Before I Melt Away

Quinn frowned. First rule of good management, whenever you can, keep your employees happy in whatever ways you can. The little things mattered. “I see.”

“I don’t want you to think it’s a problem.” Stefanie stared at him anxiously. “It’s definitely not a problem.”

Quinn forced a smile. It was a problem. One so easily resolved. “How long have you been working for Annabel?”

“Since she started Chefs Tonight, a year or so ago.”

“What did you do before that?”

“Oh, well, I was a hostess at a couple of restaurants, a waitress. Seems I’m always involved with food in some way. But I like working here.”

“You don’t get lonely stuck in a back room all day?”

“No, Annabel’s here a lot, and she has really sweet neighbors on both sides, Kathy across the street—she runs a day care—and Chris to the north, we have lunch sometimes. This is a great block. The kids are out playing all summer long and after school, it’s very cheerful.”

“So Annabel is close to her neighbors.”

“Oh. Well, not exactly. But I’ve gotten to know them and they’re great people. See, Annabel is so busy she doesn’t really have time for friends. There’s her brother, John, who you know, I guess, and then once in a while there’s a new guy who calls for a while until she breaks it off…she always breaks it off.” Stefanie rolled her eyes. “Trail of broken hearts around the city. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

Quinn chuckled, filing the information away. Was Annabel so driven she couldn’t fall in love? Too blind to see the opportunities? Or did she deliberately choose men who couldn’t touch her and interfere with her work? “I’m an old friend of the family.”

“Oh. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean… I mean, I know she knew you before, but then the roses today…I thought…” She winced and put her finger to her head as if it were the barrel of a gun. “Shut up, Stefanie.”

“A natural assumption.” He was definitely in luck—Stefanie was a talker. “What did Annabel do before this?”

“She had another business. With…a friend.” Stefanie’s expression closed down. She put her hand again to her abdomen, rubbed briefly and stifled a yawn.

“Something went wrong.” He spoke gently, to encourage her confidence.

“Oh, well, they wanted different things, I guess. Tanya has a shop in Hartland, Tanya’s Good Taste. Candy and all kinds of gourmet foods. She’s doing really well. But I probably shouldn’t be telling you any of this. You should probably ask Annabel.” Stefanie moved around to sit heavily at her desk, as if her legs wouldn’t hold her up anymore.

“Okay.” Quinn’s instinct sharpened. He walked to the back window, gazed out at the tiny backyard, the two-car garage easily taking up half. Then he turned his head so he could speak softly and Stefanie could still hear him. His next move was unorthodox, but he needed to see her reaction. “When are you due?”

An enormous gasp came from behind the desk. “Oh, my gosh. How did you know?”

He turned and smiled. “Congratulations.”

“Did Annabel tell you? Does she know?” A worried frown creased her forehead, and she clutched her stomach as if the idea of Annabel finding out made her violently ill.

He shook his head. As he suspected. “If you haven’t told her, she probably doesn’t know.”

“I haven’t told her.” She stared at her hands, fidgeting in her lap. “See, I’m due July Fourth, and with Memorial Day and the holiday, that’s a busy time for us, and I’m not sure…I mean I’m afraid…”

Quinn’s lips tightened. “She can’t fire you.”

“Oh, I know. But…well, I don’t know how she’ll manage. She once said she was glad I wasn’t planning to have children. I mean that’s what I told her in the interview and it was true then, but this happened by accident and Frank and I found we really want this baby, so here I am. And if I want to ask for maternity leave…well, it’s a mess.” She bit her lip. “I shouldn’t even be telling you all this.”

“It won’t go further than me. But you need to tell Annabel.”

“I know, I know.” Stefanie lifted one hand and let it drop hopelessly in her lap. “I just dread it.”

“Tell you what.” He approached her desk and leaned his hands on its edge. “Wait until after the first of the year.”

She lifted her head. “Why then?”

He winked. “I have a few reasons, fairly personal.”

“Oh.” An enormous grin lit up her tired face. “So maybe I wasn’t so wrong about the roses?”

“Possibly not.” He smiled. He liked Stefanie. And she’d told him enough to confirm what John had said, and convince him that Annabel could use a little nudge in a calmer direction. “Tell me something, Stefanie.”

“Yes?”

“Does Annabel have anything important scheduled tomorrow, anything she can’t miss?”

Stefanie chuckled and flipped a page of the calendar on her desk, drew her finger down the neatly made entries. “She would undoubtedly disagree, but from what I can see, no, nothing. Ted’s doing the Henkels, no parties for once.”

“Excellent.”

“So…” Stefanie looked up slyly. “Is it fair to assume Ms. Brightman won’t be in the office tomorrow?”

“I think that’s a very fair assumption.”

“Good.”

“You approve?”

“Definitely.” Stefanie leaned toward him over her desk and glanced into the hall as if she was afraid someone would overhear her next words. “Call me crazy, call me hormonal, call me whatever you want…but I think this time Annabel’s met her match.”

ANNABEL BOLTED from her garage to the back door, racing the icy winds whipping down her driveway, which not only wanted to remove any and all moisture from her exposed skin, but also made her breath jump back down her throat and huddle there for warmth. The cold front had arrived right on schedule; the windchill must be down in negative Fahrenheit territory.

Brrr.

She fumbled with her keys, reluctantly snatching one sheepskin mitten from her hand so her fingers could select the proper one more easily. Hurry, hurry. Eleven-thirty—she only had half an hour to shower and dress, to wear whatever mood she was in.

What mood was she in? Right now, jittery and frantic. She felt in her bones that Quinn would be precisely on time.

But jittery and frantic would not make an attractive presentation.

At all.

She jammed the key in the lock, twisted, turned and burst through the door. Leaped up the back stairs and smacked her keys onto the tiny phone nook cut into the wall, then dashed into her office, already shrugging out of her parka, to hang—

What was this?

She flicked on the light, pushed her thoroughly blown hair off her face and stared. The most amazing assortment of roses. Yellow, pink, white, red, oh, my goodness. Hand to her chest, she moved toward the card, daring it to be signed by who she so wanted it to be signed by.

Not a grateful client. Not a family member wishing her well. Not a friend sending joys of the season. Not that any of those had ever happened.