Harold Vogelstein. Pleasure to meet you, too.
Nice to finally see a pretty face around here.” He winked at Quinn, then turned
an innocent face towards Rose.

“Touché. So, Quinnie Bee, what brings you out
today?”

“Nothing special. Just missing you. I’ve been
helping Uncle Pat out at the restaurant. He has me working as the pastry chef
while Jenny recovers from a broken leg. I’ve been using some of your recipes.”

“Patrick told me you’d been helping out. He also
told me what a great job you’re doing. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Grandma. I learned everything from you.”
Quinn blushed at her grandmother’s praise.

“He also told me he suggested you go to culinary
school. Mind you, I never had to go to school to learn how to cook, but these
days, a restaurant likes to hire someone with initials behind their name.”

“I don’t know. Mom and Dad spent so much money
sending me to college. I think it would break their hearts if I chucked it all
and became a chef.”

“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.”