The Romance Report Page 4

  “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.”

  “You’d better answer. It might be the date that changes your luck with love. I’ll talk to you later,” Zach said and stood up to walk back inside.

  Quinn wiggled her fingers goodbye and punched answer on her phone. “Indie, before you tell me about the guy, let me tell you about my first day on the job.” She glanced up at Zach as he entered their building. Had she imagined the disappointed look on his face when she mentioned her date? Shaking her head at the random thought, she started to tell Indie about baking bread, chocolate and Guinness.

  Chapter Six

  Saturday afternoon, Quinn rushed home from Hanrahan’s to get ready for her date that evening. Although she had sworn off dating, she found herself excited at the possibility that she might actually meet a nice guy. Indie refused to let Quinn know anything more about Paul.

  “If I tell you anything, you’ll come with a preconceived notion of what he’s like. I want you to promise me you’ll keep an open mind. From all of my background checks, he seems like a nice guy. No criminal history. No crazy exes posting threats on his Facebook. We’re supposed to meet him at a club called Dark Dreams at eight. He said the club caters to an edgy clientele, so those leather pants Sean gave you are perfect,” Indie informed Quinn that morning.

  Now, Quinn held the leather pants in front of her and considered picking something else from her closet. Weren’t leather pants retro? Maybe some black capris and a black lace blouse instead.

  “No,” Quinn said to herself. “You promised to try new things and change it up. So here goes nothing.” She stepped into the pants and pulled them up and stopped. They were stuck on her thighs. She tugged them off and looked at the tag. They were a size ten which was her size. She’d actually dropped five pounds from the heat of working in the kitchen at the restaurant. Leather pants didn’t have as much give as denim. Maybe she just needed to tug them up harder. She stepped into the pants again. This time she yanked hard when they got to her thighs. Although they came up to her hips, they were still a little too tight.

  “Maybe I just need to put some lotion on my legs,” Quinn said to her cat, Fat Panther. She walked into her bathroom and grabbed a tube off the counter. She tried to squeeze some into her hand. Only a small blob oozed out. Tossing it into the trash, she dug through her bathroom vanity looking for another tube. “Dang it! Any other time and I’d have fifty half-empty bottles of lotion, but when I need it…”

  Quinn hurried into the kitchen. Maybe she had some by the sink for when she finished washing dishes. Aha! A small bottle sat next to the spigot. She pumped the spout a few times and a dried plug of lotion shot out followed by air. Twisting the lid off, she tapped it against her palm to eke out the last few dregs. Nothing but a small smear came out of the bottle. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Quinn opened her refrigerator and pulled out a stick of butter. “A cook’s best friend is butter and bacon grease. Let’s see if they’re right.”

  Quinn dashed back into her bedroom and unwrapped the stick of butter. She slowly swiped it from her ankles to her hips. Once she had completely covered her outer thighs, she tried the leather pants again. This time they slipped easily over her thighs. She grabbed a bottle of her favorite perfume from her bureau and spritzed it behind her ears and on her wrists. She sprayed some into the air in front of her and walked through the mist. “Just in case the butter smell comes through,” Quinn said to the cat. Fat Panther gazed unblinking from his perch at the end of her bed. “Fatty, you don’t understand the pressure of looking good when you’re a girl. All you have to do is lick your butt and wash your paws and you are Joe Stud with the felines.”

  Quinn slipped on a ruby red silk blouse Sean had picked for her and buttoned it shut. A final critical look at her makeup and hair and she was ready to go. She was supposed to meet Indie out front at seven thirty, so she still had a few minutes to spare. She headed down the stairs at a leisurely pace determined not to mow Zach over again. As she came to the ground floor, she saw Mrs. Garza carrying two grocery bags and struggling to unlock her door. “Let me help,” Quinn said, grabbing the bags of food.

  “Gracias, mija. God did not mean for us to have more than two hands, but sometimes I wish he did. You look nice. Are you going on a date with a young man?”

  “Thank you. Indie is taking me to a meet a guy. It’s kind of a blind date.”

  Reyna Garza clucked her disapproval. “In Mexico, a young girl was courted by a man her family knew and approved of. Blind dates. Girls in my day did not go on blind dates, or if they did, it was kept secret. Young Americans want fireworks and romance. A relationship should not be about stars in a girl’s eyes. I might be old, but I know a thing or two about love. Más sabe el diablo por viejo que por diablo. A relationship should be based on trust and friendship.”

  “You’re right, Mrs. Garza, but I promised Indie I would at least meet this man,” Quinn said.

  “I have a handsome and single grandson you could date. He’s a good boy and you’re already friends.”

  “Um…but Sean’s not really my type and I don’t think I’m his,” Quinn protested weakly. She wasn’t going to be the one to tell her that her beloved grandson was a burlesque dancer who preferred the company of men rather than women. “Don’t get me wrong. Sean’s a great guy. He’s funny, smart and handsome.”

  “Sean. If his mother knew he’d changed his name to sound more like a gringo, she’d be crying with the angels. Juan Carlos is a good name. It’s a strong name for a strong man,” Mrs. Garza huffed.

  “Yes ma’am, it is,” Quinn said as she eased towards the door. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Garza, but I’m going to be late meeting Indie. I’ll see you later. Have a good evening.”

  Mrs. Garza made the sign of the cross over Quinn. “Be safe, mija, and don’t cross Juan Carlos off your list yet.”

  Quinn hurried out the door before she said the wrong thing. Her timing was perfect. Indie pulled to the curb in her 1970 VW. Indie inherited Herbie the Love Bug from her parents. The commune had a van, so the car sat unused in a barn for years. Despite his many dents and scratches, he started every time and was great for parking in the crowded downtown parking lots.

  “You look great!” Indie exclaimed. “Between the new hair and the clothes, your own mother might not recognize you.”

  “One can only hope,” Quinn remarked. “I’ve ducked her calls for weeks now. She is livid over the Tad restaurant incident.”

  “She’ll get over it. Twenty years from now.”

  “If she doesn’t, she doesn’t.”

  “Listen to you being independent and rebellious. You go, girl. We’re supposed to meet Paul inside the club. Remember, he thinks you’ve been chatting with him online the whole time. I kept the conversations pretty neutral. He’s allergic to shellfish, likes 1980s rock music and has a Bassett hound named Theodore.”

  “Sucks about the shellfish because I love lobster and crab. I can live with the musical taste. Basset hounds smell bad. They’re cute, but they smell like dog.”

  “Hello? They are dogs. Dogs smell like dogs. Cats smell like cats. I think they cover these facts in elementary school. Since I never went to elementary school, I could be wrong but…”

  “You know what I mean. Some dogs smell worse than others. If I end
up marrying the guy, my apartment will smell like Basset hound and be covered with slobber.”

  “Let’s get through the first date before you start worrying about pets and living arrangements, shall we?” Indie turned onto a side street. She whipped Herbie into a parking spot that in Quinn’s mind should only fit a bicycle. “The club’s right down the street.”

  Quinn climbed out of the small car and checked her lip gloss in the side mirror. “I’ll keep my mouth shut about the dog, but if he asks to bring Theodore over to my place, I can’t be held liable for what Fat Panther does to it.”

  Indie laughed. “That cat could probably take down a grizzly bear.” She walked down the street towards Dark Dreams. Quinn had to practically run to keep up. As short as Indie was, her little legs moved at a breakneck speed.

  “Slow down! I’m going to be sweaty and out of breath by the time we get there,” Quinn protested. “High heels are not my friend, but these pants would look silly with tennis shoes.”

  Indie waited for Quinn at the end of the block. “Quinn, what’s up with that?” Indie pointed at the sidewalk behind Quinn. Quinn stopped and turned. When she did, two stray cats, who had clearly been following her, dashed up and began to lick her ankles.

  “What the…? Get away!” Quinn nudged the cats away from her legs. “Ugh. I like cats, but this is ridiculous!”

  “What are you? The cat whisperer?” Indie asked. “They won’t stop trying to lick you.”

  “Oh crap on a cracker. You know what? It’s the butter,” Quinn said. She gently pushed the cats away again with her foot.

  “Butter?”

  “I couldn’t get these pants over my thighs, and I was out of lotion. I used butter,” Quinn explained. She tried to shoo the cats away with her hands. In desperation, she zigzagged down the sidewalk like a drunken sailor to confuse them.

  Indie laughed and said, “I wish I had a video of that. It puts the butter on its skin. My grandma puts butter all over her Thanksgiving turkey. When we’re done here, I can find a big oven and roast you like a Butterball.”