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Holding You Jewel E. Ann

 

 


 

 

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are purely coincidental.

 

Copyright © 2013 by Jewel E. Ann

 

All rights reserved.

 

Holding You © 2013

 

IBSN # 978-0-9913106-0-9

 


 

 

For my mom,
who first recognized the author in me.

 


Prologue

 

“Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.”

 

~Edna St. Vincent Millay

 

Why is my heart still beating? My body is numb and it’s the only thought floating through my mind. I’m dead, yet my heart still beats.

Ma’am? Is there someone we can call, family or friends?”

Th-thump, th-thump, th-thump. It’s the sound of limbo. My soul is desperate to leave my body but it doesn’t know where to go. Th-thump, th-thump, th-thump. It’s the last drops of water before the well runs dry. It’s the last seconds on the clock before the bomb ignites. It’s the final moment before being sucked into the abyss.

“Ma’am, we’re going to take you to the hospital and have you examined. You’ve inhaled a lot of smoke and we may need a chest x-ray and some blood tests.”

Th-thump, th-thump, th-thump … then total darkness.

 


CHAPTER ONE

 

“Here’s all you have to know about men and women: women are crazy, men are stupid. And the main reason women are crazy is that men are stupid.”

 

~George Carlin

 

Leaving the Midwest was my goal. I craved oceans and mountains. So when I got my big chance to make my escape, I loaded up the moving truck and said goodbye to Chicago and hello to … Milwaukee. My mom, God rest her soul, was right when she said, “Mother knows best,” and “bloom where you’re planted.” I’d spent all of my youth waiting for her to express her opinions on things so I could form my own. Mine being the opposite of hers.

At thirty-one I was settling into my new life, the one that started over after the crappy hand of cards I was dealt in my early twenties. Finding my purpose in life was overrated. Merely existing was enough. I focused on the moment by immersing myself in the lives of other people through volunteering and providing assistance for the less fortunate. It sparked a positive energy in me that I needed. At least, that’s what I envisioned. Seeing true hunger and families of five sleeping on the floors of rundown apartments gave me the necessary resolve to unofficially graduate myself to step five in the grieving process. Acceptance.

Milwaukee was magnificent in the spring. I loved living by the water. It wasn’t the Atlantic or Pacific, although Lake Michigan wasn’t a shabby body of water either. The majestic view never ceased to amaze me. Living so close to the water had become symbolic of my state of being, always teetering on the edge of drowning, a swaying pull from both directions.



Being a self-proclaimed free spirit, I never missed an opportunity to stop and smell the roses, or the lilacs in the spring. The connection I felt to nature and all life had magnified in intensity over the years. Sometimes it was a curse as much as it was a gift. My “connecting to nature” was often misconstrued as having my head in the clouds.

The crisp spring air seduced me. Closing my eyes, I raised my arms up like angel wings, tilted my head back to feel the glorious sun bathe my face, and inhaled a slow deep breath, taking a small moment of earthly pleasure as I smelled the most exquisite fragrance.

A horrifying clash of sounds jerked me back to reality. Expelling the air from my lungs, I felt as if the wind was literally being knocked out of me.

“ADDY, WATCH OUT!”

A car’s horn, screeching tires, a familiar voice.

I was drowning in sensory overload. The essence of lilac still filled my nose. A tingling chill washed across my skin, my vision was hazy from the sun, the salty taste of blood filled my mouth, and shouting voices vibrated through my ears.

“Adler Sage Brecken what are you doing?” Mac squealed in a winded panic.

My best friend’s face came into focus. Her green eyes were tight and brows furrowed behind a wispy curtain of windblown strawberry blonde locks. I struggled to decipher if her look was one of anger or concern. Her mouth was twisted into a grimace and it was never a good sign when she used my full name. I released my bloodied lip from my front teeth that had dug into it with the adrenaline rush. Taking another deep breath, I started to explain myself when my mind registered a deep angry voice coming toward me. I held up my finger to stop Mac from speaking and tilted my head in the direction of the sound. Although clearly agitated, the voice was laced with a hint of Spanish accent.

Did I just hear someone call me a spaced-off, seventies throw back, pot-smoking, dumb blonde? What the hell?

Looking down I realized I was standing in the street and, as if in slow motion, my peripheral vision picked up a pair of men’s black leather designer shoes just a few feet from me. Directly in front of me was a white SUV with the words Range Rover in chrome. Turning to my right, I homed in on a white linen, button-down shirt exposing the top of well-defined chest muscles covered in the perfect shade of olive skin. Glancing upward, my eyes captured a strong, sharp jaw line, ruddy lips pursed in a formidable line, a Roman sculpted nose, reflective chocolate eyes framed with thick long lashes, and a full head of disheveled black hair. As if I had all the time in the world, I finished my sight-seeing tour by working my way back down Michelangelo’s clothed version of David to those shoes that presumably cost more than most people’s monthly rent.

“Hello? What the hell is your deal?” David growled between his clenched teeth.

“She’s just got a lot on her plate today, sir, sorry for the near accident, glad everyone’s okay. Come on, Addy.” Mac huddled me to her side, looking over her shoulder at the almost accident, and pulled us toward the sidewalk.

I jerked away from her grip and crossed over into David’s personal space. My squinted blue eyes darted up to his firm dark gaze, demanding his attention.

“First, I was not spaced-off,” I call it meditation, “second, my style is organic and earthy, not seventies throw back,” maybe modern hippy, “third, I don’t smoke pot,” anymore, “and finally, I may be blonde, but I am NOT dumb!” I didn’t back down one inch, partly to prove I was a force to be reckoned with and partly because my nose had found a new fragrance. Despite the aphrodisiac effect it had on me, it was probably some ridiculously expensive cologne made from thousands of poisonous chemicals, and I cringed just thinking about the headache I would get from the toxic cocktail. However, in that moment my body was producing extra moisture in all the right places and everything about David was a heady combination. Especially that damn sexy accent.

“Well, I about ran your organic, earthy, smart-mouthed, blonde pigtailed, sexy ass over, Pippy,” he said with an arrogant smirk.

“You’re supposed to yield to pedestrians in the cross walk you egotistical, reckless maniac!” I spat in a knee-jerk reaction. Then my emotions regressed just long enough for my brain to catch up.

Sexy ass?

His eyebrows raised as he gripped both of my arms and turned me around. The cross walk is about fifteen yards that way, Pippy. Maybe you should think about using it next time to practice your role as Maria in the Sound of Music.”

Shit, shit, double shit!

 

 

The morning sun reflecting off the lake on one side and my brick building on the other. And sure enough, the stop light was another half a block up the street.

“Let’s go, Mac, we’re going to be late.” I tilted my chin up, threw my shoulders back, and walked back into Sage Leaf Café. After sneaking a quick glance back to see if Mac was coming, I noticed Mr. Tall Dark and Hot as Hell slipping on his sunglasses while pulling away from the curb in his “feed a small country for a day” SUV. Instantly, I felt a rush of relief wash over my body. That was until Mac walked through the door and donned her Cheshire Cat grin.

“OMG, LMFAO, Maria in the Sound of Music, did you catch that? That is what you looked like out there—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, whatever, and what’s with all the acronyms? What are you, twelve?” I grumbled over my shoulder as I walked toward the kitchen.

*

 

My small but growing business, Sage Leaf Café, was closed because we had landed a great catering gig at Zen Garden, Milwaukee’s newest “green” hotel. We were the only all-vegan café in Milwaukee. Five years earlier, I purchased an old two-story, red brick building that faced Lake Michigan. I hired a local green remodeling company to convert the main level into my café and the second story transformed into my loft. The café had a recessed entry framed by two large arched windows with green awnings and Sage Leaf Café in white with a light green sage leaf as the accent on café. The spacious interior had high ceilings with contemporary brushed steel fans and dark wood-stained LED pendant lamps. At the back was the kitchen and juice bar with glass refrigerated food displays and bar stools. The crisp white walls were tastefully decorated with environmental posters and quotes such as: Let food be thy medicine and medicine be thy food – Hippocrates; Nature does not hurry yet, everything is accomplished – Lao Tzu; and Environmentalism is about Right vs Wrong, not Right vs Left – Rustle the Leaf. Square tables made from dark-stained wood with brushed steel pedestals filled the middle. The chairs were salvaged from another restaurant that went out of business. We painted the wood light green and they looked brand new. Each table had a living centerpiece of either herbs or wheatgrass growing in a cubed glass container.

My loft was my sanctuary. The view of the lake was nothing short of stunning when the iridescent reflection of the sun shimmered across the surface like dancing diamonds. Every detail from the building materials to the interior design was feng shui’d. I’d spent many months checking the architectural salvage store for the perfect pieces to show up. Framed mirrors to dressers, coffee tables to coat trees, I was always in search of something that told me a story. Since I’d become so busy with my café I had to sweet talk Conner, the assistant manager, into calling me whenever pieces of possible interest came in. Conner was a muscle-bound, heavily inked, sex-on-legs guy, roughly ten years my junior, who had a bit of a crush on me and a definite appetite for my gourmet vegan cuisine. As long as I showed up wearing something sexy and carrying a brown bag of food, I was in like Flynn.

Eager to experience the beautiful essence of Lake Michigan at sunrise, I woke up at five every morning, except Sunday, and took a thirty minute jog on the lake path. Then in my east facing sunroom I flowed through an hour of yoga and fifteen minutes of meditation followed by hot tea, a shower, then down to my café for a green smoothie and to open up shop. Self-pity liked to rear its ugly head in the evening. I kept busy concocting new recipes, updating the café’s website and Facebook page, or reading. The closest thing I had to a social life was live performance nights at the café on Fridays and Saturdays. We stayed open until 11:00 p.m. and usually ended up with only standing room by ten. The patrons varied in age from early twenties to late fifties depending on the night’s entertainment.

I had enough employees to cover my shift if I wanted a night off, but I usually offered to stay until closing since it had become my safe social setting. The regular patrons felt like friends that I hung out with. We smiled and shared a few pleasantries. I made them delicious, organic, vegan food and drinks, and they fed my deflated ego with over-the-top compliments to the chef.

I casually flirted with lots of men, the twenty-somethings to forty-somethings. We kept the chitchat light and about them. Men loved to talk about themselves. This might have been a turnoff to most women, but for me it was a necessary requirement. The moment a guy got too inquisitive was the moment I found another customer to check on or an “emergency” in the kitchen that required my attention. That was never the real case since Sage Leaf Café was a well-oiled machine, with every employee as passionate and knowledgeable about healthy vegan food as I was. My employees thought getting a job at the café was harder than getting into an Ivy League school. Having received acceptance letters from most of the Ivy League schools, I didn’t think that said much. Then again, I wasn’t your average student.

My “virtual café dates” were great. No attachment, everybody went dutch for the meal, and the date ended by 11:00 p.m. when the OPEN sign flipped to CLOSED. I’d accumulated a box of napkins, business cards, and scratch paper with over a hundred names and numbers. I was flattered but never enough to call any of them. Mac joked that we should’ve converted the date offer box into a free lunch drawing, but we never did that either.

*

 

The morning’s unexpected events had put us a bit behind. Thankfully, I’d padded our schedule with an extra hour. Lizzy McDonald, one of my most loyal patrons, was part of the hotel’s management team. She oversaw accommodations for VIP requests. A supposed financial guru from Chicago was staying there and holding a meeting with local land developers and some bigwig city officials to talk about expanding green business trends in Milwaukee.

There was some local press coverage planned, so the VIP request was for an eco-friendly business to cater the lunch meeting. I highly doubted there would be a single vegan at the meeting, or vegetarian for that matter, but I knew our menu would still be a huge hit; not because I was overly confident or conceited, but rather from years of experience with carnivores, herbivores, and omnivores alike raving about my made-from-scratch creations.

“So, Addy, want to talk about what just happened outside?” Mac asked with the most devilish grin, curly strawberry blonde hair wild and untamed—like her personality—framing her face.

“No, I want to finish packing all this food and bag the fresh garnishing herbs so we stay on schedule … anyway there is nothing to discuss,” I mumbled while avoiding all eye contact.

Mackenzie “Mac” had been my best friend since college. Her twiggy figure had at least three inches on my conservative five foot six somewhat curvy stature. We met our freshman year at a peaceful protest in front of the University of Chicago’s Student Union. There were over two hundred students there that day demanding the school source their meat from small local farms instead of large factory farms. It was friendship at first sight. I was wearing a “Runs on Veggies” T-shirt and she was wearing a “What the Kale?!?” tank top. We of course were not supporting meat consumption from any farm, but rather a step in the right direction. Our make love, not war brains believed the logical step after local farms was veganism.

Twelve years later we were still two peas in a pod, two kale leaves from the same plant. Our relationship was deep-rooted and forthright. We kept no secrets from one another, therefore lying to her was like lying to myself.

“I guess it must have been my imagination then, that the fine physical specimen you were inches away from in the street had your panties drenched and nipples at full attention, huh?”

“Oh my gosh, Mac! He about ran me over. I could have died this morning and you’re trying to turn this into some smut novel you like to read!” I gasped, still averting eye contact.

“WE … some smut novel we like to read. Don’t act like you don’t have your iPad library filled with every smut novel published in the last ten years. That’s why you don’t date, you know no man will ever satisfy you like sex-script.”

“First, I don’t read that many novels, and second, you know that’s not why I don’t date. Just get the rest of those bags and let’s go,” I ordered with an end of conversation finality.

*

 

Our small crew arrived at Zen Garden Suites by eleven forty-five. With the help of a few hotel staff, we had everything unloaded and into the kitchen by noon. Lunch for twenty was to be served in a small conference room with floor to ceiling windows overlooking Lake Michigan.

I oversaw my staff assembling the mixed garden greens salad with pickled beets, asparagus, and ginger fig dressing while Mac assembled the roasted vegetable sandwiches on fresh-baked, sprouted grain buns with spinach basil pesto, spicy stone-ground mustard, and yellow heirloom tomatoes. The hotel serving staff was distributing the cucumber mint water and raw juice spritzers when Lizzy McDonald came into the kitchen to give us specific instructions on following the rules of the luncheon.

Rules of the luncheon? What the hell?

“Mr. Jamison requests the hotel staff to serve the meal and tend to any needs of the guests. After dessert is served, you will be invited to the front of the room where Mr. Jamison will shake hands with you, thank you for the meal, and pose for a few photos.”

The old Addy would have blown a gasket, insisting the Sage Leaf Café staff serve the meal that we prepared. It was a real testament to my growth that I willingly allowed my staff to be hidden in the kitchen until Mr. High Society Jamison decided it was socially acceptable to make a token appearance at the end of the meal. The new Addy, after years of emotional discipline through yoga and meditation, smiled brightly and nodded to Lizzy in agreement.

More like submission.

Flying under the radar allowed me more time to finish the dessert plates—raw cheesecake with coconut cream and raspberries. Not having expected the official photo op at the end, I didn’t dress for the press. Stealing a quick minute, I made my way to the ladies’ lounge to freshen up.

I removed my long, wavy blonde locks from my messy bun and finger combed through the tangles. Women always asked where I went to get my hair done, but I had never even highlighted it. My unique hair color was all in the genes. My mom was a natural platinum blonde and my dad had a thick head of copper blond hair, so I ended up with something in the middle. I braided my unruly long bangs and clipped the braided strand off to the side.

An unseasonably warm spring had given my skin an early tan, so I patted my cheeks just to perk up some extra pink, and then I added some rose lip gloss. I straightened out and retied my knee length wrap skirt, which showed just enough leg to be sexy yet conservative. My apron successfully protected my fitted Sage Leaf Café T-shirt so no stains stood out; my 34 B cup didn’t stand out either. Years of yoga and healthy eating had given me a trim and fit body.

Mac found me on my way back to the kitchen. “Addy, they’re serving dessert. Lizzy said Mr. Jamison is ready for you.”

Deep breath … I am peaceful, I am strong. I made my way to the double doors of the conference room. Deep breath … I am peaceful, I am strong. I pulled on the door to the right but it didn’t budge, so I pulled the door to the left. No luck.

What is this, a top secret meeting? What’s with the locked doors?

Deciding I didn’t care if I received any recognition for the catering, I turned and leaned back on the doors. Before my body had time to react, I found myself falling into the conference room and landing flat on my ass. I closed my eyes. Push, Addy, not pull, you idiot … Deep breath … I am peaceful, I am strong. Just when I thought my seven years of bad luck were over, the proverbial black cat crossed my path again.

“Well, well, you are just an accident waiting to happen, Pippy,” an all too familiar deep voice filled my ears.

Breathe dammit … peaceful … strong … peaceful … strong.

It was such an unwelcome moment of déjà vu, as my eyes made the journey up Michelangelo’s sculpture for the second time that day. My flushed face and ocean blues met his sexy smirk, but this time his large, strong hand was being offered to me.

These feet have pounded too many miles of pavement and these arms have held countless inversion poses. I will NOT be needing help up, thank you very much!

“Addy? Are you all right?” Lizzy whispered, almost sharing my nervous embarrassment. “Mr. Jamison is ready for you.”

After adjusting my clothing and pulling the stray hair away from my face, I once again threw my shoulders back, tilted my chin up, and walked toward the front of the room and away from David.

Mr. Jamison started his introduction. “I’d like to introduce the chef and owner of Sage Leaf Café, Ms. Adler Brecken.”

I let the warm response calm my nerves while I told myself that most people were, in all likelihood, too busy chatting to have noticed my grand entrance.

“Ms. Brecken, you’ve outdone yourself with this superb lunch. I hope to visit your restaurant the next time I’m in Milwaukee,” Mr. Jamison boasted with the cheesiest fake smile I’d ever seen. It matched his fake tan and complimented his weak handshake, stiff comb-over, and, in general, large overfed figure. He had perhaps been a football linebacker in high school or maybe even college. However, money, lack of exercise, and a taste of the “finer” things had given him the classic indulgent lifestyle appearance. I wasn’t betting a single penny on ever seeing him in my café.

While the photographers finished, I fixed my gaze to the back of the room and noticed Mr. Smug Ass leaning against the back doors with his muscular arms crossed over his broad chest and one leg casually crossed over the other at his ankle. Was he undressing me with his eyes? Jesus, Addy, where did that come from? Or was he just bored with the whole giving credit where credit is due spiel? Why did he rub me the wrong way?

Maybe because I’m frustrated with my mind for imagining him rubbing me in another way. ADDY, get a grip!

Trying desperately to exude confidence in my stride, I carefully navigated to the exit of the conference room. I couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing there anyway. Cocky arrogance oozed from him as he stood by two other guys who looked like some form of security or bodyguards. They were dressed in black suits, but Mr. Smirky Face was wearing the same semi-casual attire he had on that morning. The absence of a camera or notepad suggested he was not part of the press, and everything about him screamed money. And sex.

He was blocking my exit, and with each approaching step I prayed he would move, but he didn’t. His expression was indifferent and his self-assured posture said he owned the place, and worse than that, his look said he owned me.

Deep breath … I am peaceful, I am strong.

“Excuse me, please,” I whispered, disappointed in myself for not mustering more of a voice.

Refusing to meet his gaze, I kept my head down with a stoic face.

“By all means, let me get the door for you, Miss Brecken, although I think odds are you’ve figured it out by now.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

Once I made it through the door and past the parameter of his panty-dropping aura, I sucked in a deep breath, attempting to cool my inflamed body.

“Oh, Miss Brecken?”

All vocal abilities failed me, which was very uncharacteristic. I looked up at him with raised eyebrows and simply gave a barely detectable nod.

“I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot this morning, however, I’ve come to find your presence very … stimulating.” The corners of his mouth slowly turned up into a devilish smile.

“Good God … uh I mean, good day, Mr. um?”

Shit shit, double shit!

“Cohen, Quinten Cohen.” A smile that reached his eyes graced his perfect face and I had to get the hell out of there.

 

 


CHAPTER TWO

 

“Sometimes I wonder if men and women really suit each other. Perhaps they should live next door and just visit now and then.”

 

~Katharine Hepburn

 

Early May in Milwaukee that year was a gift as the unseasonably warm spring weather continued. The sun and the sounds of seagulls rained peace all around me. My “off day” three weeks earlier with the dark and dangerous Mr. Cohen had sent my nerves into a tailspin, shaking my well-rehearsed carefree persona. Mac was onto me when I tried to brush it off as nerves from nearly being crushed by an SUV. It was absurd to even try that excuse with Mac. She was the one person who knew there was not a cell in my body that feared death.

Rounding the last curve of the path, I had decided to accept Mother Nature’s invitation to spend more time outside that morning. A mature maple tree skirted with lush green grass felt like the perfect spot to do my own private yoga in the park. Quenching my thirst with a big swig of water, I removed my runners and socks. The cool touch of the shaded grass under my feet grounded me. My limbered body easily flowed through several Sun Salutations. On my last Down Dog I spotted an upside down figure a few feet away. Casually leaning against the massive maple trunk with one arm crossing a well defined chest and the other resting at a ninety degree angle, holding a Starbucks cup inches from full rosy lips, was Mr. Cohen. I closed my eyes with an inhale and finished my sequence ending in Mountain Pose. Turning toward the tree, my lips curled up into a smile. “Mr. Cohen.”

In the most calculated and sexy motion, he stood straight and closed the distance between us. So much so that I had to lift my head to meet his eyes, vanilla coffee aroma filled my nose. His free hand tugged one of my pigtails. “Pippy.”

Thank God I was already flushed, sweating, and out of breath because his proximity had my thermostat stuck in the red. His eyes trailed up my body, pausing at my lips. He delivered a lopsided smirk as I caught myself chewing my bottom lip so hard I just about drew blood.

 

 

Breaking the trance¸ I stepped back and bent down to grab my water. I took an extra long swig before stopping to catch my breath. “You live near here, or is this just your new stalking ground?”

“You think I look like a stalker?” He tilted his head to the side.

“I think you act like a stalker.”

“I was just observing the yoga class.” He shrugged, his shoulders feigning innocence.

“I’m the only one doing yoga. It’s not a class, which means you were not observing but rather stalking. I have to say it’s a little creepy.” I grabbed my socks and shoved my bare feet into my runners.

“What if I told you I was just admiring the scenery?”

“Even more creepy,” I called over my shoulder while crossing the street to my building.

I refrained using the more direct entrance to my loft, which was behind the building, and opted to go through my café. We weren’t open yet, but I knew Jake, who’d worked for me almost three years, was in the kitchen cleaning and slicing food for the day. Banging on the door, I hoped he would hear me. I didn’t have my keys since my other loft entrance required a security code, but I wasn’t going to lead Mr. Stalker to my loft.

“Most women would insist on a shower after exercising and before going to work, but just as I suspected, you are not like most women.” He was inches behind me and so close to my ear for that last part I could feel the heat of his breath down my neck.

Deep breath … I am peaceful, I am strong.

I opened my eyes when I heard the sound of the door latch. Saved by Jake!

“Hey, Addy, having your green smoothie before your shower this morning, huh? Must have been an intense workout.”

“Uh, yes … smoothie first,” I mumbled while hurrying in past Jake.

“Great, I’ll juice you a shot of wheatgrass that’s ready to go in the back. Is your friend having anything?”

My friend?

In the rush of anxiety that propelled me through the door, I failed to notice Mr. Cohen follow me in and Jake lock the door behind us. He had already taken the liberty of seating himself on a barstool at the juice bar. He was wearing a tight fitting charcoal T-shirt that hugged every one of his sculpted muscles and white cargo shorts that hung low on his hips and accentuated his backside. His feet, clad in flip flops were propped up on the lower bar of the stool. As he bounced his legs, I caught myself taking in the flexing motion of his calf muscles for a little too long.

“Oh, Jake, um, this is Mr. Cohen and he’s not my friend, in fact, I don’t think he noticed our hours. I’m sure if he wants something he can come back once we’re open.”

“Jake, please, call me Quinn, and Addy is being a little modest about us. We’re definitely friends so I’ll have what she’s having please.”

Jake started to smile then second guessed whether it was an appropriate response when he glanced at the scowl on my face. Jake was twenty-two and did some underground fighting. He looked like the Hulk ready to bust out of his café T-shirt, and the tats up and down both arms were a little intimidating. After coming to the conclusion that I was safe with Jake there, I gave him the nod to go ahead and get the wheatgrass shots.

“Wow, Mr. Cohen—”

“Quinn.”

“Quinn, I’m trying to figure out the definitely friends part,” I kept my eyes on him as I tossed fresh fruit and pitted dates into the blender. With raised eyebrows and a soft close-lipped smile, I waited for an explanation.

“I’ve seen your eyes peruse my body, more than once, and I’d say what’s going on in your pretty little head crosses the line of friends by a few lengths of a football field. But since I have no wish to embarrass you in front of your employee, I thought I’d downplay it.”

Cocky ass …

Completely flustered, I flipped on the switch to the blender and before I had time to react, the fruity concoction started flying everywhere. It took me a moment to gather my senses enough to switch it off because I was paralyzed with shock. The first thing I spied was the lid still on the counter. Then I wiped my face and surveyed the mess. Not only was I covered in smoothie, Quinn took his fair share of the collateral damage too. The look on his smoothie-covered face was complete consternation as he sat stiff as a board, holding his fruit splatted arms out to the side.

“Oops, I assumed you wanted your smoothie to-go.” I smiled before breaking out into a fit of laughter.

Wetting my pants was a real possibility if I didn’t rein it in a little. Quinn gave me a curious look, indubitably questioning my sanity, but then something resembling a smile started to pull at the corners of his mouth.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry, but you should see the look on your face,” I busted out, still in a fit of laughter.

“Shit,” Quinn whispered, trying to hold back his full pearly white grin, as he wiped his face and arms with napkins. “Goddamn, woman, you are truly a walking disaster.”

“That she is,” Jake agreed as he walked out with a tray of wheatgrass shots and orange wedges, shaking his head and sporting his own shit-eating grin. “I got this. Bottoms up with your shots and then go get yourselves cleaned up.”

Still dripping with smoothie, I held up my shot glass in salute, downed it, sucked the juice of the orange wedge, and flashed Quinn my first genuine smile. He pressed his lips together and raised a skeptical brow. Maybe it was his first time doing wheatgrass shots, but he hesitated for a moment not moving his eyes from mine. I couldn’t ease his apprehension by telling him it would taste like nectar from the gods. Wheatgrass can range from tart to sweet, but there’s no other way to describe it’s taste other than grassy.

A moment later his face softened. “Cheers.” He saluted then downed his shot with a grimace, and I quickly shoved the orange wedge in his mouth. My fingers grazed his lips as my tongue traced my own.

“Jake, I’m going to take Quinn upstairs to clean up.” My eyes didn’t leave Quinn’s.

“Got it, Addy.”

The door to my loft was back near the kitchen. I entered the lock security code and turned to see Quinn a few steps behind. He crept along, being careful not to let any more of the smoothie drip. Taking complete inventory of the damage I did to him, I was relieved to see that his shorts were unscathed and a clean shirt would do the trick.

When we reached my loft I marched straight to the linen closet to get two bath towels.

“I have one bathroom and it’s through there, so you can go ahead and get cleaned up while I grab you a new shirt.”

Quinn sauntered closer to me, and while I struggled to keep my breathing steady, he traced his finger from my cheek bone to the corner of my mouth. He placed his finger in his mouth and rolled his tongue over it lapping up the fruiting liquid. “There’s not a part of your body that isn’t dripping with smoothie. I do believe you should clean up first. I’ll just take my shirt off and wait.”

I forced an awkward swallow. In one swift motion he removed his shirt and set it in the kitchen sink. The defined muscles in his shoulders and back had me frozen in place, then he turned back toward me and the wind was knocked out of my lungs. He was a perfect anatomy model with every muscle being well-defined but not too bulky. His six pack abs and abdominal V had my mouth agape. My muscles had definition, but maintaining a body like his had to be a full-time job.

He raised his eyebrows in silent questioning of why I hadn’t gone to shower.

“Wo—wow,” I stuttered.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing,” I breathlessly whispered.

Before he had a chance to respond, gravity brought me back to Earth and I made a dash for the bathroom.

After making it to safety, my back collapsed against the door and I struggled to keep myself from sliding to the floor. Blood rushed from my head, engorging my breasts and swelling my sex. Unrecognizable was that blubbering googly-eyed idiot that had taken over my body.

Deep breath … I am peaceful I am strong.

Allowing Quinn to wander my loft unattended for too long was not a good idea, so I took a shower in record breaking time, even with a quick shave of my armpits and legs. Wrapped up in my towel, I went through the back sliding door of the bathroom that connected to my walk-in closet. I quickly grabbed the essentials: panties, bra, green capris, and a white café tank. A fast comb through my long locks, I was done.

Stopped in my tracks, I took in the sight of Quinn’s glorious back as he stood by my large windows overlooking the lake. His hands were shoved in his pockets, tugging down his cargos and exposing the grey waistband of his briefs.

“Jaw-dropping view, huh?” his deep gritty voice echoed.

How did he know I was in the room and staring at him?

“Um, I was just …”

“The lake, you have a beautiful view of the lake.” A fine smirk played across his face as he turned to witness my blushing skin.

“Yes, the lake, it’s amazing. I’m done, the bathroom is all yours and there’s a towel on the shelf by the sink. I’ll get you a shirt while you clean up.”

“Thanks, Addy.” He took his turn, letting his eyes peruse my body before heading to the bathroom.

As soon as I heard the water running I scrambled to my bedroom and dug out a plain navy T-shirt that seemed large enough to fit Quinn. I had a whole drawer dedicated to freebie tees I had received at different expos; most of the time I used them as back-up nightshirts.

I waited on my deck for Quinn, letting the warm breeze dry my damp hair. When I sensed his presence I took a moment to wonder if he was looking at me the way I had at him. My body hoped so, but my brain didn’t. I turned to him and audibly gasped at the sight of him in nothing but his cargos and messy black hair, a few drips of water still melting down his torso. Adonis may have been the Greek god of beauty and desire, but Quinn was unmistakably a Latin sex god. Refusing to feed his oversized ego with any more panting and drooling, I tossed him the shirt and cleared my throat.

“This should fit.”

He caught it and without even looking at it slipped it over his head, easing it the rest of the way down, no doubt putting on a show for me.

How long have you been a vegan?”

His question was typical and in the realm of answers I was willing to share.

“Twelve years. I saw a documentary on slaughter houses and I could no longer physically or mentally handle consuming meat. I was a bit of a tree hugger anyway and veganism is great for the environment so it was a no-brainer. The literature over the past decade or more that gives insight and studies about the benefits of a plant based diet is incredible. I used recipes at first but then started creating my own vegan concoctions and voila, here I am. Adler Brecken, the tree-hugging vegan chef.”

I threw on my flip flops and headed back down to the café. “You coming?” The Q & A ended so he had no choice but to follow me. “I’m sorry again about your shirt. I’ll get it washed and maybe you can stop in and pick it up sometime. I’ll have it behind the counter in case I’m not here.” I hoped I wouldn’t be there; nothing about Quinn was good for me.

“Thanks, and I’ll return your loaner as well.” He tugged at the shirt I gave him.

Quinn smiled and headed toward the door. I was too busy shamelessly checking out his backside to notice the T-shirt. Jake nudged me with his elbow, which brought me out of my trance. It was the T-shirt I received at the Raw Food Expo. The back of the shirt read: RAW girls taste better.

“Quinn!” I yelled.

“Yes?” He stopped at the door and turned.

“The shirt … uh it’s … it’s yours, just keep it.” My restraint was commendable as I managed to keep my grin polite, but Jake raced to the kitchen and I knew he was getting ready to bust a gut laughing.

“Thanks, but don’t think you’re getting out of seeing me again.” And with that, he left.

“He’s either going to be so pissed with embarrassment that you’ll never see him again, or … he’s going to be knocking down your door with a raging hard-on demanding to find out if raw girls really do taste better,” Jake laughed.

“Jake! God, you are so crude.”

“I’m just a guy, Addy, seriously, you’re so oblivious to what you do to guys. I don’t know what’s sexier, you having such a sinful body or you not knowing that you do.”

“Flattering the old boss will get you nowhere, young Jake.”

“Except next Saturday off to take Jessica boating, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, except that. Now get to work.”

Jake had been a flirt since day one, but I knew he was harmless and smitten with his girlfriend Jessica. It was a tad unprofessional, but I loved hearing Jake talk to me like he did. I wasn’t sure if it was because he had such bad boy sex appeal or if it was his ten years my junior. Either way, he always made my day.

*

 

It had been five days since Quinn walked out of the café, not that I was counting, but I had a hunch I wouldn’t be seeing him again. The T-shirt incident was not at all intentional—I liked to think of it as a happy accident—but five days later and no contact from him, I knew it was the “pissed with embarrassment” scenario. While I was on my way to the market, Mac called me.

“Hey Mac, ‘sup?”

“Eighty degrees and gorgeous, that’s what’s up. Thought you’d come sailing with me and Evan today.”

“Hum, fifth wheel invite and I’m on my way to market anyway. Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

“Adler Sage, don’t you dare give me that fifth wheel crap. Evan and I are married, not teenagers dating. It’s just an afternoon sailing on a yacht that’s yours anyway.”

“Stop, Mac, you know what’s mine is yours and I’m serious about needing to go to the market.”

“One hour, Addy, drop off the food with Jake and get your ass down to the marina. No is not an option.”

Mac had a gift for always getting her way. She also had a way of making me think that it was my idea in the first place. “Fine, but tell Evan I’m only along for the ride. You two are in charge of sailing today. I’m not in the mood to ferry the love birds around the lake.”

“Yada, yada. One hour, Addy. Bye.”

I pulled into the marina with five minutes to spare. Tossing my bag over my shoulder and slipping on my aviator sunglasses, I strolled down the ramp to my majestic one hundred foot CIM Maxi 88. It was quite the sight for any sailor’s eyes. As I rounded the corner I brushed my fingers over my lips seeing The Sage elegantly scripted on the side. It was still hard to swallow back the lump in my throat and blink back the stinging moisture in the corners of my eyes that were always there when I came aboard.

“Addy on time, it’s a miracle—”

Mac stopped short when I lifted my glasses to wipe the corners of my eyes. “Oh, sweetie, why do you do this to yourself? You should just sell it and find something that doesn’t hold so many bad memories.”

“Mac, you know I can’t sell it. Besides, the memories hurt because the moments were so fragile and cherished,” Deep breath … I am peaceful, I am strong, “now enough with memory lane. Tell Captain Evan I’m ready to set sail.” No words, just a warm embrace and a knowing look was all she gave me.

“Evan, baby, let’s do this!” Mac yelled.

Evan was a perfect complement to Mac’s personality. She was a complete spitfire and he was as laid-back as they came. His short, bulky body builder frame was the complete opposite to her twiggy appearance. Where she was fair, he was golden brown. He looked nothing like the typical white-collar professional. They completed each other in every way.

The warm breeze, bright sky, and gentle lull of the lake made the afternoon perfect. I found such serenity in sailing. The wind through my hair and the sun bathing my skin was a beautiful evanescence of a world that didn’t matter.

“Addy, check out that yacht! It rivals The Sage in luxury yachts that look too nice for Lake Michigan.”

“Jeez, Mac, you act like cruising Lake Michigan is slumming. We have our own yachting association for goodness sakes.”

She knew I was a yacht enthusiast, so after a few minutes I couldn’t resist. “Fine, hand me the binoculars. Let’s have a look.”

“I’m just saying, certain yachts like yours and that one scream coast of Italy, not Lake Michigan.”

I tried to focus in while it was still a good two hundred yards away. “Sweet, looks custom built,” I hummed in admiration. On the upper deck I saw two young kids, maybe five and seven, drinking what appeared to be juice boxes. Then a tall slender woman with long dark hair joined them holding a martini glass came into view. Finally, I saw the back side of a tall man with broad shoulders, swarthy skin, and dark hair. He turned and I stumbled backward, flustered as though we made eye contact, which was ridiculous since I was the only one with binoculars.

“Quinn,” I whispered.

“What’s that, Addy?” Mac questioned.

“It’s Quinn, and what appears to be his wife and two kids.”

“Shut the fuck up. Are you serious?”

“Remind me to give your mouth a good washing before we have kids,” Evan added while shaking his head.

“Oh you love my dirty mouth,” Mac quipped right before laying a deep wet kiss on his mouth.

“Well, that explains why I haven’t seen him since the smoothie disaster. I’m amazed Cleopatra didn’t cut off his nuts and bury them in my shirt.”

“A shame. That was organic cotton, wasn’t it Addy?”

“Yeah it was,” I laughed, but part of me felt punched in the gut.

Why the let down? I’d seen Quinn three times, the first he chewed my ass after almost running me over, the second time I fell on my ass in the most embarrassing fashion, and the third time I drenched him in flying smoothie, like the clumsy ass I was. But each time I’d been with him I’d felt something other than the constant beat of my heart marking time. I tried to convince myself he was just a lustful distraction, which he was, but there was something else.

“Kind of quiet, Addy. Ready to head in?” Evan asked as he applied more sun lotion to Mac’s shoulders.

“Earth to Addy. Did you hear Evan?”

I just nodded and put the binoculars back. I knew Mac was onto me but she wouldn’t have brought it up in front of Evan, which was good because I didn’t know what I would have said anyway.

 


CHAPTER THREE

 

“Love is the answer, but while you are waiting for the answer, sex raises some pretty good questions.”

 

~Woody Allen

 

“Addy, Addy? Can you see me? It’s me, Mac. No, stop, you have to leave your oxygen mask on for a few more hours while they monitor you.” Sniffle, sniffle. “I’m sorry sweetie, they’re … they’re,” sniffle, sniffle, “They didn’t make it, they’re gone.”

Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump …

*

 

Ten o’clock Saturday night and we were a packed house with Super Moon, a popular local band, playing a great mix of alternative music. Jake, as I promised the week before, had the day off but the two new part-time girls I hired the month before were working their butts off serving the customers while Mac was working her magic behind the juice bar. The food orders had slowed down so I grabbed an order pad and helped out Mac. After tugging on my pigtails to tighten them a bit, I looked for a pen from under the counter.

“What can I get ya?” I asked the next customer in line without glancing up.

“Green Goddess, in a cup this time, please.”

Quinn

Deep Breath … I am peaceful, I am strong.

“Anything else, sir?”

“Yes, I think you’re holding a T-shirt for me somewhere behind the counter.”

“Sorry, sir, I wasn’t sure who that old thing belonged to so I donated it to a refugee family.”

“You WHAT? That was a two hundred and fifty dollar shirt!” He was upset but he tried to hide his anger behind his gritted teeth.

“Sorry, looked like a Target special to me,” I muttered.

He placed both hands on the counter and leaned in closer. “Have I done something wrong? Because last I knew I was the one wearing the ‘RAW girls taste better’ shirt to the market, bank, AND for the big reveal … to lunch with some buddies!”

“Well, sounds like a good thing it was drawn to your attention before your wife saw it. Here’s your drink. Next!” I willed myself to stay strong. When he leaned into the counter my body started to perspire from the seductive scent of his woodsy cologne.

“Wife? What the hell are you talking about?”

“DON’T! Don’t you dare give me that line of shit,” I growled.

“Addy, uh why don’t you take this someplace else, the girls and I will close up because you’re kinda making a scene,” Mac implored while pushing me toward my loft door.

“You’re right, Mac, I’m done. Make sure Mr. Cohen pays for his drink and finds his way out.”

I entered my code and took the stairs two at a time. When I got to the top I felt a large hand grip my arm turning me around. I couldn’t believe Mac let him follow me. Traitor.

“What do you want? Is this about your stupid shirt? I’ll buy you a new one, whatever, just leave!” I went to pull my arm away but he yanked my other one as well and pushed me against the wall. I was breathing so fast and heavy I could have passed out if it hadn’t been for the adrenaline running through my shaky body.

“First, I don’t give a fuck about the shirt! Second, I don’t have a wife and—”

“I saw you, her, them … your kids.” I huffed. “On. Your. Yacht!”

He searched my eyes, but he was looking through them into someplace in me that was deeper. It made me nervous, and scared. The unwelcome vulnerability shook me to the core.

“Alexis is my sister …” He moved his mouth to my ear without making contact then whispered, “and those were her kids.” He loosened his grip on my wrists and feathered his fingers up my arms leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Cradling my jaw in his hands, he grazed his lips and nose across my cheek from my ear to my lips. He pulled back and rested his forehead on mine as he breathed out. “My God, you’re so beautiful.”

I closed my eyes and felt his thumb brush my bottom lip. My sigh came out as a needy whimper. Then, gliding his mouth back to my ear, he sucked my ear lobe into his mouth and grazed it with his teeth. Releasing it he whispered, “Goodnight, Addy.”

Immobilized, I watched him walk down the stairs. When I heard the slam of the door, I sucked in a shaky breath and melted down the wall resting my arms and head on my bent knees. Ho-ly shit!

*

 

The next morning brought little clarity to what happened the night before between me and Quinn. While sipping my Rooibos tea, my phone chimed with a text from Mac.

 

What did you do to Quinn last night?

 

Not following?

 

He came back down, grabbed his smoothie, winked at me, and tossed a Ben Franklin by the register b4 walking out … must have done something for that kind of tip!

 

WTF? He left a $100 tip?!

 

Yep, oh and did I mention the huge smile he was wearing?

 

Argh … not what u r thinking, call u later!

 

You’d better!!!

 

 

As I walked into the kitchen to get more tea, I heard my door buzz. Who would be at my door on a Sunday?

I pressed the intercom. “Yes?”

“Delivery for Miss Brecken.”

Delivery on a Sunday? Weird.

I peeked out the back window and saw a black Bentley parked in front of the steps and a gentleman, possibly in his late fifties, wearing a black suit holding a box with a sheer bow and floral embellishment.

“One minute.”

Quickly finding a pair of yoga capris and a sweatshirt to slip on over my white tank and pink boyshort panties, I opened the door.

“Miss Brecken?”

“Yes.”

He nodded and handed me the box.

“Sunday delivery, huh? What company do you work for that sends their driver out in a two hundred thousand dollar vehicle?”

He rewarded me with a small but warm smile. “I work for Mr. Cohen.”

Note to self: spend more time finding out about Quinn’s business ventures and less time drooling over his body.

“Well, thank you, sir, have a nice day.”

“Miss, I’ve been instructed to wait for a response.”

Signing for a package was normal, waiting for a response … not so normal. I squinted my eyes but he simply nodded toward the package. I removed the lavender roses. Untying the sheer bow, I read the lettering on the dark brown box: Allison’s Gourmet Vegan Truffles. Under the lid was a hand written note.

Dinner 7:00 p.m. tonight?
Quinn

 

Jeez! No pressure with Mr. Suit waiting for an answer, I decided to stall. Removing the protective cover I offered a truffle to him.

“No, thank you, Miss.”

“Oh come on, it will speed up my response. Please?”

He reluctantly took one and plopped the whole thing into his mouth. I, on the other hand, bit it in half and invariably ended up with a creamy fruit filling dripping down my shirt.

“Oh Crap!” I laughed, wiping my chin, while trying to chew with my mouth closed.

Mr. Suit was savoring his too while struggling to hold back a smile.

“Oh my God, these are so good, right?”

He nodded.

“That answers that. You can tell Mr. Cohen my response is … yes.”

“Very well, Miss Brecken, seven o’clock it is. Mr. Cohen said to wear something nice.”

I smiled.

Nice?

I wasn’t sure how to interpret that, but I had all day to figure it out.

*

 

It was almost six-thirty and I was second—more like tenth—guessing my choice of attire. The winner was a basic black, halter dress with a fitted bodice and a flared skirt that fell an inch above my knee. A plunge back revealed ample skin, which I initially covered with a sheer wrap then decided to ditch it at the last minute. Maybe I should have thrown on a muumuu and saved the inevitable heartache that was Quinten Cohen. As I buckled the wide black strap of my four inch, wedge open-toed Stella McCartney shoes around my ankle, the door buzzed.

Stepping out the door I expected to see Mr. Suit waiting by the black Bentley, but the man at the bottom of my stairs dressed in a platinum suit, pinstriped shirt, black tie, and sexy, perfect white smile was none other than my seductive new acquaintance.

Quinn,” I breathed, but just barely to myself. A mixed cocktail of emotions warred in my head: guilt, fear, anxiety, lust, desire, and need. The kind of need that was a physical craving. A craving to touch and be touched. Steadying my shaky legs I took my first step, a step that felt like a gigantic leap.

He watched me slowly make my way down the stairs and everything in me was screaming to run back inside, shut the door, and move to a remote village in China. My body, being the ultimate traitor, kept moving forward like it was being pulled by a magnetic force. I watched him take me in with a look of pure pleasure.

“Cat got your tongue, Mr. Cohen?”

He unapologetically raked his dark eyes over my entire body. I noticed him giving me a slight nod while wetting his lips seductively with his tongue. “I wanted to take you to dinner but what you’re wearing implies we should head back up those stairs.”

Flirting was a game I knew well: bashful smiles, stolen glances, a nervous laugh. Quinn was not flirting. He was fucking me with his eyes. He was the calm, calculated predator and I was his nervous prey.

“Your uh … driver, chauffeur, whatever, said to dress nice.”

“Mmm, yes, well I have to confess I had you pegged for nice being a sundress with flip flops. This …” he stepped to the side to see nothing but the bare skin of my back, shook his head, and held his breath for moment “ …this is … distracting.”

“Well, enough ogling, eyes up here, big guy.”

“Big guy, huh? We haven’t even gotten to that part of the evening yet, but I can assure you, I won’t disappoint.”

“Presumptuous much?”

“Not at all. You’re full of too many surprises.”

“Speaking of surprises, are we dumpster diving for dinner or was I supposed to pack a granola bar? I don’t see your car anywhere but we can take mine.”

“No need to drive.” He offered his arm and I willingly accepted it. We walked to the front of the building and crossed the street to the lake front.

I stopped when I looked down at the pier and saw a sheer round tent with gold Chinese lanterns enveloping a single candlelit table and two white fabric wrapped chairs. I was in shock but my heart knew better than to show it.

“Oh jeez, same old private dinner on the pier date. You’d think guys these days would try to be a little more original.”

Quinn dropped his shoulders, head shaking it in defeat. “Gonna make me work for every inch, aren’t you?”

I looked up at him through my mascara covered lashes and gave him my best innocent smile. After we made our way down to the tent, Quinn seated me in my chair then feathered his index finger up my bare back to my halter tie. He took a shaky breath and exhaled with a moan as I felt his mouth ghost across my hair behind my ear, releasing a seductive whisper. “So distracting.”

It was about seventy degrees with a light breeze, and I couldn’t blame the shiver that vibrated my whole body on the cool evening.

I’m in way over my head.

He took his seat just as a server appeared out of nowhere with two glasses of water garnished with spiraled lemons and a bottle of red wine.

“Merlot, miss?”

“Thank you.”

The server gestured the offer to Quinn but he gave a slight shake of his head while keeping his eyes locked on mine. The server asked us if we were ready for our salads, but Quinn told him to give us a few minutes.

“You don’t like red wine?”

“I don’t drink alcohol.”

“Then why did you have the server offer it?”

“I thought you might enjoy some wine.”

“What made you think that?”

He shook his head and let out a light laugh. “Just a shot in the dark, Addy, that’s all it was.”

“Are you an alcoholic?” I pried.

“No.”

“So … why then?”

“Are you originally from Milwaukee?” he countered.

“I take it we’re done discussing your reasons for abstaining from drinking?”

“Correct.” His eyes were piercing and his face was tense. I saw his jaw muscles twitching, and I imagined his molars were prematurely wearing away. We’d exchanged a few words but it was the unspoken ones that made me feel chastised for prying into his personal life. I gave him a slow nod in acceptance and focused my eyes on my wine glass. Grateful the whole bottle was mine because I was going to need some liquid courage to make it through the evening.

“Chicago, born and raised,” I shared to break the awkward silence.

Quinn’s face relaxed and I again recognized the face that had been waiting at my door earlier.

“What brought you to Milwaukee?”

My pathetic attempt to rebel and leave the Midwest.

“I wanted to stay on the lake and near a larger populous that could support a vegan café without the extreme chaos of Chicago.” It even sounded ridiculous to me, but I thought he’d let it fly for the moment.

“So is your family still in Chicago?”

“I’m an only child and my parents are dead.” God I hated myself for sounding so callous but dead said I’m fine and died invited too much sympathy that I didn’t want. I was hoping the food would arrive soon. That line of questioning required a lot of wine so I had to get some food in my stomach.

Quinn looked pained but not like he was sharing mine; it looked like his own. “Addy, I’m—”

“It’s fine,” I cut him off.

“How’d they die?”

I thought he’d take the hint. Most people did.

“Are you originally from Milwaukee?” I retorted.

He gave me a knowing close-lipped smile while he fiddled with his napkin on the table.

“Well played, Addy.”

I batted my eyelashes at him over the rim of my wineglass and took another sip.

Saved by romaine, our salads arrived and I was pleased to see they were void of cheese, meat, and eggs. Ironically, some guys didn’t connect the dots that the owner of a vegan café would most likely be a vegan. But Quinn remembered because he was not just “some guy.”

As I tried to stab the appropriate amount of lettuce to fit in my mouth without dripping vinegar on my dress, Quinn dabbed his mouth with his napkin and cleared his throat. “Let’s try a different approach, what would you like to tell me about yourself?”

My soul is injured. My heart is shattered but won’t stop beating. You see the person I want to be, not who I am. I don’t fear death, I fear the pieces of my heart could be further shattered and it will still be beating.

“I love good food, yoga, and sailing. I despise chemicals, war, and Styrofoam. When I’m not donating food and insanely expensive shirts to refugees, I walk dogs at the local shelter. I have an appreciation for all genres of music, but my heart belongs to classic rock. I can play any instrument but my favorite is the piano. I floss every day and belong to the Milwaukee Hooping Club, however, I am the sole member. I’ve driven the same car for 10 years; she’s a red Toyota Prius and her name is Karma. I was diagnosed with photographic memory at an early age, but the more precise term is Eidetic, ‘adjective pertaining to or constituting visual impressions recalled vividly and readily reproducible with great accuracy.’ Oh, and I rank dark chocolate on the same level as oxygen as being imperative to my existence, so kudos to you for the truffles.”

Quinn was leaning back in his chair with his chin resting on his steepled fingers. The look on his face was unreadable, but after an awkward silence he spoke. “Why do I get the sense you’ve just told me everything and nothing about yourself all at the same time? But the most disturbing part for me is I don’t know what hooping is or if I should feel privileged or frightened to be sitting with the lone member of such an exclusive club.”

It may have been my third glass of wine or that I genuinely enjoyed Quinn’s company and our playful banter, but I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face, and his reflected the same sentiments.

“Hula hooping.” I giggled. Okay, it was the wine because I laughed often but my true giggle came out when I got a wee bit inebriated.

“Hula hooping? Sounds sexy.”

“Oh yeah, real sexy, ranks up there with pole dancing. In fact, I was wavering between the two but hooping won over because my pole wouldn’t fit in the back of Karma.” I giggled again.

Oh my God, I have got to lay off the wine. How embarrassing!

The server brought our dinner and offered to open another bottle of wine, but Quinn shook his head and waved him away before my impaired brain had time to formulate an answer.

“Okay, Quinten …” I somehow managed to stretch his two syllable name into three. “Quid pro quo, what’s your thirty second summary?”

He looked at me with such intensity it made me feel vulnerable in my altered state that I had to squeeze my legs together to ward off the unwelcome pressure in the pit of my stomach and the hypersensitivity in my girly parts. He broke into his signature knowing half grin, like he knew precisely what he did to me.

“I am the oldest of three. My mother is from Spain, my father is from Brazil. However, I was born and raised in New York. I studied business and finance at Dartmouth, but I’ve always been good with numbers and investment intuition. I like extreme sports and I’m a self-professed adrenaline jun


Date: 2015-02-16; view: 572


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