Page 8 of Infidelity Rules

Daily Special

Chicken braised with shallots, prunes and Armagnac

Roasted new potatoes with caramelized garlic

Baby herb salad with local goat cheese and honey

I show up at Persimmon early as my wine cellar is in dire need of some organization before we get slammed with our weekend crowd.

Usually, I tidy up a bit after my shift, but I was preoccupied last night, for obvious reasons.

Okay, I’m not being totally honest here.

I don’t need to organize my cellar as I know where every bottle lives.

What I really want to do is corner Julian. And pick his brain about Marcus.

Oh Quinn, you are in so much trouble.

What I should be doing right now is thinking about work and wine pairings tonight. Or, at the very least, mooning over Zack instead of Marcus.

Julian is not behind the bar, so I decide to have a chat with Chef about this evening’s menu.

He’ll be offering spring chickens braised with shallots, prunes and Armagnac.

This is exactly the kind of boozy chicken dish I would make for myself at home.

A sip of Armagnac for me, a splash for birdie, a sip for me …

oh wait, I suppose that’s a great way to never get dinner on the table.

Holy crap the kitchen smells incredible — crispy chicken skin, caramelized shallots and soft, silky prunes, all bathing in Armagnac.

Chef gives me a spoonful of the sauce and it’s velvety and earthy and sweet. Man oh man do I want to whip up this dish for Marcus at home, with big hunks of crusty warm bread to dunk in that sauce. Or lick it directly from the bowl. Or from his lips.

Stop it Quinn! Focus!

Chef takes one look at my face and smiles smugly. He knows it’s delicious.

“I trust you can figure out some wines to pair? I’ll save you a plate,” he whispers before marching into his kitchen, barking orders.

This dish will be easy to sell and easy to pair.

Just about any medium-bodied white or red will do.

I usually choose a bottle or two to recommend with each of the daily specials, so for tonight’s chicken, it’s a pinot noir from the Russian River Valley in Northern California.

The particular bottle I have in mind will match beautifully.

I open a few bottles to let them breathe and do a quick swirl and sip.

It’s exactly what I had hoped—fruity, chocolatey, mushroomy, leafy. It’s perfect.

.....

With my wine selection complete, I wander over to the bar to try and get my mitts on Julian before we open. I’m in luck, he’s alone and in the middle of bar prep.

“Hey,” I say, grabbing a few highball glasses to help him set up. He looks at me sideways, smiling as he fills a tray with olives, lemon slices and brandied cherries.

“Hey,” he says. “Tending bar now, are we?”

He’s going to make me ask outright. I figured.

He’s like most excellent bartenders, he keeps his mouth shut and ears open.

I’ve only known Julian since I started at Persimmon a little over a year ago, but we have slowly evolved into friends.

We usually help each other wrap up bar service in the evenings, which lends itself to some very interesting conversations.

He’s not aware of my penchant for dating married men, but he’s certainly somebody I would consider trusting with that odd bit of information.

Julian has about 15 years on me, is a long-time, self-confirmed bachelor and, according to my Google search, a former drummer in a pretty darn popular band in the 80s.

I know he keeps an eye on his elderly mother who happens to be a rock n’ roll loving, still dancing, octogenarian.

She’s a former Rockette. Once when his mom wasn’t feeling well, we called my sister, the nurse, from the bar for medical advice, which proved to be helpful.

I think I’ve grown on him since then and perhaps he sees me as the annoying little sister he never had.

Needless to say, I adore Julian. He’s quiet, easy, funny as hell if you pay attention and, he’s there when you need him.

“So,” I say casually, helping myself to a fat green olive as he expertly snaps my hand away with his bar towel. “How are things?”

“Come on Q,” says Julian. “You never come over for a chat just before we open.”

“I know,” I sigh. “But I should. It’s relaxing to talk to you.”

Julian nods and continues to press fresh citrus into juice.

I grab another olive and Julian turns to face me and smirks.

“Lemme guess,” he says. “Marcus.”

“Yes!” I almost shout, which I know Julian hates. “Yes,” I whisper fiercely. “Tell me everything. Every. Thing.”

Julian shrugs. “Not much to tell. Marcus isn’t a big talker and I don’t pry.”

“Seriously? You’ve got nothing? Come on.”

Apparently, Julian wasn’t lying. He doesn’t know much more than I do.

Marcus is a pilot (yeah, yeah, old news, but, I must admit, still very sexy).

He’s been a regular at the bar for nearly three years (how have I missed him?).

He rarely brings a date (interesting). And he almost always orders the special or just asks Chef to surprise him.

“I think our longest conversation was when he told me he approved of us hiring giant redheads,” Julian said.

“Please tell me he didn’t actually use the word giant. And why the hell didn’t you tell me some hot guy was checking me out? A pilot, no less.”

“A former Navy pilot,” Julian says.

“WHAT?” I groan. Can Marcus get any sexier? “Now you’re definitely in trouble.”

Julian grins and winks at me. “Maybe I was hoping to keep you all to myself.”

.....

Nearly three hours later, I’m able to take a quick break and hoover up a plate of that crazy good chicken (I was right, totally lick-the-plate worthy).

It’s been a steady night. I’ve opened a bottle of Champagne for a couple celebrating an anniversary, I’ve walked several four-tops through a multi-course tasting menu and I just finished pouring a flight of dessert wines for a party of eight.

The Russian River pinot has also been a hit this evening and I think we just may sell out by the end of the night.

Thankfully, I’ve been too busy to even think about Marcus let alone find a reason to peek into the bar area.

Okay, maybe I did once. Or twice. Okay, no more than five times. Much to Julian’s amusement.

But no Marcus.

I’m disappointed, but I shouldn’t be. I need to set my sights on Zack. I like Zack. Zack is handsome. We have chemistry. He suits my needs.

But Marcus makes my heart flutter as if there were wings beating in my chest. He makes my stomach do cartwheels. And he makes me lose my appetite, which is no easy feat.

I poke my head into the bar area one last time to wave goodnight to Julian, but he motions me over. He pours me a Cognac even though I protest as I’m exhausted and just want to go home and get in my PJs. I look up and he’s smirking at me.

“I know,” I say. “I made a total jackass out of myself tonight.”

“You sort of did,” he laughs, “but only I knew what you were up to.”

“Well,” I reply, “I have decided I’m not interested anyway. And besides, I’m kind of seeing somebody else.”

“Not interested, huh? Then I suppose I shouldn’t pass along the message from Marcus?”

“Wait. What? What message? Marcus was here? Tonight?”

Julian nods. “He had a plane to fly and couldn’t wait, but he did leave you this,” Julian hands me a note.

And there I go — heart thumping, head whirling, stomach cartwheeling …

.....

I’m curled up in bed at home with my folded-up square of paper. I feel like a teenager finding a surprise note from a secret crush in my locker. I haven’t even read the thing yet. I wanted to get home and get cozy first. Here goes ...

Hey gorgeous. I was hoping to catch you. Sorry I can’t wait, I have to fly out tonight. I want to see you.

Coffee? Monkey Roasters Cafe. Thursday. 10 a.m. Coming straight from the airport.

I’ll be thinking about you. Impossible not to.

Marcus