It seemed benign enough but I was pretty sure it would annoy the hell out of her. She didn’t like confiding her plans even when they directly affected someone else.

That issue settled, for now, I decided to email Jon about dinner. Even though Steven couldn’t make it I felt compelled to keep my dinner arrangements with Jon, especially after cancelling two times in a row. As I began composing an email something in my vicinity began to chime.

I stopped typing and looked to Elizabeth in confusion, “What is that? It sounds like an ice cream truck.”

Elizabeth paused loading the dishwasher, holding a dripping plate, “It actually sounds like a cell phone. Is that your new phone?”

I started, remembering the phone, and began ransacking the living room trying to find the blasted thing. At one point it stopped ringing but then, seconds later, began again. I was cussing and was mid-single-syllable four letter word when I found the cursed contraption.

“-uck! Yes! Hello?”

“Hey.”

Outwardly, my body stiffened; inwardly, my bones dissolved. “Oh, hi- hi- hello! How are you?”

“Good. How are you?” Quinn sounded like he was smiling. An image of him smiling flashed across my consciousness causing the hairs on the back of my neck to prickle.

“I’m well. It’s, uh-” I glanced over at Elizabeth. She was making suggestive gestures with her still wet hands. I gave her a dirty look then turned completely away. “It’s good to hear from you.”

“Even via cell phone?”

I smiled despite myself and responded, “It would be better if it weren’t via cell phone.”

“I agree. I’m calling about dinner. What time should I pick you up?”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah, dinner.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes. Dinner. Tonight.”

“Um…” I frowned and glanced at the message still open on my laptop that I’d been typing Jon.

“Janie? …Are you backing out?”

“No- no. I’m not backing out. It’s just, I can’t tonight. I already have plans.” Movement from Elizabeth caught my eye and I found her glaring at me and mouthing: ‘What the hell are you thinking?’ I shooed her away.

Quinn didn’t respond immediately so I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked at the screen, attempting to decipher if I’d hung up on him. None of the symbols seemed to indicate anything of value so I spoke into the phone again, “Quinn? Are you still there? Did I hang up on you?”

“Yeah. I’m still here.” I heard him sigh, “These aren’t the same plans you made yesterday with your ex, are they?”

Inwardly I cringed. Then, outwardly I also cringed, “Yes.”

Silence.

“Quinn?”

“I’ll come too.” It didn’t sound at all like a request.

“Uh, what?”

His voice was business-like, brusque. “You and I will go out tomorrow. Tonight I can meet your friend Jon.”

“You want to meet Jon?” Instinctively my gaze searched for Elizabeth and I think I must have looked as stricken as I felt. She just stared at me with wide eyes.

“I want to see you.”

His words made my heart skip; I had difficulty forming a coherent thought, “Well- I guess- I mean- I suppose it’s- I mean it’s not like- maybe we could- I just don’t think-”

“Where are we going? What time are we meeting him?”

“I was just emailing him to work out the details.”

“Ok. How about Chez Jean? I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“No- I’ll meet you at the restaurant at seven.” I didn’t want to arrive with him. It would feel too much like a wheelbarrow date: two wheels and a kickstand.

“Do you know where it is?”

“I know where, it’s a block west of Al’s Beef, right?”

I could hear the smile in his voice, “Your landmark is Al’s Beef?”

“How can you miss Al’s Beef? It’s yellow and black and has a giant plastic cup in the center of the sign. I think they have franchise opportunities available.”

He laughed, “I’ll see you at seven.”

His laugh made me smile like an idiot. “Ok. Seven. I’ll see you at seven.”

When the call ended I stared at the cell phone without seeing it for several moments. I felt light, like my feet weren’t touching the ground and I could cloud hop if the desire so struck me. I felt like running through a field and spinning around while an orchestra played in the background. I felt like clicking my heels together and sliding down an impressively large and steep banister. I felt like picking apart a daisy while reciting: “He loves me, I love him.”

Elizabeth’s concerned voice brought me out of my meandering reveries and a bit closer to reality; “You’ve got it bad. I’ve never seen you like this.”

Goofy grin still in place I sighed. I knew what I looked like, sounded like. A small voice in the recesses of my overactive brain screamed at me: You are infatuated! Infatuated I say!

I’d never realized before- as, perhaps, I’d never been presented with the opportunity to know- how glorious infatuation could be.

That night’s dinner began with one of the most awkward silences I’ve ever experienced in my life. I had to bite both my cheeks to keep from filling the black hole of unsaid words. After introductions Jon sat next to me, on the booth along the wall, and glowered at Quinn. Quinn, from his chair opposite us, smiled at Jon.

It was a smug smile tinged with a certain amount of swagger. I didn’t know how to feel about it so I just ignored it for the time being. I kept swallowing and hoped my excessive, obsessive compulsive action went unnoticed. Finally, feeling like I was going to burst, I excused myself from the table and half bolted to the ladies’ room. I stayed there until I felt capable keeping a rein on the overflowing list of factoids related to black holes.

As I left the small ladies’ parlor I noticed for the first time how really nice the restaurant was. It smelled like garlic and roux, the walls were a pale yellow except the crown molding which was a dark, natural stained wood. Windows were framed in sheer burgundy curtains and beautiful oil landscapes, of what I assumed were the French countryside, added intimate elegance without making the place feel cluttered or like an art museum.

The tables were covered in white cloths; rows of forks, spoons, and knives spread like petals on either side of a series of plates stacked one on top of the other; largest on the bottom, smallest on the top. A delicately folded linen napkin, which looked like a swan, spilled out of a water glass to the right of the plates.

I was so distracted by the ambiance that I didn’t notice until I returned to the table that Quinn was sitting alone. I glanced around the small restaurant and saw Jon’s retreating form heading out the door. Without thinking I followed him and called his name.

He paused. He turned slowly and stepped back into the bistro. I noted his eyes move beyond me to where Quinn sat then back to mine. His expression, usually so open and unguarded, was remote and sullen.

“What’s going on? Where are you going?” I stopped in front of him, my palms up between us.

He huffed, answering through clenched teeth, “I’m leaving.”

“Why?”

His green eyes moved between mine and his expression seemed to soften. Jon shifted on his feet and took one of my hands in his, “Listen, Janie, no matter what he says I want you to know that I love you. Just promise me that you’ll call me tomorrow- no matter what you’ll call me tomorrow and we’ll talk.”

I shook my head, befuddled, “Do you two know each other?”

“No. We’ve never met.”

“What did you two talk about?”

“It was nothing-“

“Then why are you leaving?”

He squeezed my hand, “Just promise me, please?”

I shrugged, “Fine, fine- I promise. I’ll call you tomorrow… This is too bizarre.”

He smiled tightly, in a way that didn’t reach his eyes, and released my hand. Swiftly, in one fluid motion, Jon leaned forward and kissed my cheek then turned and left. I stared at the door for several minutes.

When I turned around I found Quinn watching me. His expression was inscrutable, as always; and, as typical, his cerulean eyes seemed to be thinly masking a mischievous flicker. I walked back to the booth that lined the wall and my pace decelerated to a slow motion shuffle as I approached. I stared at him, with much the same perplexed expression I’d used on the door, then slid into the booth, opposite his chair.

As though nothing were amiss he motioned to the martini glass in front of me, “I ordered you a lemon drop.”

My attention shifted momentarily to the whiskey-colored liquid in front of him and the glass in front of me. There were only two glasses.

I frowned.

I glared at Quinn, hoping to convey the intensity of my suspicion. “What did you and Jon talk about? Why did he leave?”

Quinn didn’t even have enough decency to look ashamed. Instead he watched me with his up-to-no-good eyes and took a long swallow if his whiskey before responding, “You should ask him.”

“I did. He insisted it was nothing.” My tone was flat and laced with the disbelief I felt.