Page 18 of Infidelity Rules

I wake up starving. Stress, I think. My metabolism is still all jacked up from that annoying conversation I had with Dezi and Elliot at lunch a few days ago.

He’s very opinionated that one. I really don’t care what he thinks, but I do very much care about Dezi and don’t want to do anything to hurt her.

I just hope the mess with his sister gets resolved soon.

I climb out of bed and take my time making my way into the kitchen.

I have nowhere I need to be today which is a glorious break.

I get my coffee going and decide to make what I call SFAT for breakfast. San Francisco Avocado Toast. I had it at a tiny cafe in San Francisco right before attending a wine seminar a couple of years ago and it’s been one of my favorite breakfasts ever since.

Avocado, lemon, zaatar and Aleppo pepper. Mash it up, spread on thick slices of toast and top with jammy, barely set eggs and a hit of olive oil and sea salt. So satisfying.

It’s also now my brother’s favorite, so I make it for him whenever he comes to visit.

I’m finishing the last bite of toast and reading Alex’s most recent story in the newspaper when my phone pings at me.

It’s Julian. He never texts me.

Julian: Q. You are not working today?

Me: I’m not. Everything okay?

Julian: Yup. I think you should stop by if you can.

Me: Okay. Do you need me to fill in or something?

Julian: Nope. All good.

Me: Okaaay. Plan to expand on that?

Julian: You have a message.

Me: Wait. WHAT? WHAT? Did Marcus stop by again???

I put my phone down for a second and try to collect myself. I’m so excited I might hurl. My stomach cannot handle the stress of the SFAT and my utter hysteria.

Julian: Stop by. He dropped off a note late last night.

Me: When? When will you be in?

Julian: Noon-ish. Training a newbie bartender.

Me: Can’t you just tell me what it says???

Julian: Not opening it, Q. Patience.

Noon cannot come fast enough. I wonder why Marcus didn’t just text or call?

Perhaps he’s trying to avoid any type of communication his wife can intercept.

Okay Quinn, you need a distraction. I attempt to continue reading the newspaper but fail miserably.

I keep staring at the same headline and can’t even make sense of that.

Okay. Enough. I need to get moving. I throw on a pair of stretchy gym pants and a tank top, strap on my sneakers and head outside.

I figure I can walk for an hour then walk right on over to Persimmon.

I debate heading toward Dezi’s office to see if she’s free to grab coffee, but I don’t think I need the extra stimulant.

That, and I think she’s teaching a class at this moment, anyway.

Maybe I should walk over to Barnyard Funk.

I’m a wee bit annoyed with Elliot, but I do need to talk to him about arranging a cheese tasting for Chef.

Might as well knock that out. And, bonus, cheese will be an excellent distraction.

.....

Barnyard Funk smells just like its namesake.

And just as it should — all goat hoof and grass and animal musk.

I walk through the doors and take a deep breath, inhaling all that moldy, pungent goodness.

I’m dazzled by the array of cheeses arranged by type of milk.

There are goat and sheep cheeses, cow’s milk, buffalo milk and plenty of mixed milk cheeses.

Fresh, aged, blue, washed rind … oh my! I look around the shop but don’t see Elliot, so I inquire with the nice young man behind the cheese counter.

He offers me a hauntingly goaty glob of oozing cheese and says he’ll be right back.

I’m swooning over the hoofy goo when Elliot comes over and gives me a hug.

“I thought I might see you in here eventually,” he says with a grin. “What do you think of that cheese?”

“Heaven,” I say, closing my eyes and savoring its perfect funk. “That is a spectacular cheese.” Okay. He’s forgiven.

“It’s one of my new favorites. A raw goat’s milk from the Pyrenees.”

Elliot guides me through several more samples from all over the world. Some are sweet and taste just like fresh cream. Others are redolent of mushrooms, hay or lavender. One hard cheese in particular tastes just like buttered toast of all things. Toast!

“How do you feel about stinky cheese?” he asks.

“I feel great about it.”

“Figured as much. Close your eyes and have a whiff. This bad boy here was the inspiration behind the name of my shop.”

I don’t even have to get close. I can easily smell that thing three feet away. It’s barnyard alright, but also the dueling odors of ripe feet and armpit. Mmmmmmmm. My kind of cheese.

“It’s a Trou du cru from France,” he says happily. “I’m working Dezi up to this one. Baby steps.”

“You two seem so happy together,” I say.

“I know I sure am. I cannot believe my luck.” He grins.

He’s adorable when he talks about Dezi and I can’t help but be utterly delighted for my friend.

I thank Elliot for the cheese education and tell him Chef wants a sample cheese platter before officially teaming up.

“Absolutely,” he says. “I already have some thoughts.”

“I warn you, Chef can be a bit rough around the edges and his exact words were, ‘let him wow me.’ Just so you know.”

“I love a challenge,” says Elliot, rubbing his hands together. “I’m in.”

I thank him again and promise to get in touch soon with dates to woo Chef.

And now it’s past noon and I’m on a mission to get to Persimmon as fast as possible.

.....

I unlock one of the many dockless scooters lying around the city and zoom my way to the restaurant.

Ten minutes later I’m outside Persimmon, trying to calm my heart rate and simmer down a bit before Julian can see how nuts I am.

I’m so excited it’s difficult to even take a deep breath.

Relax Quinn, I say to myself. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

This stupid yoga breathing is so not working. Whatever. I’m going in.

I burst through the front doors and head straight to the bar where I find Julian setting up for the evening.

“What happened to your newbie?” I ask.

Julian shrugs. “Apparently a no-show. His loss,” he says, as he slides a white envelope across the bar towards me.

I stare at it. My name is written in a messy half-cursive, half-print across the top.

“Another hand-delivered note from your non-date,” says Julian with a smirk.

I smack him with the envelope. “Should I open it now? Would that be weird?”

“Your call. I’ll be in the back checking our bottle supply if you need me,” he says, disappearing to give me some privacy.

I stare at the envelope, wondering if I should feel swept off my feet by this old-school wooing or totally creeped out. Definitely the former, I think as I slide my finger underneath the flap.

Hey gorgeous.

I wake up thinking about you. I fall asleep dreaming about you. And I simply cannot wait any longer. I have to fly to Paris. Can you get away and meet me? Hotel suite booked. Two nights. Plane tickets enclosed.

Please say yes. I don’t want to wait another week to see you.

Marcus

Screw yoga breathing. I need a drink. I jump behind the bar and am just pouring myself a shot of gin when Julian returns.

“That bad, huh?” he asks.

I knock back my drink and wordlessly hand the note to Julian.

He scans it, eyebrows raising. “The dude has balls, that’s for sure,” he says, handing it back to me. “He goes after what he wants.”

“Is this crazy? Am I totally nuts to consider this?”

“A little,” he says.

I let out a big sigh. “I want to do this,” I say. “I really, really want to do this.”

“So do it,” Julian says. “Life is short. No regrets.”

I shake my head in disbelief and stare at the plane tickets. I cannot believe I’m meeting Marcus in Paris. If this isn’t a rendezvous, I don’t know what is.

“No regrets,” I say, grinning. “Oh my god. What am I going to wear? When am I going to pack? What about work?”

Julian hands me another small glass of gin. “Relax, Q. I’ll handle your schedule. Now go pack. Just text me your hotel information.”

“Worried about me?” I ask, teasing.

“Not really,” he shrugs. “I have a good feeling about the guy, but be smart about it. No regrets works both ways.”

.....

I race home to start packing. This whole thing sounds crazy in my head, but utterly perfect in my heart.

Yes, I followed my heart with Liam, but that was different.

We had potential to grow. With Marcus, our fling has a built-in end, otherwise known as his wife and marriage, so it feels much safer.

So yes, I’m going with my heart again. Or, more accurately, my raging Marcus lust. I followed my head with Chris and look where that got me.

A big fat divorce and a weird hang-up about dating unavailable men. Yup, I am doing this.

But Julian is right, I will make sure both Dezi and Alex also know the details. Alex is not going to like this, but he has a reporter’s sensibilities — to him everything leads to mayhem, disaster or an untimely death.