Love in Slow Motion

28. Quinn

28 QUINN

1 Year Ago

“Absolutely not,” I say to Brooke, low under my breath. “Just because he’s my brother-in-law doesn’t mean we can drop his name to get a table at his restaurant.”

Brooke ignores me. She’s got a hold on my wrist, dragging me down the busy Saturday night streets of Boston toward Aeronaut. This whole situation is her fault anyway. We agreed to meet downtown for a nice bestie dinner while Chase is out of town, and Brooke’s job was to pick the restaurant.

And she did. But she didn’t make a reservation, and neither of us is willing to wait an hour for dinner.

“It’s our only chance to get food that isn’t McDonald’s tonight,” she says. “And good food, too.” She stops abruptly, and I slam into her back. She doesn’t react. “Hey, his food will be good, right? I mean, he’s not the chef. What if we get there and it’s all oysters and caviar?” Brooke shudders. She’s not much for high-end anything, and I certainly don’t blame her. The only reason she agreed to meet me downtown is because I told her I would pay. If she had to pay for her own dinner, it definitely wouldn’t be at the expensive restaurants in downtown Boston.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say, using the opportunity to yank my wrist out of her hold. “We can’t take advantage of him like that.”

Brooke crosses her arms and glares at me. “What’s the point of having fancy in-laws if you’re not going to take advantage of it? I mean, you already refuse to tell people you’re Madison Lynch’s daughter-in-law. Haven’t you done your part for the meek and modest?”

She actually kind of has a point there. But it’s been a while since I last saw Reed. Since we both live in Boston, it isn’t unheard of for us to spot each other on the street while I’m out running errands and he’s out on business. We usually spend a minute catching up and then go our opposite ways.

My friendship with Reed has always felt very real, very tangible, and yet somehow a figment of my imagination. I feel like we’re only friends in my head. It’s always felt just different enough from every other friendship I’ve ever had to be uncomfortable.

Maybe he won’t even be here. We can go in and name-drop and then leave and no one will be the wiser. McDonald’s for dinner it is.

We step into the dark restaurant, and I immediately wish we hadn’t. There’s just something about Aeronaut. Everything feels so perfect . The floors gleam and the lights twinkle, and everybody knows how to order the French entrees in French and which wine to pair them with.

I grew up in Minnesota, and not even five years being with Chase has really taught me how to fit in with his lifestyle.

Brooke, however, takes to it immediately. She steps up to the ma?tre d’s station, a smile on her face, pretending she can’t even see the people lounging in the bar area, clearly waiting for tables of their own. “Hi! A table for two, please.”

The ma?tre d’, a man wearing a vest and a bowtie, raises one eyebrow at her. “And what name is your reservation under?”

Brooke looks like she’s been waiting her whole life to be asked that question. “Oh, we don’t have a reservation, but we know the owner, Reed Lynch. Maybe you could go get him for us?” She leans around the man, peeking into the main dining area, where nobody is paying us any attention.

The ma?tre d’s eyes flicker over to me, and I paste on a smile. If Brooke wants to be the one to go through with this, then I’m fine with her taking the lead.

“Ladies, Mr. Lynch is very busy. So, I’m afraid that without a reservation?—”

“Quinn?”

I turn. Reed has appeared as if from nowhere, but I see now that there’s a door behind him, hiding in the shadows beyond the host’s station. He lets it fall closed and then his mouth stretches into a smile. “What are you doing here?”

I’ve never seen him like this, with a blazer on the color of molten metal and his hair slicked back. He looks like a guy who owns a fancy restaurant and not the guy I’ve seen time and time again across a dinner table in New York.

“Oh.” I suddenly remember why we’re here, that Brooke dragged me so that we could use Reed’s good name to get some dinner. Guilt slices through me. “We were in the area, and Brooke wanted to see the restaurant. She’s never been.”

Reed seems to find Brooke then, like he didn’t see her standing right beside me until now. They met at the wedding, of course, and I’m sure they crossed paths at Suffolk, but I don’t know how much contact they’ve actually had. He smiles at her, and she plants her hands on her hips.

“Hey, Brooke,” he says politely.

“Hey, fancy cake maker.”

She has her flirty voice on. I watch them smile at each other and feel a heaviness in my chest. Brooke has a boyfriend, but what if they…hit it off? Would she break up with him for Reed? I try to imagine the two of them sitting beside each other at family dinners, holding hands beneath the table, sneaking off to kiss in dark corners?—

“Okay, well, it was nice seeing you, but I think it’s time for us to go.” The words burst out of me far too loud, and the ma?tre d’ twists to look at us, grimacing like I just appeared with a crying baby.

Brooke’s mouth falls open—because we obviously came here to get something out of Reed, and now that Reed is here, I’m ready to run the other direction—and Reed’s smile falls.

“You’re not going to have dinner?” he asks.

“Well…I mean…the place is pretty busy…”

Reed doesn’t let me finish. He turns to the ma?tre d’. “Marcus, is there a table in the back by the kitchen?”

The ma?tre d’ hesitates. He obviously doesn’t want to have to tell Reed the truth right now. “Yes, sir. One is being cleared, but?—”

“Great. Take Brooke and Quinn over, please.”

Brooke does a little happy dance as Reed walks away, but I just stare at the width of his shoulders as he goes, heading in the direction of the kitchen.

“See?” Brooke says as the ma?tre d’ leads us to a table that’s as far from the front of the restaurant as we could possibly be. “He wasn’t offended. He wants to get us a table. You’re his family.”

That weight settles on my chest again. There’s something about the way she says it that gets under my skin.

We take a seat at a small two-person table and Brooke immediately snatches up her menu. I’m too distracted by the soft piano music coming from the corner and the real roses in the center of the table. The place really is nice. I saw it when it first opened, when Reed invited everyone for a big party before the official grand opening, but it’s different to see it when it’s actually full of people, with a piano actually being played by a real person, with the delectable smell of expensive food wafting through the air.

We don’t see Reed again as we order wine and fish and then contemplate dessert.

Brooke has her menu up between us, but mine is folded on the table.

“You can’t skip dessert,” she says, her eyes scanning. “Reed would be so heartbroken if you skipped it.”

I resist the urge to say, maybe he would only be heartbroken if you skipped it. “I’m just trying not to go so heavy on the bread and sugar lately.”

She sends me a dirty look over the top of her menu, and I look away. I know that Brooke hates it that I work so hard to be the woman that Chase wants me to be, but she doesn’t understand. Chase takes care of me. He’s the one with the high-paying job, the one who works hard for our lifestyle. The least I can do is make sure he has the wife he wants on his arm.

“Uh, Quinn?”

“Look, I don’t need dessert, okay? It doesn’t even sound that great. The fish really filled me up.” It’s not a lie, but the idea of having a dessert made by Reed is definitely a temptation. I know from past experience that his desserts are to die for. He’s always making things I’ve never heard of before and that I think about for weeks after.

“No, it’s just…” Brooke pauses.

“What?”

Her eyes meet mine over the top of her menu, and then she lays the tall paper menu on the table between us. “There’s a dessert on this menu that’s named after you.”

I scoff, thinking she’s trying to tell me a joke, like this dessert has your name written all over it. “It’s not named after me.”

She shoves the menu toward me, until I’m forced to look down at it because it’s poking me in the stomach. “Are you sure? Because it’s called ‘The Quinn,’ and it’s perfectly baked chocolate chip cookies and absolutely nothing else.”

I lean over the menu, eyes scanning the words until I find the dessert section at the very bottom. Champagne cake, peach shortcake trifle, lemon cakes with lavender glaze, baby chocolate bourbon bombes, chocolate-coconut pavlova cake. And at the very bottom, something that’s simply called The Quinn.

Perfectly baked chocolate chip cookies , just like Brooke said.

I open my mouth, even though I have no clue what to say to that, when Reed’s voice startles me.

“Everything to your liking, ladies?”

I slam the menu closed and smile up at him. He has his hands behind his back, like he’s a butler who’s going to use his feather duster on every surface the moment this conversation is over.

“Of course,” I say, craning my neck to look up at him. The edge of one of his tattoos peeks out above the collar of his shirt. “The swordfish was delicious.”

He grins. “Great. Hey, you wanna come back and meet Oscar?”

Oscar, the partner. The one who presumably is responsible for the swordfish. “Sure.”

“Oh, I’m actually going to go use the bathroom,” Brooke says, shooing us off. “I’ll meet you back here for dessert.” She gives me a knowing look, but I don’t actually know what she knows . I have no idea what it means that there’s a dessert named after me. Probably nothing. Probably just that someone who helped create the menu also knows someone named Quinn…who also loves chocolate chip cookies…

When I stand from the table, Reed leads me to the side of the restaurant and down a hallway that’s momentarily quiet until a big silver door swings open right in front of me. Inside, the kitchen is chaos, dishes clanging and people yelling. When I stop walking, suddenly feeling like I’m definitely not supposed to be back here, Reed smiles and settles his hand at my back, giving me a little push.

“Don’t worry,” he bends to say into my ear. “It’s always like this. It’s part of the kitchen experience.” He opens the door for me and ushers me in.

Standing in the doorway, unsure where to go, I turn my head to look at him. His face is close to mine, his eyes the exact same color as the chips in chocolate chip cookies. His smile falters, and his eyes scan my face.

“Reed, get the fuck out of the way,” someone barks, and then Reed yanks me out of the path of someone with a whole tray full of white dishes with picturesque food on them. The person slides by us, kicking open the door and disappearing into the hallway.

“Sorry,” Reed says with a laugh in his voice. “These guys don’t know how to play nice.” He nods at someone, and a guy with a severely straight mustache wearing chef whites comes over, wiping his hand on a towel.

“Who’s this?” the guy asks, eyes running down to my feet and back up. I look away, fidget, suddenly feel five years old again, unable to speak for myself.

“This is Quinn,” Reed says, and the tone of his voice makes me look up at him. He sounds…proud, like someone showing off what they brought to Show-and-Tell.

“Ah,” the guy says, nodding. “The elusive Quinn. Happy to finally meet you.” He holds out his hand, and I shake it, but not because I want to. I don’t know what he means by the elusive Quinn. When Reed brought us all to the restaurant before it opened, Oscar was there, but I distinctly remember him refusing to leave the kitchen because he was having some kind of a breakdown over a lost shipment of truffles.

“Yeah, that’s me,” I say because I have no idea what else to say. “The swordfish was lovely.”

The silver door swings in and the ma?tre d’—the one from before that clearly still dislikes me from the way he glances at me, rolls his eyes, and then looks away—sticks his head in. “Mr. Lynch, you’re needed up front.”

“Oh, sure,” Reed says, like this happens all the time. He holds the door open for me and we step back out of the kitchen. “I’ll see you later, Quinn, okay? Don’t forget to order dessert.” And then he’s gone, and I’m left standing in the hallway.

When a waitress attempts to squeeze by me with a tray of bite-sized cakes, I press myself to the wall, trying to become as small as possible. When she still can’t quite get by, I duck into an open doorway beside me to let her pass.

After she’s gone, I stay where I am. I’m in a dimly lit office, with two desks that face opposite walls, every surface seemingly covered in papers and receipts and handwritten notes. My eyes immediately catch a family photo, sitting in a brown frame beside a computer. I quietly step over to it and pick it up. Reed, Chase, Sabrina, and Madison smile back at me, huddled together in a boat on the lake. I’ve been to the lake house a few summers now, and just looking at it, I can feel the heat of the sun on my skin.

Reed has never been there with us though, not as long as I’ve been going. He’s always here, running his business, while we’re fishing and sunbathing and riding jet skis.

I put the frame down and pick up the next one. He has several. I smile when I recognize a younger Madison Lynch. She’s holding a baby in her arms that I can only imagine is Reed, wrapped in a blue baby blanket. I’m moving to put that frame down when my eyes catch on the next one, and I freeze.

My hand shakes as I pick up the frame. A picture I recognize because a much bigger version of it hangs in my own house. Me in my wedding dress. I have my back to the camera, my chin tilted just enough so that the photographer could get my profile, earring and hair hanging down gracefully.

Why does he have this?

Footsteps sound in the hallway, and I put down the frame and exit the office in time to find Brooke coming to meet me. “We should probably go,” I tell her as soon as she makes it to me. “I’m going to pay. It’s getting late.”

“They said Reed paid.” She’s watching me closely, and I’m reminded about the cookies on the menu.

And the picture of me in his office.

And I’ve forgotten where I am and what life I’m living and whether or not I should be here at all.

“Let’s go,” I tell her, and we slip into the night without seeing Reed again.