Page 15 of Infidelity Rules

Daily Special

Watermelon and peach gazpacho with blue cheese and fresh tarragon

Crunchy, cornmeal-crusted Maryland soft-shell crabs

Arugula and candied lemon salad

I walk into Persimmon’s kitchen and inhale the scent of the ocean and all its fresh, sweet and briny glory. There are live soft-shell crabs quietly napping in two human-sized bushels as the line cooks clean and prep them for tonight’s special.

Welcome to soft-shell season. I wasn’t always a fan, but done well, soft-shell crabs are a treat this time of year.

I prefer them deep fried and slapped between a soft roll, crispy legs akimbo and resembling a big, scary insect.

However, I know Chef’s lighter and more elegant version will be equally delicious and much less freaky on the plate.

Nothing but bubbles will do with this dish, so that’s what I’ll be offering — a selection of Champagne, Crémant and Prosecco.

The soft-shell crabs come flying out of the kitchen as patron after patron order the evening special.

Marylanders (we get a lot of guests from our neighboring state) are nuts for their soft-shells and Chef’s version is exceptional.

Many diners take my wine recommendations, but I also suggest beers and pour still wines for those who prefer something besides bubbly.

It’s a relief to be busy as although I do need to make a decision about dinner with Zack, I’m just too jazzed about Marcus and our upcoming date to think about much else.

I’m also excited for Dezi as Elliot seems kind and sweet and he clearly adores her.

I do love a man with good taste. Which reminds me, now that I already asked Elliot, I need to pitch my dessert cheese cart idea to Chef.

I know we’ve toyed with the idea before, but now we have a real in with a knock-out cheese purveyor.

If not now, then when? I’m pretty sure he cannot turn this down — think of all the free cheese tastings.

Oh boy. Cheese tastings . Surely I’ll need to sample frequently so I can suggest the appropriate wine pairings.

Good lord. I’ll need to make better use of my gym membership.

Chef is currently yelling at a new line cook, something about NOT poking the live crabs, so I’ll approach him later, when he’s calm and the kitchen is winding down for the night.

I do my usual dining room sweep and see all my patrons are happily crunching their way through soft-shells and sipping wine. I have a few minutes, so I’m off for a quick chat with Julian.

He’s doing his usual thing behind the bar, shaking, pouring and snapping off bottle caps as he quickly sets up a row of eight beer bottles.

He smirks as soon as he sees me. “Q,” he says, wiping down the bar with a towel.

“Hey,” I say, putting my elbows on the bar. “Busy night?”

He shrugs. “Steady.”

“What do you do when you’re not here tending bar?”

He raises his eyebrows and looks at me. “Eat. Sleep. The usual stuff.”

I shake my head and laugh. “There is absolutely nothing usual about you.”

“Goes both ways,” he says, measuring out a splash of amaro with a practiced eye.

“Come on, give me something,” I say, ignoring his comment. “And what are you making there?” I ask, watching him create a beautiful, sunset-colored cocktail.

“Paper plane,” he responds. “I play my drums. Box. Check in on my mom,” he says. “Will that do?”

“Yes,” I say, grinning. “For now, anyway.” I start folding his cocktail napkins into teeny tiny planes.

“Q,” he says. “Spill it.”

“Oh alright,” I say, smoothing out a mangled napkin. “I had my date with Marcus and we hit it off. I mean REALLY hit it off. I’m on track for a serious, full-on crush.”

“Wasn’t this the non-date?” Julian asks. “So, what’s the problem? You like him. He likes you. Not complicated.”

I throw my head back and sigh. I’m tempted to tell Julian that Marcus is married, but something in my gut stops me. Although I don’t think Julian would harshly judge, I do think I’d lose some of his respect and I’m not prepared for that.

“But it is complicated,” I say. “I’m afraid I’ll get too attached. That, and there’s somebody else I’m already sort of seeing. Somebody I do like, but...” I hesitate, not sure of my own thoughts, exactly.

Julian remains quiet as he shakes up yet another drink.

“I feel sort of out of control with Marcus and it freaks me out,” I say. SHIT . Did I just say that out loud? I didn’t mean to. “I like this other guy, Zack. But it’s not the same. I don’t feel unhinged around him.”

Julian nods as he stuffs green olives with chunks of blue cheese.

“Have you ever felt that way about somebody?” I ask. “Unhinged?”

Julian nods again and hands me a freshly stuffed olive.

“What did you do?” I pop the olive into my mouth.

“I rode it out. What else is there?”

Julian stops stuffing olives and looks at me. “Quinn. Decide who you want to be. The one who loves the most. Or the one who loves the least.”

I chew on that for a moment, recalling the time I asked Dezi that very same question. I don’t want to be either. Either side tears you up. I felt gutted alive like a fish in the aftermath of both Liam and Chris. A violent emptying of my insides.

“Can’t it be equal?” I ask, ever hopeful.

“Nope,” he says. “Somebody always loves more.”

“I hate that,” I say, frowning. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

“It’s life, Q. It’s okay if you don’t know yet.”

“I can’t even decide between these two men,” I say, sighing yet again.

“Who says you have to? You’re not married.”

Well, that is certainly true. I’m not, but they both are . Which, technically means they’re not exclusive with me. So why do I have to be with them?

The answer is I don’t. At least not right now. If I’m a bit of a distraction for Zack from his wearisome marriage, then he can be a distraction for me from falling too hard and too fast for Marcus.

I smile at Julian before heading back into the dining room. Immediate problem solved.

“I dig our chats,” I say, grabbing one more olive.

He nods and shoos me out of his bar. “Anytime Q. Anytime.”

.....

Back in the dining room I check on my tables and see that things are winding down. I uncork and pour what will likely be the last bottle of wine this evening and head into the kitchen in search of Chef. I find him standing by the sauté station, overseeing the final order of soft-shells.

“Are we all out?” I ask.

Chef shakes his head at me and then proceeds to shout at the sauté cook. “Not yet! Not yet!” he yells at the sweaty young man who was just about to pull the crabs off the heat. “Crunchy! We want crunchy! Those are NOT DONE.”

“We have a few left,” says Chef, turning back to me. “Thought I’d cook them up myself. No sense letting them go to waste. You in?”

“Hell yes,” I say, as he starts to dredge the crabs in cornmeal. I don’t think I’ve ever turned down his food. And I’m not about to start.

I take a bite of the shatteringly crisp soft-shell sandwich slathered in homemade lemon mayonnaise and my eyes roll back in my head. “Mmmmm, delicious,” I say between mouthfuls.

Chef just nods and plows through his own sandwich. He knows it.

I savor my last bit of crispy crab leg and lick the mayo from my fingers. Chef offers to make me another but I decline. I want to look good naked — no particular reason, of course — so a second sandwich is unwise.

“So Chef,” I say, as he fries himself up another critter. “I have an in with the owner of Barnyard Funk. What do you think? Cheese cart time?”

Chef flips his crab and nods. “You arrange for it and I’ll give him a shot. Let him wow me.”

YES! I try to refrain from jumping up and doing a little cheese dance.

YES! YES! YES! The only thing I enjoy perhaps even more than wine is cheese.

I won’t lie, I’m most looking forward to the chance to regularly sample unbelievable cheese, but I’m also eager to take on the challenge of pairing wines with a rotating selection.

“Thanks Chef,” I say, in disbelief. That was so easy. “I’m on it.”

“Don’t I know it,” he says. “Now get out of here and go enjoy the rest of your weekend.”

.....

As I climb into bed, I think about my productive day.

I sorted out my pressing man woes AND I am getting my dessert cheese cart.

Not bad for a day’s work. I have much to be grateful for, my blossoming friendship with Julian at the top of the list. I sink back into my pillows and tell myself that I will NOT feel guilty about dating both men.

Surely they cannot expect exclusivity when they can’t give it in return.

Can they?

I can hear Dezi in my head. Funny how you feel guilty about dating both men, Quinn, but not a trace of remorse for trampling on their wives’ territory.

I suppose she has a point, in theory. But she’s right, I don’t feel guilty. I didn’t make any vows. And I guarantee both marriages were dying long before I ever came into the picture. For all I know, the wives are involved in their own illicit affairs.

I really don’t want to know. Marriages can often float along for years on a subterranean river of resentment, guilt and god only knows what else.

It’s too complicated. And I don’t want my life to be.