The Romance Report (10 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

Zach and Quinn picked up sandwiches at the deli
and rode the few remaining blocks home. When Quinn started to climb the stairs
to her apartment, she gave a sharp gasp of pain. Holy cow her calves hurt!

“After we eat, you should soak in a warm bath with
Epsom salt,” Zach advised her. “Here, I’ll help you up the stairs. I promise it
will only hurt for a few days.”

“Great. How come you’re not praying for an early
death from pain?” Quinn grumbled.

“I go climbing at least once a week. With my job,
I have to be able to climb around in tight spaces and so I do rock climb for
fun and for work.”

“Artists climb rocks? What are you? Some kind of
New Age artist or something?” Quinn was confused. She tried to imagine Zach
painting while climbing around on a large canvas.

“What made you think I was an artist? I do
historic restoration of buildings,” Zach said.

“Oh.” Quinn felt her face grow hot with
embarrassment and confusion. “Um…I saw drawings in your apartment when I fed
your fish. I assumed you worked as an artist.”

Zach laughed. “I like food too much to starve for
my art. No, I’m not an artist although I do draw and paint as a hobby. I actually
own my own company, Taylor Historical Restorations. I work from home when I’m
not on site.”

Quinn opened the door to her apartment and Zach
helped her hobble to her couch. She plopped down and sighed as her calves went
from screaming to a constant whimper. “Ah. Sweet relief. Historical restoration
sounds interesting, but how come you rock climb for work?”

“Have you ever been on the outside of a
two-hundred year old church steeple? You need to have no fear of heights and
you better know how to get down from the outside if you need to. A lot of my
work comes from historical associations and churches. I’m an architect with a
background in art history. I even work on cemetery mausoleums sometimes.”

“I’m impressed. Here I thought you were a starving
artist, and you’re an actual professional with a real career and everything,”
Quinn said. She struggled to get up. “Let me grab some plates and we can eat
those sandwiches. I’m starving.”

Zach motioned for her to stay put. “I’ll get the
plates and sandwiches. Just point me in the right direction. Kitchens and I may
not be on a first name basis, but I can plate a sandwich. I travel a lot so the
need to cook rarely comes into play.”

Quinn told him where her plates were. A few
minutes later, Zach presented her with a sandwich, chips and a large pickle
spear. “One roast beef sandwich with horseradish. What would you like to
drink?”

“There’s a bottle of white wine chilling in my
refrigerator. Do you mind opening it and pouring me a glass? Maybe it will
relax my muscles.”

“I live to serve beautiful women.” Zach bowed and
went back into the kitchen. A moment later he returned with two glasses of wine
and his sandwich on a plate balanced on his forearm.

“Uncle Patrick needs you to work at the
restaurant,” Quinn observed. She took a big bite of her sandwich. It was
delicious. It had just the right amount of horseradish and cheddar cheese to
light up her taste buds without overwhelming the roast beef.

“I waited tables in college. I was lucky enough to
get a scholarship to pay my tuition, but I needed spending money. I got a job
at a local pizza place,” Zach explained. “Good sandwich. I’m glad you suggested
I try the Muenster cheese. I’ve never had it. I’ve always been a Swiss or
American cheese kind of guy. Simple tastes.”

“Stick with me and you won’t go wrong.”

“Deal. Quinn, you really impressed me out on the
wall. You were scared and you could’ve gone back down, but you didn’t.”

“I’m actually impressed with myself. A few months
ago, I wouldn’t have even tried to climb that wall. Thanks for taking me.”

“Here’s to Quinn 2.0.” Zach raised his glass of
wine.

“To Quinn 2.0,” Quinn agreed, touching her wine
glass to his.

They say in companionable silence for the next few
minutes eating their sandwiches. Quinn felt comfortable sitting on her couch
next to him. She ate the last bite of her sandwich and picked up her pickle.
“No sandwich is complete without a dill pickle wrapped in paper to top it all
off.”

“Agreed. I couldn’t date a girl who gave me her
pickle. It shows a complete lack of character and taste,” Zach joked. “I’ll
give you a raincheck on the telescope. Why don’t we save that until next
weekend when you aren’t hobbling around like a ninety-year old.”

“Hey. I’m not in that bad of shape. Lifting big
sacks of flour and sugar at the restaurant keep me in prime fighting
condition.” Quinn held her fists up and circled them around like a boxer. “I
don’t want to climb the ladder to the rooftop right now though. I doubt I could
grasp the rungs.”

“I warned you that climbing would find muscles you
didn’t know you had.”

“I could have gone a lifetime without meeting
those muscles.”

“Does that mean you won’t go climbing with me
again?”

“Nope. It means next time, I’ll be better
prepared.”

Zach’s face broke into a grin. “If you’re serious,
I can take you climbing on some real cliffs down by the Chesapeake Bay. It’s
about a two hour drive from here, but it is well worth it.”

“Whoa. Slow down. Let me work my way up to the
real climbing. For right now, I’ll stick with the plastic wall and the safety
mat,” Quinn said.

“I’d better get going and let you go soak your
legs.” He stood up and gathered up their plates to take to the kitchen. “I’ll
see you later, Quinn. Thanks for spending the afternoon with me. It was nice.”

Later, as Quinn sat soaking in the hottest water
she could stand with some lavender-infused Epsom salt, she thought about Zach.
Not an artist, she mused.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Quinn crawled her way out of bed the next morning.
Although the hot bath had helped, she still hurt in her legs and upper arms.
She knew the day was going to be a tough one at work. Downing two ibuprofen,
she grabbed a protein bar and poured some juice into a to-go cup. If she was
going to climb a cliff wall with Zach she needed to get into better shape. She
grabbed her purse and keys and realized that she didn’t have her cell phone.
Searching her apartment, she found it had dropped between her sofa cushions.
The low battery warning blinked at her. She had two text messages. The first
one was from Doug. She opened it.

“Hi. Had a great time on our date. I can’t wait to
see you again this weekend.” Quinn did a little foot dance of happiness until
her legs reminded her that they were still angry with her. The second message
was from Sean asking her to come to his show on Friday night.

She tapped a quick affirmative to Sean’s request,
then thought about what she should say in response to Doug. A moment later, she
typed, “I had a great time, too. Call me this evening.” She debated whether she
should include a smiley face, but decided that emoticons were not sexy or part
of her new grownup persona.

Quinn spent the day moving at half her normal
speed at work. When her uncle asked her if she was ill, she told him that she
must be mentally ill for trying to fly before she could walk.

“I don’t know what that means,” Uncle Patrick gave
her a quizzical look.

“It’s a long story. Suffice it to say, I’m out of
shape,” Quinn replied. She had chosen a simple berry cobbler and salted caramel
brownies with a whiskey sauce for the dessert choice that evening. She whisked
the dry ingredients together for the cobbler.

“Yoohoo. Anyone back here?” Anne Daniels called
out.

“Over here, Mom.” Quinn gave her uncle a
questioning look. He shook his head and mouthed a negative.

 
“There you
are, Patrick. I tried calling your cell phone, but it went straight to
voicemail,” Anne complained. She smoothed hands down her black pants and looked
around the kitchen. “Looks like you’ve been busy this morning, darling. Is that
Ma’s berry cobbler recipe?”

“It is,” Quinn said. “I’m trying to use as many of
Grandma Rose’s recipes here as possible. Comfort food.”

“It certainly is. Make sure you don’t taste your
wares though. A minute on the lips and it’s forever on the hips,” Anne quoted.
“Patrick, I’ve got the final guest list for Ma’s party. I wanted to talk to you
about decorations.”

“Let’s go into my office and talk about it so
we’re out of Quinn’s way,” Patrick steered his sister away from the bags of
flour and towards his office on the other side of the kitchen.

“Sure. Quinn, you look a little tired. Are you
getting enough sleep? Patrick’s not working you too hard is he?”

“I went climbing yesterday, Mom. I’m a little worn
out, but I’m fine.”

“Why on earth would you do something like that?
It’s incredibly dangerous. Stick with tennis if you want a sport,” Anne
advised.

“Because a ball coming at your face is so much
safer,” Patrick said dryly. “Come on, Anne. Let’s go look at your list.”

Anne gave one last hard look at Quinn then
followed her brother. Quinn shook her head. She thought that she would drop
dead from shock if her mother ever said anything supportive. Her cell phone
buzzed in her pants pocket. Wiping her floured hands on her apron, she dug it
out to answer.

“Hello?”

“Quinn? It’s Sean. How’s tricks making the
treats?”

“Good. What’s up? You never call me this early on
a weekday.”

“Can’t I just call to check on my friend? Sheesh,
such a Doubting Dora.” Sean clucked his tongue.

“Sean, you don’t get out of bed before noon and we
both know it. Spill.”

“I need a favor. It’s actually doing you a favor,
too.”

“Men are just asking me for all sorts of favors
this week. Is it my perfume?” Quinn said only half in jest.

“Well, my favor means you coming to the club
tonight to be a friend of mine’s date.”

“Why?”

“I thought you were on board with this new search
for romance. I’ve found a nice guy who isn’t a serial killer or newly released
from Attica.”

“I am on board. I had a great date with Doug on
Sunday night and he wants to go out again. I’m even going on a pretend date
with Zach tomorrow. My social calendar is so full, I may have to pencil in my
Sean time for weeks in advance.”

Sean sniffed. “I’m glad your school boy wasn’t a
total disaster, but I already told Ricardo that you would meet him at the club
at eight tonight. Please, Quinnie Bear, do me this favor. He really is a nice
guy and it won’t be a wasted evening.”

“I’ll do it, but only if you tell me why it’s so
important I go on this date with your friend.”

Sean was silent on the other end for a moment.
“Okay. Here’s the deal. He’s actually my cousin and he knows I’m gay. He saw
you and I together one day and asked me about you. He threatened to tell
Abuela
about me if I didn’t set him up on a date with you. Please, Quinn,” Sean
begged, “say you’ll do this. It would break my grandmother’s heart to find out
about me.”

Quinn could hear the fear in Sean’s voice. “Fine.
I’ll go out with him, but I’m taking Indie. One date. That’s all,” Quinn said
firmly. “I’m going to be such a bitch that he’ll get over his little crush on
me and never want to see me again.”

“Fair enough,” Sean sighed in relief. “Quinn,
don’t be too bitchy. My Aunt Lucia is hard as nails, and Ricardo’s a mama’s
boy. You might actually turn him on. He probably visits Dark Dreams on a weekly
basis and has someone call him Ricky Boy.”

“Wonderful. Thanks for the nightmare. I have to
get back to work now. Call Indie and give her the rundown on the plans for
tonight.”

“I will,” Sean said. “I really appreciate this
Quinn.”

Quinn disconnected. She needed to think of a way
to make sure Ricardo ended this evening’s date thoroughly turned off. She had
to be careful though because he couldn’t disclose Sean’s secret. She walked to
the large cooler and grabbed out a large tub of butter for her cobbler. As she
measured out the scoops of butter into a large pan to melt, she had a sudden
burst of inspiration. Now if she could only get Indie to agree.

That evening, Indie was sitting on a chair on
Quinn’s deck. “Do you really think this will work?” Indie asked. She wrinkled
her nose in distaste as Quinn slowly peeled the paper away from Indie’s
forearm.

“It has to work. The last thing I need is Sean’s
creepy cousin stalking me for the rest of my life.” She blew on Indie’s arm. “I
think it’s done. Go check it out in the mirror. You look bad to the bone.”

“I look like an elf with identity issues,” Indie
grumbled. She walked into the bathroom and flexed her bicep. The temporary
tattoo Quinn had affixed to Indie’s arm read, “I brake for bitches” in a circle
around two women riding a motorcycle. Quinn had spent all afternoon searching
bike shops and alternative stores to find the right props for the evening.

“Okay. Now you need to do mine,” Quinn said. She
started to loosen the tie to her yoga pants.

“Whoa!” Indie held up her hands. “Stop right
there. I think you’re pretty and we’re good friends, but I am not touching your
butt.”

“I don’t want you to put a tattoo on my rear end,
weirdo. How’s Ricardo going to see it? I want you to put it in the small of my
back. A tramp stamp.”

“Oh,” Indie said. “Don’t I feel awkward now.”

Quinn finished loosening her pants and rolled the
top down so Indie could apply the tattoo. Fifteen minutes later, Quinn stood on
her tiptoes looking at her butt in the mirror. In the small of her back was a
tattoo of a cat arching it’s back.

“How come you got the cool tattoo?” Indie
complained.

“Because I’m the girl in this relationship,” Quinn
explained.

“You do realize how insulting that is, right?”

“I’m sorry. I get the cat in honor of Fat Panther.
It kind of looks like him before he got fat and lazy.”

“Fine, but you have to wear the leather fringe
vest. I don’t wear dead animals.” Indie handed her the black fringe vest Quinn
had found at Goodwill. The store had been a treasure trove of bad fashion from
the eighties. Quinn felt it fit her biker chick alter ego for the evening.

She grabbed the vest and went into her room to
change. “Remember that we’ve been seeing each
 
other off and on since college. Right now, we’re on again. Make sure you
call Ricardo’s manliness into question. We want to make sure he never wants
contact with me again. If we’re lucky, he’ll be so embarrassed that he won’t
want to see Sean in the foreseeable future either.”

“Is it okay if I call you Sugar Britches?” Indie
called.

“Whatever floats your boat, Sugar Booger,” Quinn
shot back. She walked out into the living room and twirled around. The fringes
of the vest spun around her like brushes at an automatic car wash.

“You look like you came out of a Stevie Nicks’
video,” Indie said. “I like the suede boots. Nice touch.”

“Who is Stevie Nicks?” Quinn asked.

“Your parents totally neglected your musical
education, didn’t they? What do they listen to? Opera?”

“You know what? I don’t really know. They were on
the road when I was little and by the time they stayed stateside, I was a
teenager. Grandma Rose listened to Chubby Checkers, Elvis, Doris Day, all the
popular music from the fifties and early sixties. I’m a little gray on the
music of the seventies and eighties.”

“You need to come to the commune. My parents have
a huge album collection. They kept every record, cassette and eight track they
ever bought.”

“I thought living on a commune meant sharing
possessions and giving up consumerism.”

“They share the music with everyone else. Somehow
they found a moral loophole in the commune’s anti-consumer stance. Music is
food for the soul according to Sunbeam, the head guru out there.”

“We need to get going, Sugar Booger,” Quinn said.

Indie cringed and gave Quinn a dirty look. “You and
Sean better buy me breakfast this Sunday.”

“You? Sean better buy both of us breakfast for the
next month.” Quinn locked her apartment door and started down the stairs. As
luck would have it, Zach was standing on the sidewalk as they exited the
building.

“Costume party?” He raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a long story. We’re trying to rescue Sean
from being outed to Mrs. Garza and I’m rescuing Quinn from a guy with the hots
for her.”

“This isn’t Sean’s cousin, Ricardo, is it?” Zach
asked, concern in his eyes.

“Yeah, it is. How did you know?” Quinn asked.

“I ran into him in the hallway the other day. He
had Sean cornered. When I asked Sean about it, he blew it off. He said Ricardo
threatened to tell his grandmother about what he really did for a living. I had
no idea he was interested in you, Quinn. I’d be careful if I were you. He
didn’t seem like the kind of person you want to cross.”

“I’ve come up with the perfect plan to make him
find me utterly unappealing. Meet my biker babe, Indigo Skye. I’m her honey bunny
for the evening. Look. We even got tatted up for the night.” Quinn turned
around and stuck her butt out slightly.

“Nice view, but please tell me those aren’t real,”
Zach laughed.

“What?” Indie pretended to be hurt. “You don’t
like my biker tats? What nerve!”

“They wash off,” Quinn explained. “We wanted to
make sure he believed us.”

“Good luck. I’ll see you tomorrow for our date,
Quinn.” He waved goodbye and walked into the building.

“You have a date with Zach? You didn’t tell me.”
Indie nudged Quinn with her hip. “I thought you loved me.”

“Ha ha. It’s not a real date. He’s trying to make
his friend stop setting him up on dates. I’m his fake girlfriend.”

“Ah. Like I’m your fake girlfriend.”

“Exactly.”

“Life was so much simpler on the commune,” Indie
said wistfully.

“It wasn’t my idea to initiate Operation
Quinnover. Now that I’m a hot dating commodity…”

“Yeah yeah. Just get in my car and let’s go.”
Indie laughed.