Page 34 of Love Marks
“Ah ah. None of that. I’ll set the table while you finish there. Which drawer?”
Wesley’s mother — Lillian — pushes me around the kitchen and sets the table. She pours me a glass of wine, despite my protests. The food is finished, so I plate for two, setting them down.
“Where’s your plate?” Lillian’s sharp voice chimes in. I look at her, pleading, but she won’t let up. She grabs another plate from the kitchen and points to it, crossing her arms.
This woman is like a child! Finally, I give in and make my own plate, sitting next to her at the table.
“Drink your wine.” She instructs me and I roll my eyes. “Tell me about yourself, Quinn.”
I take a gulp of the wine, glancing towards the elevator doors. I’m absolutely terrified for the moment that Wesley walks through those doors and sees me sitting here. How can I explain this? He’ll think the worst, I’m sure.
“Well, um. I’m from Brooklyn. I live in South Slope, have my whole life.”
She nods and her eyes bore into mine with an intensity. Like she’s really listening. Is it hot in here?
“I’m really passionate about food. I used to work at a restaurant. I like to cook, but my real dream is to open my own restaurant, do more of the business stuff. I don’t know. Right now, I’m working and just trying to survive, I guess.”
“Tell me about your family.”
I don’t expect the choking feeling gripping my throat. It almost forces tears into my eyes but I blink them back. My family? Where do you want to start? Disappearing dad or sick mom?
“My mother and I are close. We live together,” I say, hoping she doesn’t pry any further. This is the last thing I want to talk about.
Ding!
Saved by the bell. Except that Wesley is now striding from the elevator towards the dining room table where I sit across from his mother looking like a Greek god. Lillian jumps up from the table and glides towards him with her arms outstretched.
“Darling!” She chimes affectionately, wrapping her arms around him. The scowl on his face doesn’t let up. His eyes are locked on mine.
“What are you doing here?” He nearly growls at me.
“Oh, calm down, I invited her. The poor girl was going to eat a frozen pizza!” Lillian says it like it’s as bad as eating human feces.
Wesley doesn’t say anything. He strips off his suit jacket and hangs it on the back of the chair at the head of the table and sits down, his eyes boring into mine. Lillian returns to her seat on the other side of him.
God, this is awkward.
“Wine?” I break the silence, lifting the bottle towards Wesley. He gives me a curt nod in response, and I pour a hefty glass, hoping alcohol might loosen up the tension in this room.
“Let’s dig in. I don’t like cold steak.” Lillian lifts her fork and starts eating. I wait for Wesley to start before I touch my fork, but he just stares down at his plate, his brow furrowed. Finally, after what feels like forever, he starts eating, too. I join them, the sound of our forks scraping the porcelain loud in the silent room. It’s only broken by what can best be described as a moan coming from Lillian.
“God, that’s good,” she hums. “Perfectly rare. Nothing worse than overcooked steak.”
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“I see why you want to open your own restaurant. You’re a natural. If you serve this, I’d come for dinner all the time,” she continues.
“You want to open your own restaurant?” Wesley asks, looking directly at me. I expect him to sound judgmental or ridicule me for the idea, but it’s that same hard, quizzical look on his face. He doesn’t look as angry, just…curious.
“I guess. I don’t know, it’s just an idea.” I wave them both off, hating that the spotlight is on me. “How was your day, Mr. Marks?”
Wesley stares at me like he can see right through me.
“It was good, thank you.”
Did he just say thank you?
“And you should call me Wesley.”