Perfect Pairing (25 page)

“Lobstah roll,” Quinn repeated.

Hal pushed herself up and crawled to the edge of the bed. “I do find it very sexy when you talk food.”

“Good, I like to keep you turned on while you wait.”

Hal didn't say anything more as she grabbed her pants and pulled them on. She didn't want to admit how easy it was for Quinn to turn her on, but she had a feeling Quinn already knew.

They didn't have to walk very far to reach John's Footlong, as the restaurant was right at the edge of the pier.

“Foot long?” Quinn asked.

“Yeah, John has a high opinion of himself,” Hal said.

“Sounds like someone else I know.”

“It's not bragging if you can back it up.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Quinn looked at the sign again. It featured a walking hotdog in a hat and shorts squeezing a bottle of mustard in a way that seemed more than a little suggestive. “Are you sure this is the lobster, I mean lobstah, roll place?”

“Positive. The townies say it's the best lobstah roll in town, and I haven't found anything better yet.”

“Okay, I trust your judgment on these things. Let's go on in.”

“There's no in,” Hal explained. “It's just a window.”

“Walk up. All right. But tell me, do you have an aversion to food served in places where you can eat it sitting down?”

“Huh. Now that you mention it . . . ” Hal smiled. “Just kidding. There's a little patio deck upstairs. We can sit there and do some people-watching.”

The plan did sound nice, and she wasn't about to contradict a foodie about restaurants, even if she had envisioned lobster being served in a little bit fancier location.

Hal stepped under the bright red awning and addressed a white-haired woman behind the counter. “We'll have a lobstah roll with an order of fried clams and fries.”

“Are you sure you don't want any onion rings? My treat,” Quinn called.

“That'll be all,” Hal said, shooting Quinn a look over her shoulder. “Pay no mind to the woman with the New York accent. I think she might be a Yankees fan.”

The white-haired woman's eyes narrowed, and for the first time in her life Quinn felt mildly fearful of an octogenarian.

“Geez, you'd have thought you told her I liked to kick puppies.”

“Most people around here wouldn't put that past some Yankees fans.”

“I don't even really care for sports.”

“And I don't care for onions, so we're even.”

Quinn had the sudden urge to kiss her, right there in the middle of the street under the bright red awning, and she didn't even know why. Because Hal looked so damned adorable being snappy and pouty at the same time? Because she was the best chef Quinn had ever met and the thought of eating an onion made her resort to name-calling? Because she'd brought them all the way to the eastern tip of America to shake her out of her routine but she still hadn't changed who she was? Then again, maybe she just couldn't get enough of kissing her.

Still, whatever the reason, Quinn didn't go around kissing women in the middle of streets or sidewalks or any public space for that matter. Honestly, she didn't make a habit out of kissing women just because. Like everything else in her life, kissing always led to something. Not always immediately. She didn't just jump into bed with every woman she kissed, but it was a first step or a litmus test at the very least, not a whim.

“Ordah up,” the old woman called.

Hal grabbed a few baskets of food and passed one to Quinn before turning back to the woman. “Thank ya.”

“Same ta ya.”

“Wow,” Quinn said, looking at the food. “I would make fun of you for your sorry attempt to pick up that accent if not for the more pressing need of stuffing my face with this food.”

“Lucky me,” Hal said, nodding toward the stairs. “Get up there fast, or I will have eaten the entire meal before you even sit down.”

She practically jogged up the wooden stairs to the small patio deck and grabbed two seats along the rail, then pointed to Hal's lobster roll. “You going to divvy that up, Fryboi?”

“I'd intended too, but now that I see it, it seems a shame to break up something so beautiful.”

Quinn eyed the meat piled high and held together by a thin white sauce atop a single layer of crisp lettuce on a toasted bun. “Okay, I understand if you don't want to split it. I'd be happy to eat the whole thing.”

“Don't even think about it,” Hal said. Cradling the sandwich in her hands, she lifted it like she might offer it up as a holy sacrifice to the food gods before clamping down and tearing it in two. She bowed her head as if mourning the shattered perfection, then quickly passed half of it to Quinn. “There. Don't say I never did anything for you.”

Quinn had no snappy comeback, or maybe she did, but she just couldn't deliver it in her rush to take a bite of the lobster roll. The flavors immediately flooded her mouth, sending every taste bud firing like a machine gun. The lobster was rich and sweet blending with the creamy mayo, but the tang of lemon kept everything light and fresh. Heavy and zesty at the same time, no wonder Hal had waxed poetic about this thing for hours. She wanted to write a sonnet to the sandwich right now.

Instead she met Hal's gaze, and with all the sincerity she could muster said, “Aw, honey, some bois give girls diamonds, but I know this cost you something much greater.”

“Actually, diamonds cost a lot,” Hal mumbled as she finished
chewing her first bite. “And while this sandwich wasn't cheap, it's got one major advantage over diamonds.”

“What?”

“I don't know how to make diamonds, but I'm sure as hell going to learn how to make one of these.”

“You're going to make lobstah rolls on Cheesy Does It?”

“Here's the thing,” Hal said, then as though nothing could possibly be as important as the lobster roll in her hand, she took another bite and had to chew before she continued. Quinn totally got the impulse and did the same, trying not to make yummy nom nom noises as she chewed.

“I got nothing to offer the traditional lobstah roll. Ain't nothing a Buffalo boi can teach the East Coast about their baby.”

“Right, that'd be like someone from Boston trying to reinvent the wing.”

“Yeah, 'cause they aren't called Boston wings.”

“I hear you.”

“But you know what I know?”

“Grilled cheeses?”

“Grilled cheeses,” Hal repeated emphatically. “You saw that coming, huh?”

“I'm right there with you.”

“Okay, so we need this filling exactly.”

“Wouldn't change a thing.” Quinn pulled out her iPhone to take notes. “Lots of meat, little bit of mayo, little bit of lemon . . . and?”

Hal took another bite and seemed to think for a second before adding, “Smidge of celery.”

“Got it.” Quinn motioned for her to continue.

“But the lettuce, it's gotta go, 'cause it will get wilty if we cook it.”

“And it's healthy. No one really wants a healthy grilled cheese.”

Hal licked her lips. “Quinn, I could kiss you for saying that. When women talk about making food healthy, it kills all the joy, like trying not to make sex messy.”

Hal leaned closer, but Quinn snapped her fingers. “Kissing comes later. Stay focused on the food, Fryboi. We need a cheese.”

“Right. Well, gruyere pairs well with seafood.”

“And it's creamy and melty.”

Hal let loose a little growl. “It's so sexy when you talk texture.”

“I learned from the best.” Quinn liked this fast-paced exchange of ideas laced with a healthy dose of innuendo. She liked it even more that Hal trusted her enough to bounce ideas off her. She didn't take their progress for granted. She wanted to keep up. She needed to prove herself worthy, partially for the future of her business plans, but also because she simply wanted to remain part of the process. There was a joy that accompanied working closely with Hal.

“But there's also some sweetness there to the lobster that asks, ‘what about an extra sharp cheddar?'”

“Very important question.”

“You know what we need?”

“A taste test?”

“Exactly.”

“I'm very good at research and development.” Quinn hoped she didn't sound too desperate to be included.

“I thought you might be,” Hal said with a grin. “You know, I had sort of expected you to go window shopping or something while I worked, but here's a crazy idea. How would you like to be my partner on this project?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, what do you say? Want to make something new, together?”

She could barely contain her smile. It burst up from deep inside her chest and stretched all the cool, detached business qualities right out of her mind. She and Hal, working side by side, nothing between them but a shared desire to do something fun, something good, something original.

Something together.

“I would actually like that a lot.”

Chapter Sixteen

“You want to sell people half a sandwich?” Hal asked.

“No, I want to sell them two half-sandwiches.”

“But not a whole sandwich?”

“Not exactly. They get half of a lobstah and gruyere, and half of a lobstah and sharp cheddar. Then they come back and tell us which half they liked better. We could even set up a chip drop or something.”

Hal raised an eyebrow.

“You get two cans and a bunch of poker chips, label one can ‘gruyere' and one can ‘cheddar,' and give each customer a poker chip. Then when people taste each option, they drop their poker chip in whatever can they vote for.”

The plan was a lot to think about so early on a Saturday morning, and clearly Quinn had respected that enough to at least let her get her first cup of coffee in hand. But as soon as they'd found a patio table at Joe's, she'd launched into her spiel. And it clearly wasn't something she'd thrown together in the moment. She'd likely been plotting away all night.

Well, maybe not all night. There had been an hour or two when Hal felt certain she'd had her full attention. After that though, she suspected Quinn had either lain awake for a while thinking, or she'd woken up early. By the time Hal had rolled over to reach for her around eight, Quinn was up, dressed, and reading a Boston Globe on the main deck. She'd marveled then how she could've gotten out of the cabin and off the boat without her noticing. Now she realized her level of stealth wasn't just impressive, it was purposeful.

Still, she didn't want to show her cards too soon. Quinn liked to keep her off balance, and in the bedroom she'd all but conceded the
upper hand. But the food truck was still her domain. She sat back in her metal chair and sipped her dark roast, trying to find a hole in the plan. There had to be some flaw, some way it messed up her creative mojo or threatened her autonomy. She liked Quinn, probably more than she should, given the still tenuous state of their relationship beyond this weekend, and yet she couldn't forget those corporate-shark style red flags Quinn had sent up early on. She couldn't let her think she could run roughshod over her business.

But it was a damned good plan. One she could have thought about for a week and not polished as much as Quinn had in a few hours. Was she so hung up on her own defenses she couldn't admit Quinn had had a good idea? Did letting her in really mean part of herself had to be bumped out? What if they really could work well together? Her chest tightened at the prospect of letting herself get used to having her around. Getting used to someone meant she'd be in a position to miss her when she left. And women like Quinn always left . . . didn't they? Whatever was happening between them had never been solely about the food or the business, but it didn't have to be a long-term commitment, either. This was a weekend of freedom or whims or living in the moment, and in this moment she wanted nothing more than to see what she and Quinn could really do together.

“All right,” she said, trying to keep her excitement at bay. “Looks like I need to go shopping, and you need to figure out where we can get poker chips in Ptown.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Quinn smiled one of those natural smiles that made Hal feel crazy for even putting her off as long as she did. She loved the moments where the businesswoman faded away and the real, pure Quinn showed through. She'd seen a lot more of her on this trip. Even now, when the businesswoman was clearly still present, she saw the real Quinn just below the veneer. She couldn't find cold and calculating anywhere, forcing her to admit maybe Quinn did care about more than she'd initially given her credit for. Her resolve to stay neutral softened.

“It's a good plan, Quinn, as solid as any research plan ever gets in the food truck business, but instead of being clinical, it's fun and social. People will like it, and we'll get fast results. You've got a good mind for these things. You know that, right?”

“I used to think I did. I used to think I could jump right into any situation with charts and graphs and spreadsheets. I thought I could look at the numbers the way a gambler looks at a poker hand, calculate the odds, and place my bet accordingly.”

Hal leaned forward again, captivated once more by the pensiveness in Quinn's tone and the openness in her eyes. “And now?”

“Now I realize there's a human element. I'm not sure I'm as good at quantifying that. I messed up with you pretty badly, especially early on.” Quinn clasped her hands in her lap tightly, as if trying not to fidget. “I guess I'm still a little nervous about making a similar mistake again.”

Hal sighed, knowing it had likely taken a lot for Quinn to admit what she had, and Hal hadn't helped the situation. They had fun toying with each other in so many areas, sometimes everything could feel like a game. And yet she knew that wasn't really the case. Quinn had emotions at stake here no matter how much she tried to deny them. Now, for the first time, she realized Quinn might have a couple of major insecurities of her own. She'd worked hard to make her place in a world where no one seemed to want to notice her. She'd fought hard for every bit of security she'd obtained and done so without the support of her family or a partner or even close friends. And now she'd reached out to Hal, asked to be included, offered up her best in the hopes of being accepted.

“Quinn, you don't have to be nervous with me. I've made some mistakes too. We've both moved on.”

“Have we really?”

“We have to,” Hal said. If Quinn could open up, so could she. “I like you. I don't always agree with you, but I like hearing your ideas. I like sharing mine with you. And in order for us to do that freely, we're going to have to be a little more vulnerable.”

“Vulnerable?” Quinn grimaced. “Neither one of us is good at vulnerable.”

“No, you're probably right. But we get that about each other. We know where the resistance came from and how it feels. At least we can be honest with each other.”

“Okay. Then I want to be your partner today. I want to know that no matter what happens between us when this weekend ends, something real and tangible and good came out of our time together, even if it's just a new sandwich.”

Things were getting heavier than she'd intended, but she'd told Quinn at the start of this trip that if a desire struck her, all she had to do was ask. Sure, she'd thought those desires would hover in the arenas of shopping or sightseeing, but if what Quinn really wanted was to be part of something new, something creative, something they could share, then that's what Hal wanted to give her.

“All right then, partners for the day.” Hal extended her hand across the table, and Quinn accepted with a firm handshake, sending a jittery bolt of excitement through her. “Let's do it.”

They'd chosen the parking lot at Race Point Beach as their testing grounds because it seemed to be one of the busiest spots in town without a restaurant anywhere nearby. The steady stream of holiday revelers through the dune paths had rewarded them generously. By one o'clock they were nearing the end of their supplies.

“What do you want to do, Chef?” Quinn asked.

“I don't think we can get any more meat very fast.”

Hal had shopped the local wholesale markets for as much fresh lobster chunk meat as she could find, and then spent almost two hours hand-shelling some more. She wouldn't settle for anything less than the freshest ingredients, and Quinn didn't blame her, but it meant they had no quick fixes. Still, they'd sold a shocking amount of food since eleven a.m. and fed more than their fair share of beachgoers.

Hal shook out the lock of dark hair that always fell over her eyes. Quinn wondered briefly why she didn't get that cut. Then she remembered how sexy she'd found the little head toss and smiled.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She turned back to hand another sandwich to a waiting customer. They were selling only one item today, though, so she didn't have to take orders as much as payment, which left her a bit of time between buyers.

“You smiled,” Hal said. “We're almost out of food, and you're smiling. This was your baby too, partner.”

Quinn bit her lip. “You're right. I'm sorry. This is very serious.”

“Then why were you smiling?”

“Because of you,” she said exasperatedly. “You did the little hair flip thing you do when you're frustrated, and it really turns me on.”

“Oh.” Hal blushed. “Well, that's pretty serious too.”

“Yeah, but as you pointed out, dwindling lobstah meat is also a pressing issue.”

“What else were you thinking on that front?”

“We've made a lot of money in a short period of time.”

“Almost eight hundred?”

“Really? You've done the math in your head while cooking?”

“I did the math before we priced the food,” Hal said casually. “You're not the only one who can add and subtract around here.”

“Okay, say your math is right, and I agree it's probably pretty close,” Quinn admitted, once again impressed with Hal's business sense. “That's a good day's profit. It's also enough to let us get a sense of what people like best in the sandwich.”

“You're right, as usual.”

“From a business standpoint, it's been a hugely successful day. But . . .” Quinn said, finally letting go of her business brain for a second so her heart could have a chance to speak, “I don't want to stop.”

Hal laughed. “Uh-oh, it's in your blood now.”

“I think it might be,” she admitted. “You were right about this whole feeding people thing. I love seeing them happy and talking about our food. They love it, and they love us, and I love them for loving us. It's a good system.”

“You're such a benevolent ruler.”

“No, no, I'm like Macklemore. I didn't do this for a throne.”

“So you get your validation from the people?” Hal chuckled. “I guess the ceiling really can't hold you.”

“Kind of feels that way.”

“The adoration is addictive,” Hal said seriously.

“It's a drug. I don't want to disappoint all those people still waiting to try our masterpiece.”

“Well Jesus did say, ‘feed my sheep.'”

“See,” Quinn said, handing another two sandwiches out the window. “We're answering a holy call.”

“I love how you quote rappers and I quote the Bible.”

“Don't try to typecast me, Fryboi. I'm a banker. That's just like one degree of separation from gangster, only instead of robbing liquor stores, we crash all of Wall Street.”

Hal laughed while she flipped another two mismatched sandwiches into trays and Quinn lined up a couple more payments.

A whoop whoop of a police siren sounded somewhere very close, causing her to jump.

“Uh-oh,” Hal said.

“What do you mean ‘uh-oh?'”

Hal's smile was exaggerated and nervous.

“Hal . . .”

“You were just boasting about your gangsta cred, right?”

“Hal . . .”

“What? You've never had a run-in with the fuzz?”

“No. Never.” Her palms started to sweat.

“Well, just think of them like the IRS without the pocket protectors.”

“Why do I have to think about them at all?”

A knock pounded on the metal door at the back of the truck.

“There's always a possibility we're double parked, but I'm willing to bet they want to see our permit.”

“Then show it to them.”

Hal smiled the same nauseatingly fake smile, and Quinn sighed heavily, her mind already running damage control. No permit. Of course, it's a Saturday on a holiday weekend. They put the whole thing together in a couple hours. Why didn't she see it?

A knock sounded again, louder and more rushed.

“Keep serving,” Quinn ordered. “Run out as much as you can of what's left.”

Hal nodded and tossed eight more pieces of bread on the griddle as Quinn squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and swung open the door.