7. Porter
7
porter
People hate Mondays. Not me. The Joint doesn’t open until four, so I have the morning and early afternoon to catch up on life. Run some errands. Go to the gym.
But most importantly, I have time to sit down and get breakfast at the best damn diner in all of Tennessee.
Mona’s Diner is a staple of Rolling Hills and has fed generations in this town. After my mom split, Pops and I started coming here each Saturday morning. What began as a way for him to distract me from the fact that it was just the two of us quickly became our weekly tradition. As the months and years went on, it became our time to catch up. He’d talk about the bar and his pals. I’d talk about school, football, and whatever else I had going on.
Pops has been gone eight years now, and I still can’t bear to come in on a Saturday morning. But even though it’s now been sold to Charlie Bennett, soon to be Banks, I still make sure I’m here once a week.
“You know the only reason I know it’s Monday is because you come in,” Charlie says as I walk up to the breakfast counter.
“I’m glad I can serve as your calendar,” I say. “What’s the special today?”
Charlie picks up the pot of coffee and pours me a mug. I might change my order every week depending on my mood, but I’ll never change that I need two cups of coffee. Whatever she puts in this stuff is addicting.
“I’m testing out fried chicken and waffles. I also have a vegan?—”
I hold up my hands, because whatever she was going to say was not chicken and waffles and nothing vegan was going to come close. “Say no more. Test it out on me. And add a side of bacon, if you don’t mind?”
“Just one side?” she asks, apparently knowing my stomach better than me.
“Fine. Make it a double. Crispy.”
She shakes her head, but sends me a warm smile. “Like I’d serve it any other way.”
“You’re the best, Charlie!” I give her a wink as she heads back to the kitchen. In turn I take my mug of coffee and walk around the corner to my normal back booth.
One of the things I love about a small town is that whether it’s here or at the bar, regulars have their own spots. Take today, for example. The group of older men who come in every morning for their coffee and bitchin’ pull together two tables at the front of the diner. You know, because everyone needs to hear them complaining about technology and young people today. It’s also the last Monday of the month, which means the town’s planning committee, a group of women who’ve made it their life’s mission to make sure that every holiday has some sort of extravagant event around it, is meeting at the long table that runs along the windows. I say hello to them as I pass by, and notice that pictures of American flags are spread out on the table. I’m guessing they’re finalizing plans for the Memorial Day parade and town festival.
Then there’s me. I choose to sit in the back booth that’s just a little bit removed from the main part of the dining room. It’s quiet. No one bothers me. Hell, no one ever sits back here, so I can enjoy my breakfast in peace.
Except today, when I turn the corner and see someone sitting there.
And not just any someone.
A someone I’m biblically familiar with.
“Quinn?”
Her face was buried in her phone, so she didn’t see me coming, but I’d know that top knot anywhere.
“Oh! Porter! Um…hi.”
It only takes me a few more steps to get to the booth, where I slide in across from her. “What are you doing here?”
“Getting breakfast. What else would I be doing here?”
I narrow my eyes, because she has to know what I’m actually asking. But if I know Quinn like I know I do, I’m going to have to pry this information from her.
Seeing Quinn on a non-holiday is unusual.
Seeing her twice within a few months’ span is rare.
But now three times in two months? And two of those in a two-week span? Something is up. Something big.
“You know what I mean. Why are you in Mona’s Diner, in Rolling Hills, on a Monday morning in the spring?”
Because of the nature of our relationship, we don’t regularly talk. We have each other’s numbers, but we rarely use them. I just assumed that after she snuck out before the sun came up, that she was headed back to Arizona.
But did she go back? Or did she stay? No. There’s no way she would’ve flown under the radar in town for the past week. Someone would’ve said something. Quinn “Hurricane” Banks is infamous around this town due to her years of pranks and general spectacles. And if she were back, the Facebook group, the old men’s bitching group, and every other clique would be whispering nonstop about the lost Banks sister back in Rolling Hills.
“I’m back in town. Temporarily.”
Her words are quiet, but I heard every one of them.
Quinn Banks is back in Rolling Hills.
And even though I’m doing a little dance inside—my sex life just got a lot more interesting—I can tell by her demeanor that this isn’t a happy return. So I do the gentlemanly thing and temper down my excitement.
Much to my dick’s dismay.
“Is everything okay? Wait, is this what you were?—”
She holds up her hand, knowing where my words were going and when she said them to me. It’s then that I really look into her dark chocolate eyes and can see the gamut of emotions running through them.
“I quit my job. So I’m back here while I figure out my life.”
“Wow.” I wasn’t expecting that. “What happened?”
She shakes her head. “The story is way too long for the lack of energy I have this morning. Short version is that I got into it with a group of parents. They’d been fighting with me all year. And I finally had it. Dropped a few f-bombs. Called them names. Not-so-subtly accused one of having a lavender marriage. And then I quit.”
“Damn. If that ain’t the most Quinn Banks way to quit a job, I don’t know what is.”
She laughs softly, but not enough to wipe the pain off her face. “That’s what my family said.”
Mention of the Banks crew makes the rest of the pieces fall into place.
“Is that why you were home a couple weeks ago?”
She nods again, holding her iced coffee between her hands. “I’d quit a few days before. I was going stir-crazy in my apartment. And I think my cat was worried about me. So I found my cat a sitter and booked a flight home. I didn’t know where else to go.”
My heart breaks a little more with every word she says. I also didn’t realize she had a cat. Knowing Quinn, it’s some random name or something like Bob.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “If there’s anything I can do…”
She shakes her head and pushes her shoulders back, doing everything she can to look like she’s not about to fall apart. “Thanks. It’s just all hitting me now. I went back last week to gather some of my things. I flew back yesterday with overly stuffed suitcases and my cat in a carrier. But it wasn’t until I woke up this morning that this feels real, you know? It might be temporary, but I don’t know…things feel real today.”
“I can’t imagine.”
“I don’t regret what I did. I did what I thought was right, and I stood up for what I believed in. It’s just…today was the first day I woke up with the thought that I’m thirty-four and starting my life over.”
“Change is scary,” I say. “Especially when it’s sudden.”
At least, that’s what I’ve heard. I’m not the guy who changes much. I’ve worked at the same bar since Pops was legally allowed to hire me, and even before that, I was washing the dishes for payment under the table. I live in my childhood home. I serve the same food and pour the same drinks that he did when he was alive. When I added the live music, people thought I lost my fucking mind.
“It is,” Quinn says. “All I can do is take it one day at a time. One task at a time.”
“That’s a good plan. What’s on today’s agenda?”
“A job,” she says with a little more confidence. “Today’s task is to start looking for employment. I might only be here for now, but now still requires money.”
“Okay, then,” I say, suddenly getting an idea. Because luckily for her, I’m hiring. “Have you ever bartended?”
She gives me a confused look. “Yeah. In college. Why do you ask?”
I clap my hands. “Then it’s settled. You can work at The Joint. I need a bartender. You need a job. Two birds. One stone. Look at me! Monday morning and I’m solving problems.”
Her raised eyebrows and tilted head signal that she’s not as excited as I am. “Really, Porter?”
I shrug. “Yeah? Why not?”
She just stares at me like I’m supposed to know what she’s thinking. I’m great at reading her mind when we’re in my bedroom, but apparently in the light of day, not so much.
“Porter. I can’t work for you.” She leans down closer to whisper the next part. “Not with our…history.”
She makes it sound is so dirty.
Which I mean, it is.
Dirty. Spontaneous. Hot. Intense.
Unexpected.
That’s actually the word I’ve always felt best describes us. Nothing about us was expected. Not that first night and not in any nights since then.
Our saga started eight years ago. I’ll never forget it, because it was the night of Pops’ funeral. I had private services and burial for the family, but I knew that the town wanted to pay respects. I figured there was no better way to do that than a true celebration of life at The Joint in his memory.
It was the only night in the history of the establishment that it was truly an open bar.
I shouldn’t have gotten as drunk as I did, but then again, I felt like my world was flipped upside down. The man who raised me was gone. The bar that he built with his own two hands was now mine. And while I was honored and touched by all the people who came out to pay respect to the life of Frank McCoy, I just wanted to be alone.
So I did what I do best when I’ve had one too many: I said an Irish goodbye and snuck out the back door. I planned to go sit on the front porch of my house, close enough if anyone needed me, but far enough way to catch my breath. But when I walked out of the back, I saw Quinn, who was home during her summer break, sitting on an empty crate, beer between her hands, and tears pouring down her cheeks.
“Quinn?”
She jumps at the sound of my voice as I take a few steps closer to her.
“Hey, Porter. Sorry, I’ll get out of here.”
“No, stay,” I say, taking a seat next to her. I know I came out here to get away from people, but I’ll always take the chance to hang out with Quinn. “Everything okay?”
She nods and tries to wipe away her tears. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
I don’t know much about women, but I know that doesn’t mean fine.
“Bullshit.”
She turns her shocked eyes to me. “Excuse me?”
“You’re not fine.”
“And how would you know that?”
“Because I might not’ve seen you much over the past few years, but I can tell when someone is trying to put on a brave face.”
I should know, because that’s what I’ve been doing for the past week since Pops passed away.
She lets out a deep sigh and her shoulders fall a bit. “You’re right. I’m not. But I’ll be okay.”
“Want to talk about it?”
I figured out a while ago that I have the bartender gift of being a good ear for someone who’s crying in their whiskey. And if that someone happens to be the girl I had a crush on back in high school? Then I’m all ears.
“I appreciate the offer, Porter, but it seems pretty selfish of me to complain about my love life when you buried your dad today.”
“Please, I insist.” I swallow the slight amount of jealousy I’m feeling for no good reason. “Between you and me, I need a distraction from everything. This week has been…”
I trail off, because any words that could finish that sentence aren’t strong enough for what I’ve had to go through.
“I can’t imagine having to bury a parent,” Quinn says. “I mean, I know realistically one day I’ll have to. But I selfishly know Maeve will take care of everything. I’ll just have to show up. I’m so sorry you’ve had to do this alone.”
I hang my head, because I think that’s been the hardest part. Yes, my Aunt Peggy has helped a lot. She was his sister and the only other family I’ve still got. God knows my mother couldn’t be bothered to show an ounce of sadness, or God forbid, show up.
“I thought I was ready,” I admit. “Pop hadn’t been doing well. He never really bounced back after his heart attack.”
“Is anyone ever ready?”
“I’m beginning to think not,” I say. “This week has just been so damn hard. I feel like as soon as I get one thing organized or figured out, six more things end up on my lap.”
“Have you had anytime to grieve? Or process it?”
I take a breath and look up at the stars. “Every night I’ve come out here, or sat on my porch, and just looked at the stars. I’m not sure if I believe in heaven, or an afterlife, but…I don’t know…somehow looking at the sky has made me feel like he’s still here. That he’s gone, but not really. Does that make sense?”
I take a second and push back the tears.
“Hey,” she says as she reaches for my hand. “Let it out. I’m the one interrupting your time right now. Don’t hold back because of me.”
I look down to where our hands are connected. What I would’ve given years ago to hold this girl’s hand. Yes, she was a few years younger than me, but she never acted like it. She was funny. Smart. Likes hockey—and what girl likes hockey in Rolling Hills? A little crazy. A whole lot of beautiful.
Exactly my type.
There was just one problem; Quinn wanted nothing to do with me. I asked her out a few times—movies, a high school basketball game, that kind of thing—and she always laughed me off. She said we could go as friends. Or with a group.
After a while, I stopped asking. An eighteen-year-old guy can only be turned down so much, you know? Plus, I realized not too long after that single life was the way to go. No hearts are broken. No one leaves you. No shattered pieces to pick up.
So it’s funny that now, when I’m feeling more alone than I’ve ever felt in my entire life, it’s Quinn Banks to comfort me.
“Have you ever felt completely alone?” I ask.
She huffs out a laugh. “Every day.”
I know it was a rhetorical question, but her answer still surprises me. “Really? Quinn Banks, the most extroverted person I’ve ever met, feels lonely?”
She nods. “All the time. I live three time zones from my family. Sure, I’ve made friends. Up until today, I had a boyfriend. But you can be surrounded by people all the time and still feel like you’re the only one in the room.”
Well that takes me by surprise. “Boyfriend?”
“You caught that part, huh?”
“Are you all right?” Not that I can do anything to him, even though the thought of some douchebag hurting her makes my blood boil.
“As all right as a woman can be when she finds out the guy she’s been seeing for a year has been cheating on her for the past four months.”
“What!” I bark out, probably a little too loud, but seriously, what the fuck? “Did you catch him?”
“More or less,” she adds. “Stella asked to see pictures of us. That turned into her digging into his social media, and she asked about a woman I never noticed before. She was in the back of every picture he took when he was out with his friends. Before I knew it, Stella created a fake SnapChat and Instagram, friend requested the woman in question, she accepted, and then saw story after story of them together. I called to confront him and he admitted everything. Didn’t even try to lie. That’s how little he cared.”
“Fuck, Quinn,” I say, inching a little closer to her once I realize that she’s now crying too. “He’s a fucking idiot.”
She just shrugs, looking all sorts of defeated. “It is what it is.”
“No, it isn’t,” I say. “You’re a beautiful woman, and any guy would be lucky as hell to be with you. And any fucking prick who doesn’t realize that doesn’t deserve you, and you sure as fuck don’t deserve him.”
“Thanks,” she says, giving me a playful push with her shoulder. “And you don’t deserve to have to go through all of this alone.”
We sit there for a second, Quinn’s head on my shoulder, the warm summer air feeling a little cool as it gets closer to midnight.
“We’re a mess, aren’t we?”
I can only laugh at her comment. “Two peas in a pod.”
I don’t know if it’s the booze right now, Quinn this close to me, or how lonely I’ve felt all week, but the combination is about to make me say something really stupid.
“Quinn?”
“Yeah?”
I nod back to my house. “Want to get out of here?”
She looks to my house, then back to me. “Yeah. I do.”
And that was the night that started it all. Two sad souls needing to find comfort in something. Instead, we found each other.
We’ve never said it out loud, but we both thought it was going to be a one-time thing. Hell, when we were done, we both got dressed and went back to the bar.
Little did we know, eight years later, here we are…
“Come on, Quinn, we’re adults. And friends. We can work together. Unless you don’t think you can keep your hands off me.”
Quinn’s eyes narrow, and just as she’s about to probably tell me off, Charlie interrupts us with my food.
“Here you go. Chicken and waffles with two sides of bacon,” Charlie says as she sets my plates down. “Oh! Look! Now you have a friend to sit with.”
I snicker as I take a sip of my coffee, while Quinn looks mortified.
“Charlie, why don’t you tell Quinn that she should come work at The Joint?”
Quinn’s now giving me a full-on scowl while Charlie claps her hands in excitement. “Oh my God! Yes! That would be perfect.”
“I don’t think it would be,” Quinn defends. “Plus, I have a few interviews lined up over the next few days. Porter will have to look somewhere else for a new bartender.”
Charlie starts to say something else, but is called away by one of her cooks, leaving me and Quinn back to our game of cat and mouse.
“Where are the interviews at?”
Does she really have them? Or is she lying to save face? Most importantly, who does she think would hire her? Not because she’s not qualified. I’m sure she would be. But this is the woman who once somehow coordinated a town-wide event when every phone rang at the same time for an hour straight. It drove the chamber of commerce businesses nuts.
“I don’t want to jinx them,” she says. “You’ll know when I walk into The Joint tonight and order a celebratory cocktail.”
“I like the confidence,” I say. “And you know what? When you get that job, that drink will be on the house. I’ll even throw in an order of chicken wings. Sound good?”
I’ve always loved flustering Quinn. But rarely do I get to see her face turning red in the middle of the day.
“I appreciate that, but now that I’m back in town, I don’t think I should have wings anymore. Actually, I think I’m going to become a vegetarian.”
This makes me laugh as I pick up a piece of bacon for extra emphasis. “Whatever you say, darlin’. Whatever you say.”