“I thought our old breakfast might be a reminder of how good things used to be with us,” he said softly. “I understand why you want to take your time deciding about us. In fact, I’m here to tell you how I plan to support you in that process.”
He was going to support it? When she was nearly in tears over something as simple as an old meal, one she’d never had again after their time together had ended?
“I hope you don’t mind me bringing up some old memories from time to time. I can’t ignore the past.”
What could she say to that? “I’ll hear you out over breakfast. Alice will appreciate not having to cook.” That wasn’t true. She loved to cook. But Francesca had to say something. All the better if it justified her desire to stay with Quinn.
“Then sit and eat,” he said, pulling out a chair for her. “I’ll make coffee.”
Even in London, they’d both preferred coffee and not tea for breakfast. “I can—”
“I always made the morning coffee,” he said, “and you made Lebanese coffee after dinner, remember?”
She gripped her hands in her lap under the tablecloth. He loved the style most people knew as Turkish coffee as much as she did, except people in her country didn’t call it that. Her mother had taught her how to read the grounds in the cup, an old tradition passed on from mother to daughter. Some of her most vivid memories from childhood were of her mother peering into their cups, clucking her tongue at whatever fate she’d read.
When she was fifteen, her mom had died from a burst appendix, a shocking and sudden tragedy that had left her desolate with grief. But Francesca had found ways to stay close to her, and making coffee in the traditional style was one of them. She cleared her throat. “Alice makes it too, but I like to keep my hand in.”
“I’ll look forward to you making me some when you’re in the mood for it,” he said, measuring the coffee and setting it to brew after filling the machine with water. “Now, how about my news?”
She nodded, feeling way too vulnerable as he busied himself in the kitchen, making her remember how much he’d taken care of her in days past. “After all of this buildup, I can’t wait.”
He turned the chair around and straddled it, making her mouth water. God, he’d done that when they’d eaten together in pubs. He knew it drove her wild. “I’m bringing in more chaperones.”
“What?”
His grin couldn’t be trusted. “Making you feel comfortable is my number one job. Like I said, you obviously want to give yourself time to decide about us. I’m trying to show you I can behave. They won’t be intrusive. Based on what you’ve said, one of them is the male version of Alice.”
“There is no one like Alice.”
“You haven’t met Hargreaves. He’s my aunt’s butler. You’re going to love him. He’s a proper British butler, and he’s been with my aunt for nearly sixty years.”
“Sixty years! They must be—”
“Aunt Clara—my dad’s sister—turns eighty next month. She’s newly married to Arthur Hale, who’s a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist. They know how important this restructuring is, and they agreed to come out and add to the chaperone quotient. My sister Michaela’s wedding is coming up anyway, so they’ll just be pushing their trip up by a few weeks. Francesca, your virtue couldn’t be safer.”
There had to be some subtext. “My virtue? Quinn, this isn’t a Victorian drama.”
“Thank God. I can’t stand those. Anyway, J.T. has agreed to step in. My aunt and uncle live in the same town as he does, so they’ll all fly in together four days from now.”
That was this Saturday.
“We can start on Monday if that suits you.” He glanced over his shoulder as the coffee maker beeped, and he rose, pulling out two mugs and pouring the coffee deftly despite his large hands.
God, she had missed those hands. The things they used to do to her.
She made sure not to look at them as he set her coffee in front of her and then went back for the milk she liked to add to it. “Monday would be fine. As I’ve said in my emails, I already started my prep work.”
He blew on his coffee, always too impatient to let it cool before taking a sip. “I thought you might want to come meet everyone at Sunday brunch. My mom will be cooking. Alice will like her. That whole Chicago thing is a big bonder.”
She gave him a pointed look. “Of course, your mother has been out here since marrying your father.”
The corners of his green eyes crinkled when he laughed. “True, but Mom always says, ‘You can take the girl out of South Side, but you can’t take South Side out of the girl.’ Anyway, I also wanted to throw out the idea that you and Alice come stay at my house. Your three additional chaperones will be staying with me, and it makes sense for everyone to be together. There’s plenty of space, and Hargreaves has volunteered to handle our meals on the days Alice doesn’t.”
She knew a used car salesman deal when she heard it. “Is J.T. staying with you?”
“No, we agreed to keep our interaction minimal so I could focus on the restructuring. Otherwise, I might be tempted to press him all the time. He’s staying with my folks. But you’ll meet him at brunch if you’re willing to come.”
The thought of meeting his family under these circumstances had her belly trembling. When they’d fallen for each other, they’d agreed to wait to meet each other’s families, wanting more time with each other. Her relationship with her father had always been complicated, and Quinn said his family wouldn’t keep out of his business once they knew he was in love. “Do they know about me now?”
He arched a brow. “You mean about us? A few of them do now, so yeah, I can guarantee the whole family knows even though they’re giving me space. I don’t share my personal business like that.”
How funny. He’d seemed so close to them when they were dating. Beyond their Sunday brunch, he’d called his parents and sometimes Connor. What had changed?
“They’ll be kind to you, Francesca. You don’t need to worry about that. They know it wasn’t your fault that you called things off between us.”
That rocked her back. “Is that how you really feel? That it wasn’t my fault?”
“I know you feel guilty.” He scowled. “It’s one of the reasons you’re here, right? It was hard, having you turn me down. But I understood why you did it. Your father asked for your help with Maroun Industries, a powerful ask given what you’ve told me about your relationship, and those kids had just attacked us in London. You didn’t feel safe anymore, and I know you worried I would get caught in the cross fire. I don’t blame you for leaving. I’m glad to see you’re out on your own, though. You’re too independent to work under your father.”
His words only underscored how deeply they’d always understood each other. She swallowed thickly. “Thank you, Quinn. It means a lot to hear you say you understand.”
He pushed her lobster salad toward her and gestured for them to eat. “Of course, I also think we were both idiots not to circle back to each other after things died down. I had my reasons, and I’m sure you did too.”