Page 22 of Infidelity Rules

Daily Special

Seared scallops with hazelnut vinaigrette

White bean puree with crispy bacon

Radicchio with honey and roasted feta

Shit! Shit, shit, shit. I explode through the doors at Persimmon, 15 minutes late and looking like I just got off an insane roller- coaster ride.

I am jet lagged and was zonked out on my sofa until just a few minutes ago, waking only to the sound of my phone pinging at me with texts from Alex. Thankfully, I heard them.

I head straight to the ladies’ room to make an attempt to look presentable. I only have a few minutes before I need to check my tables, so I take a quick look at my reflection in the mirror and prioritize.

Wait, is that bacon I smell? Never mind. Focus, Quinn, focus. You need to not look like a dead person.

I stare into the mirror.

A white, pasty face stares back. I have red eyes and wild, electrified hair. Even my eyebrows are sticking out every which way. I must have slept on my face.

I toss drops in my eyes, sweep my hair up into a messy bun and dab red cherry Chapstick onto my cheeks and mouth for some color.

It’s the best I can do. At least my clothes are clean and unwrinkled. I tuck in my shirt, smooth my eyebrows and head into the kitchen.

Chef is busy helping the new cooks shuck fresh scallops, so he doesn’t seem to notice I’m late. Or he pretends not to. Either way, I’m grateful.

He looks up as I approach and gives me a taste of the silky white bean puree with a drizzle of vinaigrette.

“Hmmmm, bacon,” I say, savoring the creamy, smoky bite.

“Scallops on top, radicchio scattered around the plate, all topped with a hazelnut balsamic dressing,” he says with a flourish.

“I’m on it,” I say. “I have both a red and a white in mind.” And I do.

I thought of both as soon as I walked through the door and smelled bacon and briny shellfish.

I’m all about French wines tonight, so I’ll suggest either a red Sancerre or a crisp Chablis.

Bubbles would be good here too. Ahhh bubbles , I think, as my mind wanders back to my last night in Paris with Marcus, under the Eiffel Tower.

.....

I am dying to talk to Julian but need to pay a visit to my tables first. I make my rounds, offering wine suggestions for the regular menu items, special bottles for birthdays and anniversaries and, of course, my top picks for the scallop special.

There’s a boisterous after-work crowd in the bar area and I can see that Julian is whizzing through his orders at top speed.

The restaurant is hopping and I am grateful for the distraction.

A group of four just sits down but I need to let them get settled and have a chance to peruse the menu before I make an appearance. I have a couple of minutes and sneak away to check my phone. I said goodbye to Marcus less than 24 hours ago and shouldn’t expect anything. But I am hoping.

I have a text!

Oh. It’s from Dezi. I shouldn’t be disappointed to hear from my best friend, but there it is. I want to hear from my man.

Dezi: Aerosmith?

Me: Huh? What about it?

Dezi: Want to join me and Elliot at a concert?

Me: Uh. I think I’ll pass. Are they still alive?

Dezi: Oh come on, it would be fun!

Me: Steven Tyler gives me the heebie jeebies.

Dezi: Ha! I get it. But this could be a good, non-coupley way to all get together.

Me: Hard pass. Sorry my friend. Not even for you.

Dezi: Eye-roll emoji. Elliot keeps asking about a double date ...

Me: I’m not dating anyone.

Dezi: So you say. Okay. Okay. I get it.

Me: We’ll figure out something else. I’m at work. Wine calls! Can’t wait to catch up.

Dezi: Me too. And welcome home!

That was weird. I’ve never known Dezi to be an Aerosmith fan. Or a concert goer for that matter. But she’s clearly sipping out of the love fountain.

I’m about to get back to the dining room when my phone pings again. Ooooh yay! Marcus! My stomach cartwheels, my heart rockets around, my intestines whirl. All this for just a text? I, too, am sipping out of the love fountain.

Well, the infatuation fountain at least. I don’t fall in love.

Marcus: Hello there gorgeous. I miss you already. Did you get some rest?

I summon every ounce of restraint and put my phone away. I will ride this high and respond later. I have to play the game at least a little bit. That, and I most definitely do need to get back to work.

I poke my head into the dining room and take a quick look around. I imagine that last table of four needs my attention, so I make my way over. There is something oddly familiar about one of the men sitting there. The one with his back to me.

Oh no. Not tonight. I don’t have the energy for this buffoon. It’s that fool from the wine seminar, Tim. At least he’s with a group and not alone at the bar, waiting for me.

“Good evening,” I say, all smiles. I do a quick debate in my head about whether I should pretend not to recognize him but decide to be a grown-up instead.

“Welcome back Tim,” I say. “I see you brought some friends tonight.” I glance around the table.

All men this evening, which is unfortunate.

At least with his wife or other women in tow, he’s more likely to behave.

Tim grins at me, puffing up in front of his friends because he “knows” somebody at the restaurant. “Quinny,” he says. “The Quinster. The Queen of wine.”

Really? I think to myself, trying hard to keep my eyes from rolling round and round in their sockets like the exorcist baby.

“You’ll take good care of me and my buddies tonight, won’t ya?” he says, trying to pat my waist with his huge, thick paws.

“Of course,” I say, turning on the professional charm and smiling at all the men individually. “You’re my favorite table already,” I say, leaning over and whispering. “Now, tell me what you’re in the mood for this evening. I can make recommendations and set you up with tastings if you’re not sure.”

“Don’t you just love this woman,” says Tim, rubbing his hands together.

I again suppress an eye roll and step just far enough away so Tim can’t accidentally touch me. I just want to get through the night, talk to Julian and keep Tim’s hands away from the vicinity of my ass.

And maybe get a decent tip.

It’s an IPA for the quiet blond. A Sazerac for the dude with a beard. And a bottle each of the recommended Chablis and red Sancerre. Four glasses all around.

I get Tim’s group settled and circle the room, checking on other tables, filling glasses and chatting with customers. I’m holding up well despite my jet lag. Drunk on adrenaline and desire, I suppose. Things that most definitely disappear in a marriage.

I wander over to the bar and see that Julian is out of the weeds. The post-work cocktail crowd has thinned out and he’s tending to just a handful of folks nursing drinks.

He looks up at me and smirks.

“Q,” he says. “Back safely I see.”

I’m grinning. Grinning and blushing. I just want to run over and hug him. Julian, after all, is sort of the one who brought me and Marcus together.

“You’re looking a bit crazy. But happy,” he says, pouring brandy over a bowl of dark cherries.

I can’t stop smiling. My cheeks ache. Jesus Quinn, knock it off. You’re scaring him.

I know Julian isn’t a hugger, but I can’t stop myself. I run over and engulf him.

I’m surprised I notice he smells like apples and lemon and Christmas trees. Although I do sniff things for a living, so I suppose it’s not too shocking.

“Thank you,” I whisper, squeezing him. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything, but I’m glad you had a good time,” he says, untangling himself from me.

“But you did,” I say. “You’ve been the go-between and you helped me deal with work so I could jet off to Paris.”

Julian just shrugs and starts to muddle the cherries, splashing a bit of brandy around in the process. “Happy to help Q. Marcus seems like a good guy.”

“I think so,” I say, still grinning stupidly. “No red flags yet.”

“So he’s not hiding a wife and ten kids off somewhere then,” Julian says, smiling.

The comment startles me. I wonder if there’s any chance Julian knows he’s married. Marcus has been coming to the bar for months now. Maybe he mentioned a wife? No. Can’t be. There’s no way Julian would let me unwittingly date a married man. Let alone run off to Paris with him.

Do I tell him? Oh god. This is so awkward.

Julian looks at me strangely.

Do I lie? Do I tell the truth? What the hell do I do here?

I move to whack Julian with a towel in the hopes of deflecting the whole thing when Tim saunters over to the bar. YES . I never thought I’d be happy to see Tim, but his timing is perfect. I get to weasel out of the moment.

Julian nods his head in the direction of Tim. “You have a visitor,” he whispers.

Tim puts his forearms on the bar and leans as far over as he can, his soft, round belly somewhat hampering his trajectory. “Hey there, lovely lady,” he says, clasping his hands together. “You took such great care of us all tonight. We loved the wine.”

“I’m so glad. Are you all wrapping up? Is there anything else I can get you? I was about to head in your direction.”

“No, no, we’re good,” he says. “The guys are heading out and I thought I’d come say hello and have myself an after-dinner drink,” he says, winking at me. “Any chance you might be getting off soon?”

I hear Julian cough. More like stifle a laugh.

“Tim,” I shake my head. “I’m working until close.” I look at him and stare pointedly at his wedding ring, hoping he gets the hint.

“I heard you don’t mind,” Tim says in a loud whisper, looking directly at me and slowly turning his wedding ring round and round his sausage finger.

Oh for fuck’s sake , I think to myself. This guy is a real jerk. And I know Julian is hearing all of this.

“I don’t mind what, exactly?” I ask, feigning total ignorance. How could he possibly be privy to my dating preferences?

“You know,” he says, grinning and cutting his eyes to his wedding band.

“Tim,” I say firmly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I’m involved with somebody. And you’re married. And now I must get back to work.”

“Okay, okay,” he says, putting his hands up and shrugging his shoulders. “Message received my little wine queen. Message received.”

I’ve had enough.

“The name is Quinn. Enjoy your beverage. Julian will take care of you.”

As much as I want to march Tim to the door, I can’t. But he’s no longer on my service in the bar area so at least I can walk away.

I shoot Julian an apologetic look and return to my tables in the dining room. Less than two minutes later I see Tim hustling out of the restaurant without even looking up. He didn’t even bother to put on his jacket.

Julian , I think to myself and smile.

I seriously owe that man.

.....

Two hours later I am home, showered and in my comfy stretchy clothes. I scroll through my phone to find Marcus’s text from earlier today. I can’t stop thinking about him.

Marcus: Hello there gorgeous. I miss you already. Did you get some rest?

I think about what to say and then start typing.

Me: Not enough. But it was all so worth it. Thank you for the incredible trip. Good food, good wine, great company …

I’m certain he’s home with his wife after the Paris trip, so I don’t really know when to expect a reply. I don’t even know when I’m going to see him again, but I’m confident he’ll reach out. We have too good a thing going. Oh look! Those three little dots …

Marcus: Happy you thought it was all worth it. I know I’d do it all over again.

Me: Me too. (smiley face, kissy face emoji)

Marcus: Wish we were back in our hotel room now. I cannot stop thinking about you.

Me: Me too. Quite possibly my favorite trip to Paris. Ever.

Marcus: What do you mean possibly??? Possibly my ass.

Me: Well, I think I need a little reminder. You know, just to be sure …

Marcus: Oh I am happy to remind you. And soon.

Me: I’d love that.

Marcus: Should have my flight and D.C. schedule soon, so I’ll get back to you ASAP. Would next week be too soon? Or even this weekend?

Me: Never.

Marcus: Glad to hear it. Good night gorgeous. I will see you soon. In the meantime, I am thinking about you. Always.

I blow out a big sigh and clutch my phone to my chest. Could things possibly get any better between us? He is my perfect man. My perfect, perfect man. If I don’t tread carefully here, I could be in real trouble.

I think I already am.