Quinn
The only sign that someone else was in the room with me was the subtle scent of cigars. I used to wrinkle my nose at the smell. But that was before.
Now I’d come to look forward to his toasted almond and coffee scent. Craved it with an intensity that scared and excited me at the same time. I’d never been swept up in my feelings like this before.
But it seemed when it came to Liam, anything I was before didn’t matter.
His visits were few and far between. I never knew when he’d next break into my apartment and sit in my ratty old chair in the corner. He never touched me, never moved from his position.
Now, a sane person would think he was being creepy. But my sanity left the building a long time ago. And my body craved his nearness, had developed an unhealthy addiction to him. I’d never felt so drawn to another person.
From the first moment I saw him, I knew my life had changed. Some people walked into your life with a force that demanded attention and would linger long after they left. Liam was one of those people.
It was impossible not to take notice when he walked into a room in one of his black suits that cost more than my car. He always seemed one step away from knocking someone out. And probably was.
My eyes never opened, my ears straining to hear the slight swish of his clothes whenever he moved. Like I did every night he sat in my chair, I promised myself I’d go see a therapist. Right after getting a new lock for my front door. But for tonight, I ignored the little voice of reason that had been getting quieter and quieter over the last few weeks. Because she craved his visits as much as I did.
***
My restaurant was my pride and joy. Grazioso opened only five short months ago, but we’d steadily gained a reputation and were booked up every night. And to be able to pay the astronomical rent in San Francisco’s North Beach, I had to be.
My family owned a popular Italian restaurant in Ferguson, a small town about two hours north of Seattle. I could have taken the easy road and continued managing the already bustling restaurant. But I was desperate to forge my own path, and after a lot of negotiating, I was running my own restaurant in San Francisco.
My aunt, a plump Italian woman who made the best bomboloni greeted me as soon as I set foot in the kitchen. “Tesoro, there you are.”
Unwrapping the layers I’d piled on to ward off the chill outside, I continued to my office. It was no more than a small supply closet at the other end of the large space, but I didn’t need much. “I’m sorry I’m late. I didn’t sleep well.”
Bustling into the tiny space that barely fit my desk and a small shelf, she hung up my jacket and scarf that I’d thrown on my office chair. I wouldn’t be sitting in it anytime soon.
“You work too much.” My aunt smoothed down my hair. “Did you think about going out with that good-looking young man who asked you yesterday, bellissima?”
She made a sweeping hand gesture that could mean anything from “you should go for it” to “I want a piece of that man myself” or even “I have indigestion.”
“Zia Amara, you know I don’t have time to date.”
I also couldn’t stomach the idea of going out with anyone. Not until I kicked this obsession with Liam.
“Va bene. I’ll let it go for now. I know that look on your face, and I know you won’t hear what I have to say. But don’t think this is over.”
Of course it wasn’t. My aunt was persistent. And she would enjoy nothing more than to seeing me married off with a gaggle of children. I knew because she’d tried her best to set me up with anyone who showed interest. They didn’t even have to be Italian anymore—a sign she was getting desperate.
I grabbed my apron off my desk, where I’d flung it last night, then joined my aunt in the kitchen. “Did you find the biscotti? I forgot to message to let you know I’d made more and left them in the oven.”
“Already put them on plates.” Amara went back to preparing the panna cotta that would sell out within the first few hours of the dinner rush. “We’re almost out of tomatoes. I’ve already made the sauces for tonight, but we’ll need to order more for tomorrow.”
I made a note on my phone and tied my apron around my waist. It seemed to fit a bit snugger every time I put it on. I needed to start exercising more. Something I told myself about three times a day. Or after every indulgent meal—which was all of them.
I didn’t allow myself many pleasures, but good food was one of them. And Liam was the other one. But that was probably even unhealthier than the artery-clogging meals I favored.
The next few hours passed in a blur of cooking and chatting with patrons.
“Your sauce is too thin,” Vladimir, my Russian sous-chef, unhelpfully pointed out as he once again watched over my shoulder.
“Shut up. It’s fine.” It wasn’t. But I’d be damned if I’d admit it.
He smirked and pointed to the board sitting next to the stove. “So why didn’t you use all the tomatoes, then? And last I checked, we put oregano and basil in our sauce.”
I cringed at the tomato cubes and bushels of herbs still sitting on the chopping board. My mind had been wandering all night, and it wasn’t conducive to my cooking skills.
“I was getting to that.”
He harrumphed and turned back to the fish he’d been preparing before checking on me. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
I hacked at the basil, avoiding Vlad’s scrutinizing gaze. “There’s no guy.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” Amara put in.
I pointed my knife at them. “Stay out of my love life. Both of you.”
Amara narrowed her eyes at me. “You'd have to have a love life for us to stay out of it.”
“She doesn’t need a man,” Vlad was quick to jump in. “Besides, she has us if she needs company.”
Amara glared at Vlad. “That’s not the kind of company she needs.”
I tuned out their bickering once they started yelling at each other in Italian and Russian, knowing full well the other didn’t speak their language.
“Quinn.” Stacia, one of the waitresses, poked her head through the door leading into the kitchen. “There’s someone here asking for you.”
“I’ll be out in a minute.” I nudged Vlad with my elbow. “Can you take over?”
He stopped yelling and smiled at me. “Of course, lapochka.”
Since I wanted to know what people were calling me—or yelling at me—I’d been looking up Russian words. And it turned out my moody sous-chef was as sweet as pie underneath the rough exterior. When he wasn’t calling me pet names reserved for friends and family, he was as supportive as only a true friend could be.
Vlad had been with me since I opened the restaurant. He was the first to apply for the job as sous-chef, and I hired him on the spot. He’d fit right in from the start, becoming an honorary member of my family. Mom called him almost every week to chat.
And while it might be weird to have a Russian sous-chef in an Italian restaurant, he was one of the best chefs I’d ever met. And his Italian food rivaled Amara’s and my mom’s. And they’d been born with a chopping board in their hands.
After taking off my apron and throwing it back on top of my desk, I went out into the hallway between the main part of the restaurant and the kitchen. A squeal that was not fit for a professional restaurant owner left me when I saw who was there to see me.
“Freya, what are you doing here?” I hugged my best friend, pushing down the tears that threatened to escape. I’d only seen her a handful of times since the opening five months ago, and I’d missed spending time with her.
She squeezed me back, only releasing me when one of the servers bumped into us on their way to the kitchen. “Surprise.” Still holding my hand, she walked into the bustling restaurant, dragging me behind her. “It’s been way too long since I last saw you.”
We took a seat at the small bar at the back. “That’s true. But you’re here now. That’s all that matters.” Talking on the phone with her nearly every day had helped keep me sane. Especially when her brother’s visits made me question my mental state.
Freya bounced in her seat. “Can you get out of here early? Or should I get ready for a night of pizza and reading?”
My heart felt full seeing my friend, and for the first time in months, I was content. “Give me twenty minutes to wrap things up. Vlad doesn’t want me in the kitchen anyway, so he’ll be elated to hear I’m leaving.”
Freya chuckled. “I don’t know what’s stranger about that sentence, the fact that you have a Russian sous-chef or that he can order you out of your own kitchen.”
I slid off the chair. “You know how good his food is. I don’t argue with him, and in turn he continues to create the most amazing dishes so people come back and I can pay my rent.”
“Speaking of food. I haven’t had dinner yet. Think you can grab something for us?”
Grinning, I nodded. “Of course. Be right back.”
My steps were lighter going back into the kitchen, and I couldn’t stop smiling. Amara and Vlad stopped what they were doing as soon as they noticed me.
Amara pointed a finger my way. “What’s that on your face?”
My hands went to my cheeks and mouth, hoping I didn’t have food stuck to it. “What is it? Don’t tell me I went outside with sauce stuck somewhere.”
Vlad set down his knife. “You’re smiling. Why are you smiling? Who’s out there?”
He went to the door and pushed it open enough to give him a view of the bar at the end of the hallway where Freya waited. Satisfied with what he saw, he reported back to Amara. “Just her friend. The loud one.”
Amara deflated. “Oh well, at least she has friends. Or a friend.”
Flicking a hand towel at them, I scowled. “Hey, that’s not nice. When would I have time to make friends?”
Or date. But my dating life had always been sad. And now I wasn’t interested in anyone but one impossibly handsome and damaged mafia prince.
Whose sister was my best friend.
What am I doing?
After the incident that involved a sex swing, I thought my dating life had gotten as low as it ever would. But this was worse. Because I had the hots for my best friend’s brother and didn’t intend to tell her. At least nothing had happened yet, and nothing ever would.
I put lasagna and enough cannoli to feed at least ten people in a dish. Vlad looked over my shoulder, studying me a little too closely. “You having more people over tonight?”
I placed a lid on the plastic container and elbowed him out of the way. “It’s for both of us.”
“Now, I know you can eat, but it would be physically impossible for you to finish all that.”
Grabbing my coat, I made sure I was zipped up all the way to brave the cold wind. “Maybe I want leftovers for tomorrow. Now, if you’re done with your interrogation, I’m going home.”
Amara studied me. She knew I either cooked or pushed food on people if I felt upset or guilty. It had always been my tell since I was a little kid.
She squeezed my shoulder on the way past. “I’m here when you’re ready.”
I smiled at her, knowing I’d have to talk to someone eventually or my confusing feelings would swallow me whole. “I know.”
Freya and I took a taxi back to my little studio apartment, giggling in the back, acting like teenagers. I miss having her close.
I used to live in an apartment above my parents’ garage, and this was the first time I’d rented a place on my own. It was as exciting as it was scary.
But I’d slowly made the space my own. You’d think it wouldn’t take that long to furnish and decorate such a small space, but I’d only brought my bed, my favorite armchair, and kitchen utensils from Ferguson. I still hadn’t purchased a couch or table. Since I was only there to sleep, I didn’t need much. And I’d been so busy I hadn’t had time to go furniture shopping.
“Love what you’ve done with the place.” Freya’s voice dripped with sarcasm when she walked into my apartment. She spun around, taking in the fully stocked kitchen and empty living room.
I set the food and wine we’d grabbed on the way on the counter. I should get a few barstools. At least then I’d have a place to eat dinner with someone else. There just hadn’t been a need before tonight. It was sad to admit, but she was the first person to have dinner here with me.
Amara and Vlad had come over before, but they never stayed long, and it was usually a work-related visit.
“I’ve been busy.”
Freya took the lid off the container that held the lasagna. “You could have asked your mom to do it for you.”
I knew Mom would have been ecstatic to help, but I wanted to do this on my own. I was a grown woman. I could buy my own furniture.
I poured us both a glass of wine, while Freya opened my kitchen cupboards in search of plates. “I’ll get around to it eventually. For now, we can sit on the bed, or I have a picnic blanket we can spread out on the floor,” I explained, pointing to the counter. “The plates are above the toaster.”
After heaping food on two plates, she handed me mine in exchange for her wineglass. We settled on the floor. Freya moaned after her first bite, and I resisted the urge to do the same.
Damn, Vlad’s good.
“This is the best lasagna I’ve ever eaten,” she gushed between bites.
“Don’t let Mom hear you say that.”
Her cheeks reddened. “Swear on your nonna’s grave that you’ll never tell her I said that.”
I chuckled, knowing she loved my mom and was horrified to hurt her feelings. “She’s had Vlad’s lasagna. And every other dish we serve at the restaurant. She wouldn’t be offended if she heard you because she agrees. And every time she visits, she tries to get the recipe out of Vlad.”
Freya inhaled her food but somehow still managed to hold a conversation between giant bites. “I’m surprised she’s not down here every weekend.”
My parents had a hard time letting me go, but I’d finally found enough courage to tell them I wanted to expand. Our restaurant in Ferguson had been booked out weeks in advance, and it had been time to branch out.
“They weren’t happy but know it was the right decision for the business. I left them with a fantastic manager who’s been with us for years, and I still do some of the work from here.”
Freya studied me, her eyes lingering on the deep-purple circles under my eyes and the new lines that had etched themselves into my face. And because she was my friend, she wouldn’t just give me a disapproving look. She’d tell me all about it. “You pretty much managing two restaurants tells me about the lack of sleep you seem to be getting. But the more pressing question is why haven’t you settled in yet? Amara tells me you never go out and haven’t made any friends besides Vlad. And he doesn’t count since he works for you.”
I put my fork down, suddenly too full to continue. “Amara has a big mouth. And I’m fine. Work has always been my happy place. You know this. And I want to make this restaurant work. I can’t fail.”
She pushed her now-empty plate aside. “I know how much you’ve always wanted this, but you won’t get to enjoy it if you keel over from a heart attack before you’re forty. You used to love life. Dated. Tried weird sex positions. Whatever happened to that Quinn?”
I made a noise in protest, but she ignored me and kept going. “Everyone needs a break every once in a while. And I’m here to give you yours. Because the last thing you want is to end up like my brother and turn into a grumpy robot.”
I knew which brother she was talking about because her other two certainly knew how to have fun. “I’m not going to turn into Liam. And I’m sure he does plenty of things to unwind that you just don’t know about.”
I wondered if breaking into my apartment and watching me pretend to sleep counted as fun.
“You’re probably right. But there’s something going on with him. He just disappears, and nobody can get a hold of him. Not even Dad. And Liam always answers the phone for Dad. At least he used to. I think he’s seeing someone. Or maybe he spends his time off at a spa. Who knows? He’s as forthcoming with information as a rock.”
I cleared our plates and turned on the TV. “I’m sure he’s fine. Now, what do you want to watch?”
We spent the rest of the night eating cannoli and yelling at the TV. I’d needed a night like tonight more than I’d care to admit to Freya. And I vowed to kick my unhealthy habits and get myself back out there. Starting with forgetting about Liam and finally dating again.