The Romance Report (5 page)

Chapter Eight

Quinn awoke the next day to her thirty-pound cat
kneading the pillow next to her head and her cell phone ringing. Half awake,
she fumbled and answered, “Hello? Whoever this is, it is way too early to call
anyone on a Sunday morning.”

“It’s ten o’clock, Quinn, and it’s about time you
answered my call.” The ice crystals practically formed on the phone as Quinn’s
mother spoke.

“Oops! Sorry, Mother. I was on a blind date last
night and got in a little late.” Quinn pushed Fat Panther off her bed and
struggled to sit up. Stifling a yawn, she got up and scuffed her way into her
kitchen to start coffee.

“A blind date? Interesting. You can’t date the
nice young man and family friend I set you up with, but you can trip the light
fantastic with some stranger? What did this guy do for a living? Musician,
street artist, mime?”

“No, Mother. He’s a realtor. His name is Paul, but
I don’t think I’ll be going out with him again,” Quinn set her cell phone down
and poured herself a cup of coffee. Her mother’s voice squawked through the
phone. Quinn heard something about growing up and time to settle down. Blah,
blah, blah. She added a spoonful of sugar and a dash of creamer, took a sip of
her coffee, then picked up the phone. “Mom, I am a grown up. I have a job, my
own apartment and don’t want to settle down until I find the right guy. I don’t
plan on compromising just because he earns a good paycheck. There’s more to
life than money and career.”

Her mother stayed silent so long that Quinn
thought the call had dropped. “Mom? Are you still there?”

“I’m still here. Is that what you think I did?
Married your dad for his money?”

Quinn sighed. No matter what she said, it was
always wrong when it came to her mother. “No, Mom. I know you love Dad and
that’s why you married him. I’m just saying that a guy like Tad might earn a
good living, but he’s not a very nice person.”

“I worry about you,” her mom said softly. “I want
to know that you’re married and settled down with a family and a career. I want
you to be okay.”

“I am okay. I’ve made a few poor choices in the
guys I’ve dated in the past, but here’s a happy thought. I didn’t marry them! I
like working with Uncle Patrick. It’s giving me a chance to decide my next
career move. And if the right guy comes along, I’ll know. Tad wasn’t the right
guy.”

“His dad’s an ass, too.”

“Mom!” Quinn exclaimed in shock. Her mother rarely
cursed.

“Well, he is. It was actually T.K. that asked me
to set you up with Tad. Turns out Tad has a habit of bringing strippers to
company functions. T.K. hoped Tad would bring you to the next partner function.
I didn’t know any of this until afterwards.”

“Are you serious? Oh my gosh! That’s funny. Well,
I don’t feel bad about trying to hit him with my shoe then.”

“Did you really throw your black Pradas at him?
Those shoes aren’t cheap, dear. You didn’t damage them did you?”

“No. I actually hit the guy at the next table in
the back of the head. That little move sealed the deal on getting fired.”

Ann chuckled. “If it makes you feel any better, I
got fired for from my first writing job, too. I called the editor of the paper
an insufferable prig after he trashed one of my stories.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“For what?” Her mother asked.

“For cheering me up,” Quinn said.

“That’s what moms do. Speaking of moms, the reason
I called is about Grandma’s birthday. Her seventieth birthday is next month,
and your uncle and I wanted to have a big birthday bash at his restaurant. I need
you to help me with the guest list and invitations.”

“Sure. I’ll come by the house later today and we’ll
come up with a list.”

“Thanks, dear. You should wear the David Koma
dress I gave you to the party. You can never go wrong with a little black
dress.”

Quinn rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you’re right,
Mother. I’ll talk to you later.” Quinn hung up and took a sip of her coffee.
She grimaced. It had grown cold while she talked to her mom. She dumped it into
the sink and poured another cup. Her uncle’s restaurant was closed on Sundays,
so Quinn planned to do laundry and go to the grocery store. Her cupboards had
grown bare and she was down to canned soup and some moldy cheese.

Quinn showered and dressed in her favorite pair of
jeans and a turquoise t-shirt on over her damp hair. Slipping her feet into an
old pair of flip-flops, she opened her apartment door and found Zach standing
in front of her.

“Oh! Hello. We almost had another run in,” Quinn said
with a smile.

“Good morning. Sorry to bother you, but I came to
ask you a huge favor,” Zach said.

“Sure. What do you need?”

“I have to go out of town for a week, and I wanted
to see if you could feed my fish,” Zach said. “If you could just stop by once a
day and throw some fish flakes into the tank, it would be a huge help. Mrs.
Garza offered to do it, but I know she has a hard time climbing the stairs,
so…”

“No problem.”

“Great. I appreciate it. Here’s my spare key and
the flakes are right next to the tank. I’ll be back before the end of the week.”
Zach handed her the key to his apartment. “I’ve got to catch a flight this
morning. Otherwise, I’d finally buy you that cup of coffee. When I get back?”

“Definitely. Have a safe flight,” Quinn said. She
closed and locked her apartment door behind her. “I’m off to restock my
refrigerator. It’s down to a block of cheese and a few stray crumbs.”

“Thanks again. See you later,” Zach said.

“See you later.”

Quinn walked the five blocks to the closest market
and grabbed a cart. She cruised up and down the aisles. She was looking at the
selection of cat food when she heard a voice call her name. She glanced around
and spotted a man pushing a cart towards her. He looked vaguely familiar, but
she couldn’t quite place the face.

“Quinn Daniels. How are you?” He gave her a wide
smile showing his dazzling white teeth. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

“I’m sorry. You look familiar but…”

“Doug Martin. We had Professor Djos’ Intro to
Journalism class together. Remember?”

“Yes! Oh my gosh. Doug, how are you?”

“I’m doing good. Ended up not going into
journalism. Decided after Dr. Djos’ brutal class that maybe journalism wasn’t
in the cards for me. Got my degree in teaching instead. Nowadays, I’m Mr.
Martin to a bunch of eighth-graders.”

“Middle school? You’re a brave man, Mr. Martin.
Well, I stuck with journalism, but right now I’m helping my uncle out as a
pastry chef at his restaurant.”

“Married? Kids?” Doug asked.

“Nope. How about you?”

“Nah. I’ve been too busy with teaching. Listen, do
you want to grab lunch? We could eat at the little café next door?”

“I’ve got all these groceries to get home, and I
have to visit my parents this afternoon. Can I get a raincheck?”

“Sure. Let me get your phone number and maybe we
could go out sometime.”

“I’d like that,” Quinn responded. She gave Doug a
closer look. He was fit without being brawny, and his blue eyes sparkled in his
lightly tanned face. She dug in her purse for a pen and piece of paper and
jotted her phone number down for him.

He grinned and slipped it into his jeans. “I’ll
call you soon. It was good seeing you.”

“Good seeing you, too. Talk to you later.” Quinn
turned back to her cart and a big smile spread across her face. A guy showed
interest in her, and he wasn’t a starving artist or a musician. She grabbed a
bag of cat chow and tossed it in her cart. She decided to hit the hardware
store when she was finished here. Maybe a little paint would add some flair to
her apartment. Humming softly, she glided her way through the rest of her
shopping.

chapter nine

  
Quinn
spent Sunday afternoon painting her bedroom a bright shade of turquoise with
cream paint on the crown molding. She decided to take a break at four o’clock
and head over to her parent’s house. She washed her paintbrush and roller and
put them both in a plastic bag so she could finish
 
the room the next evening. She walked the two
blocks to where she parked her beat-up Volvo sedan. With limited parking in her
neighborhood, Quinn usually rode the bus rather than drag Old Susannah out of
her parking spot. Quinn patted her trusty metal steed on her dashboard when the
engine turned over on the first try. Thirty minutes later, she pulled into her
parent’s circular driveway.

“Mom? Dad?” Quinn called out when she went inside.

“We’re out on the deck, dear,” her mother called
from the rear of the house.

Quinn walked through the house and onto the back
deck to find her parents playing Scrabble and drinking iced tea.

“Who’s winning?” Quinn asked, although she could
guess the answer.

“Your father, of course, but I’m close enough to
taste victory,” Anne said. She laid down her tiles and cackled in delight.
“Zephyrs. With triple word score that gives me a twenty point lead!”

“Lucky draw,” Quinn’s father drawled. He puffed on
the cigar he had clenched between his teeth.

“Luck!” Anne squawked. “That, my dear husband, was
skill and strategy. Oh my goodness. What in the world have you done to your
hair?”

“I cut it and stripped the color back to my
natural shade,” Quinn replied. She waited for the barrage of criticism.

“I like it,” her dad said. “It suits you.”

“You look like Mama,” Anne said softly.

“Does that mean you like it?”

“It means that you look like your Grandma Rose
when you let your hair run wild like that,” Anne said with a prim set of her
lips.

Quinn sighed and sat down next to her mother. “I
thought we were going to come up with a guest list for Grandma’s birthday
party. I can ask Uncle Patrick who he wants to add to the guest list when I go
to work tomorrow.”

“Your mother told me you’re working for Patrick.
Honey, I have connections and can get you a stringer job at the Times or one of
the smaller local papers. Just say the word and it’s done,” David said with a
snap of his fingers.

“I’m okay working for Uncle Pat, Dad. His pastry
chef broke her leg so I’m helping him out for the next two months. After that,
I’ll figure it out.”

“I’ll go ahead and make a few phone calls and
start laying the groundwork,” her dad said. “Zigzag. That puts me back in the
lead and leaving you in the dust.”

“Drat!” Anne said, wrinkling her nose as she
looked at her tiles. “Too many vowels on that last draw.”

“Dad, don’t make any calls yet. Give me time to
figure out my next career move,” Quinn begged.

“Fine, fine,” her dad said with a distracted tone.
“Where’s the pitcher of tea? It’s hotter than the blazes out here. I told you
we should have put the shade umbrella up.”

“It’s in the kitchen. Why don’t we all go inside
and get out of the heat. I call it quits on this game anyway,” Anne said. She
stood up and dumped her letters into the box.

“Another victory for David Daniels and the crowd
goes wild,” Quinn’s dad made the sound of a crowd cheering.

“No one likes a sore winner, Dad,” Quinn joked.

“Says the girl who has never won a game of
Scrabble against her old man.”

Quinn helped her mom pick up the game and carried
the box into the kitchen. She pulled the pitcher of iced tea out of the refrigerator
and after refilling her father’s glass poured herself one. “So any idea how
many people you want to invite to Grandma Rose’s party?”

“The restaurant can’t hold more than seventy-five
people, so the party will be a little more intimate.”

Quinn rolled her eyes mentally at her mother’s
definition of an intimate party. “We may want to see if any of Grandma’s
friends from bridge are able to come.”

“Add their names to the list,” Anne commanded as
she put a pad of paper and a pen in front of Quinn. “I’ve already started
contacting people. Once we get everyone’s name down, we can pare it down if we
need to.”

Quinn perused the list of guests. “Mother, why do
you have Tad on the guest list? Really? I doubt he’ll want to come within five
hundred miles of me after our dating fiasco a few weeks ago.”

“Your father and his father have been hunting and
fishing buddies for years. It would be rude not to invite them. I’m sure he’ll
decline, but the invitation has to be sent.”

“Ugh. Well, if he shows up, I’m kidnapping Grandma
and taking her club hopping for her birthday. I’m forewarning you now.”

“I invited Marjorie Kellogg. Her son is in medical
school and would be a catch.”

“Casey Kellogg had the worst case of acne I’d ever
seen in my life and he breathes through his mouth.”

“Which is why he’s going to be a dermatologist.
He’s a nice man. You could do worse.”

“I doubt it. Anyway, I might bring a date of my
own to the party. I ran into an old college friend today. He asked for my phone
number and wants to take me out on a date.”

“What does he do for a living? Something in the
arts I’m assuming.”

“No, Mother. He’s not a musician or a starving
artist. Doug’s a middle school teacher. He’s a nice guy.”

“Hmm…well, I’m reserving judgment until I meet
him.”

“Your mother means until she interrogates him.”

Quinn’s mother glared at her husband. Rather than
respond, she began adding names to the guest list. Fifteen minutes later, Quinn
and her mother had a list of sixty guests. “Ask my brother who we’ve missed and
call me tomorrow.”

“I will. I better get back home. I promised to
stop by my new neighbor’s apartment and feed his fish while he’s out of town.
Fat Panther is probably starving anyway.” Quinn grabbed her bag and after
hugging her parents goodbye, she and Old Susannah chugged her way back to her
apartment in Richmond.

She let herself into Zach’s apartment with the key
he’d given her. She fumbled her hand against the wall and found the light
switch. Flipping it on, she stood momentarily transfixed. Although Zach’s
apartment mirrored hers, it couldn’t be more different. Rather than the stark
white walls like her own apartment, Zach had painted his living room vivid
shades of blue. His walls were covered with paintings and photographs depicting
scenes from nature and old buildings from around the world. She slowly moved
her way around the living room. Her eyes traveled across the artwork as she
tried to take it all in. She found herself transfixed by the images of Gothic
cathedrals and towering spires on castles and mansions. She looked around the
rest of the living room and spotted a drawing table covered with large pads of
paper. Next to the table was an empty easel. An artist. Her new neighbor was an
artist. Darn it. She was all set to like him. He was funny and good looking,
but she was over the artistic, flaky guys. She looked around for the fish tank
and saw it near the small television tucked into one corner of the living room.
She moved across the room and opening the jar of fish food, she sprinkled a
handful of flakes into the tank. Little silver flashes darted to the surface
and sucked in the reddish-brown food.

“Here, fishy, fishy, fishy,” Quinn cooed to the
tank full of small fish. She wasn’t really a fish person. Too much trouble to
clean the tank every week. Fat Panther would probably eat the fish anyway.

She glanced at the stack of movies next to the
television. Zach’s taste in movies were similar to hers. Comedies with a
sprinkling of drama and suspense. The shelf behind the fish tank contained a
number of books. Quinn scanned the spines and found interspersed with books on
medieval architecture, some mysteries by authors she liked, too. Her eyes lit
up when she saw the latest novel from one of her favorite mystery writers. She
had the same novel sitting next to her bed.

Taking a last look around the apartment, Quinn had
a brief pang of regret. Zach and she shared so many of the same interests. Shaking
her head, she closed his apartment door behind her.