The Romance Report (3 page)

“Which is why I set up your profile on True
Hearts. They run background checks and charge big bucks for their services. It
tends to cut out the creeps and cheapskates. Just try it. You might find your
true love through True Hearts and record a testimonial for their commercials!
You need a job. It could be extra cash!”

“Ugh. No thank you. One date and that’s all. I
should swear off men for life anyway. My luck with men has been depressing,”
Quinn said.

Sean gave a grunt of annoyance. “All this jibber
jabber is messing up my genius and making her face move. Zip it!”

 
A few
minutes later, Sean set the tweezers aside and sighed. “My masterpiece is done.
You can safely go back to Marlowe’s because no one will recognize you.”

Quinn opened her eyes and looked in the mirror
Sean held in his hand. Her black locks were transformed into natural chestnut
brown waves that curled around her face making it appear slimmer. Her silver-gray
eyes seemed larger now that her brows had been plucked into submission. She
turned her head to get a better look at the haircut. She had to admit that Sean
did amazing work. Her hair was shorter, but still waved down to her shoulders
so she could pull it up into a ponytail. “I love it,” she admitted. She let out
a small whoop of happiness and stood up. “I’m bringing hotness back…don’t worry
baby, I don’t wear no black…” Quinn sang and danced her way into the kitchen to
refill her glass. “Now about this apartment…”

chapter four

  
“I can’t
believe your grandmother kept all this,” Indie said as she burrowed further
into the pile of boxes stacked in a dusty corner of the basement. A small
sneeze erupted from her as she emerged holding a brightly colored mask. “This
stuff is really cool. Kind of 1950s kitsch mixed with a Mexican flair.”

“My
abuelo
was a pack rat. He kept
everything left behind by the previous owners and the collection grew after
each old tenant moved,” Sean explained. He held up a bright blue lampshade. “This
would look amazing in your place, Quinn.”

“You think?” Quinn held up a black and white
framed photograph of the Eiffel Tower. “I kind of like this.”

Sean snatched the picture out of her hands. “We’re
trying to brighten your décor, not add to the current zebra color scheme.
Remember?”

“What if we put it in this awesome picture frame I
found? Groovy baby!” Indie emerged with a bright red frame and wore a pair of
round blue-shaded sunglasses circa John Lennon.

“Doable,” Quinn said. “Let’s throw a couple of
things in a box and take it upstairs. I don’t want to go into color overload so
early in my transformation.”

“Definitely need this retro afghan.” Sean held up
a chevron-patterned throw in shades of red, blue, green and yellow. “It’s like
a sarape on caffeine.”

Indie put the picture frame and a poster of Jerry
Garcia in the box. “The poster’s for me,” she explained. Although the Sixties
Revolution had missed them by a few years, Alison and Greg Skye managed to find
a commune in rural Virginia that survived the onslaught of the eighties. Indie
teethed on bean sprouts and homemade, chemical free cookies made from crunchy,
good-for-you ingredients. It wasn’t until her rebellious teenage years that she
made her stand and demanded the chance to go to public school. She wanted to see
how other teenagers lived. Her parents were firm believers that children should
be allowed to choose for themselves. They acquiesced, and Indie discovered her
true love in the form of a beat up high school computer. By the time she was
twenty-one and graduating from college, she was a veritable computer genius and
world-class hacker.

“Missed that bullet,” Quinn mumbled to herself.

“What? You’re kidding me, right? My parents are
big time Deadheads. Jerry Garcia was a genius,” Indie protested.

“I’m staying out of this catfight,” Sean said. He
added the blue lampshade and a silver-toned lamp to the box. “Carry the afghan,
Quinn, and we’ll head back up to start Operation Quinnover.”

“Quinnover? I need to mix better drinks if that’s
the best you can come up with. How about Operation Quinntastic or Quinn 2.0?”
Quinn grabbed the blanket and started up the stairs.

“I vote for Quinn 2.0,” Indie piped. She grabbed
up a lava lamp and an old denim rag rug she’d rescued from the basement and
followed Quinn.

“Or Quinnielicious?” Quinn said over her shoulder.
Quinn rounded the corner and ran straight into her new neighbor Zach.

“If I realized that a beautiful woman running into
my arms every day was included in the rent, I would have moved in here years
ago,” Zach chuckled. He grasped Quinn’s shoulders to steady her.

“I’m so sorry!” Quinn felt the blood rush straight
from her boots to her roots. “I, uh, was busy talking to my friends and wasn’t
watching where I was going.”

Sean stepped forward and held out his hand. “I’m
Sean Carlos. You and I met the other day when you came to get the keys to the
apartment.”

“I remember. Mrs. Garza is your grandmother. Nice
lady,” Zach said, shaking Sean’s hand. “Can I help carry anything? Is someone
moving in?” He lifted an inquiring eyebrow at Quinn and then looked at Indie.

“No. We’re doing a little redecorating. Zach, this
is my friend, Indie. Indie, my new neighbor, Zach Taylor.”

“If you’re not doing anything, you should come
help us redecorate Quinn’s apartment,” Sean suggested. “We are in the midst of
Operation Quinn 2.0. We could use an impartial opinion.”

“Operation Quinn 2.0?” Zach gave Sean a quizzical
look.

“Quinn is in desperate need of a boost to her love
life and career. Her nearest and dearest friends, Indie and yours truly, are
helping her out.”

Quinn prayed that the stairs beneath her would collapse
and plummet her back into the basement and away from where she stood. She
glared at Sean, but he yammered on as he led Zach up the final flight of stairs
to Quinn’s apartment. “Quinn’s adding some color to her apartment. It might
inspire her to perk up her love life.”

“I see,” Zach said slowly as he looked around the
apartment. “The place could definitely use a little brightening up. It’s…what’s
the word?”

“Boring?” Indie volunteered.

“Austere,” Zach said diplomatically. “Is the new
hairdo part of Quinn 2.0? If so, I like it.”

“Thanks,” Quinn ducked her head and tucked a
strand of her hair behind her ear. “Can I get you something to drink? Kicking
Mule? Smoky Mary?”

“Are those drinks or gang names for your friends
here?” Zach jerked a thumb at Sean and Indie who both plopped down on the
couch.

“Drinks. If you like tomatoes and jalapenos, you
should try my Smoky Mary.”

“Sure. I need a break from unpacking anyway.”

“So, Zach, are you single?” Sean asked. Quinn shot
daggers from the kitchen. Sean gave her his best “who me?” innocent look.

“I am currently between relationships,” Zach said
with a grin. “I’ve got too much on my plate with work and the move to date
right now.”

“Too bad. I was hoping I could persuade you to fix
Quinn’s disastrous love life,” Sean said.

Quinn cleared her throat. She glared at Sean and made
a slashing motion against her throat with her hand.

“I apologize for my friend, Sean. He’s in love
with love and thinks everyone needs a man in their life,” Indie explained to
Zach. “Quinn’s had a run of bad luck in the love department. Her career is
pretty much tanked, too. However, thanks to my mad computer skills and Sean’s
talent for bedazzling, her luck is about to change.”

“Seriously, guys? Please tell a stranger my whole
life story. Zach, you’re going to need a double if you hang around these two.”
Quinn handed Zach his drink.

“It’s okay. I have two younger sisters who both
got married this year. They’re constantly trying to set me up with their single
friends. I don’t have any plans to walk down the aisle in the near future and
it’s making them crazy. Me telling them that the right woman hasn’t come along
just adds fuel to their fire. Tell me something, Quinn. I’m curious to know
why
 
you’re cursed. Did you break a
mirror or walk under a ladder?” Zach joked. He took a sip of his drink.

“I’m not cursed. I
 
went on a date with a jerk and ended up getting fired because of it,”
Quinn replied.

“The guy she dated before that plays guitar on a
street corner for spare change and stole from her,” Sean said.

“And the guy she dated before that is going to end
up on America’s Most Wanted one day,” India chimed in. She shot Quinn an
apologetic look. “It’s true. He was sketchy.”

“Maybe you should give up on dating,” Zach said
with a smile. “Either that or get someone to remove the curse you’re under.”

“OMG! That’s it! I’m taking you to the
curandera
.
Someone’s cursed you!” Sean exclaimed then made the sign of the cross.

“Really? I don’t need a healer to uncurse me or
whatever you call it. I simply need to stay away from anything with a penis and
find a job.”

“You might not believe in them, but trust me when
I say that a
curandera
can take care of both those problems without
batting an eyelash,” Sean said.

“I’ll think I’ll leave before the man bashing
begins.” Zach set his empty glass on the
 
coffee table in front of him and stood up. “It was nice meeting you.
Quinn, I still owe you that coffee. No strings attached.”

Quinn walked him to her
 
apartment door. “Listen. I’m sorry my friends
were a little pushy. They mean well, but sometimes they get a little carried
away with their joking.”

“No problem. I have a few buddies like them. They’re
looking out for you. It’s not a bad thing. I better get back to unpacking. See
you later.”

Quinn closed the door behind him. “I can’t believe
you two pouncing on the new neighbor and trying to set him up with me!”

“I know, right? He is much too nice and employed
for you,” Sean said with a snarky grin. “I’m going to go ask the guy digging
through the dumpster in the alley if he’d like a nice dinner and movie with a
hot, young journalist. Much more your speed.”

“Hey now! Any more comments like that I’ll make
your next drink a virgin.”

“Oh, goody! I haven’t had one of those since I was
sixteen!”

“Ew. Instead of worrying about my love life, you
need to worry about the state of my bank account. If I don’t find a job, I
won’t be able to afford rent next month. I’ll have to move in with my parents.
I’d live in a box with the guy digging in the dumpster rather than listen to my
mother’s advice. Quinn, you shouldn’t wear red. It makes you look like a
raspberry. Quinn, ladies drink with a straw not from a glass. Quinn, why don’t
you go out with that nice investment banker who lives with his mother and
probably has dead bodies buried in his basement, but he’s from a good family
and has potential.”

“You sound just like your mom,” Indie laughed.
“You can always go live on the commune with my folks. They could use your help
picking the veggies and making rope hammocks.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll start looking for a
new job tomorrow. Worse comes to worst, I’ll scrub toilets at the No Tell
Motel. Anything is better than moving back home.”

“Tonight, however, my dearest Doom and Gloom
Queen, we’re going to have fun. Let’s bedazzle and jazz up this place. Come on,
ladies, let’s get our color vibe going,” Sean said and stuck the blue lampshade
on his head.

Chapter Five

  
Quinn
picked up the phone to call her Uncle Patrick. It had been three weeks since
she had been fired, and she still had no promising job leads.

  
“Quinnie
Bee! How are you?” Uncle Patrick boomed. He was a large man with a shock of
curly red hair. Despite having the frame of a dockworker, he moved with a grace
and speed in his kitchen that always amazed Quinn.

  
“Hi, Uncle
Pat. I’m good. Well, actually, not good. That’s why I’m calling. I got fired
and I desperately need a job. I’ll wash dishes, wait tables, scrub toilets.
Anything.”

  
Uncle
Patrick stayed silent for so long that Quinn thought she’d dropped the call.
“Uncle Pat?”

  
“I’m here.
Sorry. I was thanking my lucky stars. Do you remember Jenny, my pastry chef?
She fell on her way down her apartment stairs this morning and broke her leg.
She’ll be out of commission for the next six weeks at least, so I need a
temporary pastry chef.”

  
“Poor
Jenny! I’m not a pastry chef though,” Quinn said.

  
“You grew
up in the kitchen of my mother, the world’s best baker. Don’t tell me you
aren’t a pastry chef. You may not have gone to culinary school, but I think
you’ll do in a pinch. Get down here today because I’ve got a full house
tonight.”

  
“Alright.
I’ll be there in an hour. Thank you so much. I was about to call Mom and ask
her if I could move back home,” Quinn said.

  
“Heaven
forbid that day should ever come. I love my sister, but Anne could make the
Blessed Virgin cry with her nagging. I’ll see you in an hour.”

  
Quinn
ended the call and tossed her cell phone in her purse. If she was going to make
it across town in an hour, she needed to hurry. She tugged a black t-shirt over
her head and slipped on a pair of dark blue jeans. Although Sean had added some
bright pops of color to her wardrobe, old habits were hard to break. Looking at
her reflection in the mirror, Quinn decided to add a bright red headband. I can
tiptoe on the wild side with the color palette, Quinn thought. She grabbed her
purse and started to head out the door when her cell phone buzzed.

  
“Hello?”

  
“Quinn,
what are you doing this weekend?” Indie asked.

  
“Probably
working. I’m helping Uncle Pat out for the next few weeks. His pastry chef fell
and broke her leg.”

  
“Crud
biscuit. Have you logged on to your True Heart profile lately?”

  
“No. I
hadn’t even given it a second thought. I was serious when I said I didn’t want
to date.”

  
“I thought
as much, so I’ve been you the past few weeks. You got a heart request.”

“A what?” Quinn locked her apartment door behind
her and headed down the steps.

  
“A heart
request. It’s what True Hearts calls a request for a date,” Indie explained.
“You didn’t listen to me at all when I set this up, did you? Anyway, a guy asked
you for a date this weekend.”

  
“He’s a
total stranger. I don’t think I want to meet some guy I know nothing about for
a date. I’ll end up in a back alley dumpster wrapped in black plastic.”

  
“I’ve been
you.”

  
“What?
What do you mean?” Quinn shook her head in confusion. She walked towards the
bus stop a few blocks away from her apartment to catch the next bus heading
downtown.

  
“I’ve
chatted online with this guy pretending to be you. His name is Paul. He’s a
realtor here in Richmond. If his profile picture is accurate, he’s yummy.”

  
“I don’t
know, Indie,” Quinn said slowly. “His picture could be ten years old. He could
be bald and five-hundred pounds with a wife and a little dog named Patches.”

  
“I knew
you would say that so I hacked into…forget I said that…I’ve checked him out and
he’s legit. Single, good-looking, fairly successful. Thirty-two years old. One
date won’t kill you.”

  
“That’s
what Ted Bundy said,” Quinn responded. The bus for downtown was pulling to the
curb. “I’ve got to go. I’ll go, but it will have to be a meet-up for drinks
after I get off work on Saturday. Plus, you have to go with me, or I won’t do
it.”

  
“Great!
I’ll set it up and let you know where and when. I’ll even babysit you.”

  
“Gotta go,”
Quinn disconnected as she climbed onto the bus. A new job and a date. Maybe things
were looking up for her.

  
Twenty
minutes later, the bus dropped Quinn off a few blocks from Hanrahan’s, her
uncle’s bistro. She hurried inside and spotted her uncle looking over the
reservation book. “I’m here and ready to bake!” Quinn bounced up and gave him a
big hug. “You’ve saved my bacon. I really didn’t want to move back home.”

  
“You might
regret coming to work for me. I’m a harsh taskmaster when it comes to my
kitchen. I expect you to be on time and bake only the best desserts. Family or
no family, I’m going to have to treat you like everybody else or it’ll cause
problems in the back.”

  
“I
wouldn’t expect anything less from the world’s greatest chef,” Quinn said. She
was so happy to work even threats of imminent doom didn’t quell her joy. “What
would you like me to make for tonight’s dessert choices?”

  
Unlike
most restaurants, Hanrahan’s menu varied from day to day. Uncle Patrick scoured
the local markets and farms for only the freshest ingredients and based his
menu on the day’s finds. Although this often drove his kitchen staff to pull
out their hair, he had developed a reputation for some of the finest and
freshest cuisine in the city.

  
“I scored
some fresh oysters and shrimp from one of my fishermen friends, and one of the
local farms had a fresh supply of beef and lamb. I think a traditional
shepherd’s pie and some pasties from the lamb. I’m still thinking of what to do
with my seafood and beef. Surf and turf is much too old school for Hanrahan’s.
Why don’t you make Ma’s chocolate orange Guinness cake and some bread pudding
with whiskey sauce. I’ll also need about seventy-five dinner rolls for tonight
and some Irish soda bread. Think you can handle it?”

  
“Wow,
that’s a lot of rolls. I think I’ve only made twenty-five at a time before, but
I’ve got the rest no problem.”

  
“Jenny has
the conversion chart for the rolls hanging on the wall, so that should make it
easier for you.”

  
“Great. I’ll
get started.” Quinn followed her uncle into the back and stowed her bag in one
of the small lockers for employees. She grabbed a large white apron and tied it
around her waist. A quick glance at the shelves in front of her work space
eased some of her jitters. Jenny was an organized baker. All the large tubs
were clearly marked with ingredients. A large conversion chart with
measurements for Hanrahan’s breads and rolls was laminated and taped to the
wall.

  
Quinn
scrubbed her hands then chose a large metal bowl. She combined the flour, yeast,
salt and water for her rolls. She plunged her hands into the bowl and began to
mix the ingredients. Her hands became a sticky mess and as she continued to
mix, some of her worries from the past month lifted. She gave a few final stirs
with her hands, then she allowed the dough to rest for a few minutes while she
washed her hands again in the large stainless steel sink. Finding a large
silicone rolling mat under the counter, she laid it out and poured a small
amount of olive oil onto its surface. She plopped her dough out and stretched
and folded it a few times. The yeast and gluten began to work its magic and after
a few tugs, it became shiny and stretchy. She smelled the warm yeast and smiled
as she thought of memories from her childhood. Making bread was one of her
favorite things to do with her grandmother. She missed those moments. Grandma
Rose had become too fragile and ill to live at home by herself. Quinn knew that
there would be no more Sundays baking with her grandmother. A small tear
escaped and slid down her cheek.

  
“Enough of
your crying, Quinnie. You’ve got work to do,” Quinn said to herself. She covered
her dough with a flour cloth and busied herself mixing the ingredients for the
cake. Soon the whole kitchen filled with the scent of rising bread and warm
chocolate.

  
“Mmmm…smells
marvelous in here,” Uncle Patrick commented when he came to check on her
progress a few hours later. He seemed pleased with the rows of piping hot rolls
with their lightly browned crusts. Picking one up, he tore a chunk off and
popped into his mouth. “Don’t tell Ma, but I swear your bread is just a wee bit
better than hers.”

  
“Thanks,”
Quinn said, pleased. She blew a stray hair away from her face and wiped her
floured hands on the front of her apron. “Everything is done and ready for
tonight.”

  
“Fantastic.
You can head home and I’ll see you tomorrow morning. I’d like to have you in
here by no later than eight o’clock every morning so you’re done before the
rest of the crew arrives and takes over the kitchen. I was lucky you were able
to come in and save the day this afternoon, but I hate to cut it so close to
the dinner hour.”

  
“I’ll be
here,” Quinn said as she removed her apron and tossed it into the hamper near
her locker. She hugged her uncle again. “Thanks again for giving me a job, even
for the short term. It will hold me over until I can find something else and
Jenny is back on her feet.”

  
“That’s
what family is for,” Uncle Pat responded and lifted her into a bear hug.
“Besides, you’re my favorite niece.”

  
“I’m your
only niece,” Quinn laughed, “but I’ll take it!”

  
Quinn was
lucky and caught the bus back to her brownstone before it could pull away from
the curb. She walked the few blocks home as the sun sank slowly beneath the
horizon. She saw Zach sitting outside on the stoop and paused. He gazed up at
the darkening sky. Quinn sat down on the step next to him. “Hey there,
neighbor. Whatcha looking at?”

  
“Hey
there, yourself. I’m watching Venus,” Zach replied. He pointed at a bright spot
in the sky. “See that bright star there? That’s not actually a star. It’s the
planet Venus and right next to it is Jupiter.”

  
“That’s
really cool. I always thought they were just stars in the sky.”

  
“Most are,
but you can see a few of the planets with the naked eye. I’ve got a telescope
that Mrs. Garza said was okay if I set up on the roof sometimes, but its buried
under a few more boxes.”

  
“What got
you into stargazing?” Quinn asked. She could smell the faint pleasant smell of
his cologne. Something earthy with a touch of musk. She liked it.

  
“My
parents took my sisters and I camping in Maine every year. My dad was an
amateur astronomer, and we all learned about the different planets and stars.
Maybe one day I’ll do the same thing with my kids,” Zach said.

  
“I think
that’s nice,” Quinn said softly. “I wish my parents had taken me camping, but
they were traveling so much that when they had a break, they didn’t want to go
anywhere.”

  
“You’ve
never gone camping?”

  
“Never.
It’s okay though, I had a pretty decent childhood. I lived with my Grandma Rose
while my parents were out on the road chasing down news stories. They’re
reporters. Grandma would tell me stories about growing up in Ireland and
meeting my grandfather when he traveled to Dublin to study abroad a semester. They
fell in love, and at the end of the semester, they married and moved here. I
learned to cook and bake and I can drink a pint of Guinness with the best of
ya,” Quinn joked in an Irish brogue.

  
“I’ll take
you up on that challenge one day,” Zach laughed. He reached over and brushed
his hand across her cheek. “Sorry. You’ve got a bit of what looks like flour on
your face.”

  
Quinn
wiped at her face and grinned. “It is. I got a job working at my uncle’s
restaurant, Hanrahan’s, for the next few weeks. I’m filling in while the pastry
chef recovers from a broken leg.”

  
“That’s
good news. Uh, for you, not the chef, I mean. I’ve been to Hanrahan’s before.
It has the most amazing food. Your uncle owns it?”

  
“Yup.
Patrick Hanrahan is my mom’s brother. He and I spent time traveling all over
Europe gathering recipes and cooking techniques so he could incorporate them
into his restaurant.”

  
“Forget
camping. I’d love to eat my way through Europe. My cooking skills leave a lot
to be desired. Thank goodness for take-out and TV dinners.”

  
“Cooking’s
not hard. I could teach you a few basic things so you won’t starve to death,”
Quinn offered.

  
“I’d like
that. Maybe when I finally buy some pots and pans for my kitchen, you could
start teaching me.”

  
“Sure.
What do you do? I never got a chance to ask the other day.”

  
Zach
started to answer, but the insistent buzz of Quinn’s cell phone interrupted.
Glancing down, she saw Indie’s name on the screen. “I’m sorry, but I’d better
answer. Indie’s set me up on a date with some realtor for this weekend. She’s calling
me with the details.”