“Thanks,” Graham said, and to his surprise, the waiter—a lanky guy with curly blond hair and a crooked nose—gave him a menacing look in return.
“Yeah, sure,” he said, clearly making an effort to sound tough, though his voice was unsteady. He turned to head back to the bar, but the words that drifted behind him were unmistakable: “It’s really for Quinn.”
Even after he was gone, Graham found himself staring across the table in confusion, his eyes narrowed as he tried to locate his question.
“Sorry,” she was saying. “That’s just how it is in small towns. Everyone knows everyone else, and when you grow up with these guys, they can be a little overprotective…” She trailed off when she seemed to notice the look on Graham’s face. “What?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Are you…?” he began, then shook his head. “I mean…”
“What?” she asked again, staring at him in confusion.
“Quinn?” he managed, and she nodded.
“Yes?”
“Your name is Quinn?”
“Um, yes,” she said, then something seemed to click and she threw her head back. “Oh man. Did I never actually introduce myself? I can’t believe I did that. I’m so sorry.”
Graham’s face was still twisted as he tried to work out what was going on. “But the shirt you were wearing earlier…”
Again, he could see a look of understanding pass across her eyes. “Ah,” she said. “I get it now.”
He waited for her to go on.
“I had a little run-in with a chocolate milkshake right before you came in,” she said, miming an explosion. “So I borrowed my friend Ellie’s.”
The name, when she said it, felt like something physical; it seemed to hit him square in the center of his chest. “So you’re not Ellie?”
She laughed. “No, I’m Quinn.”
“So we haven’t been writing e-mails to each other?”
Now it was her turn to look baffled. “Uh, no.”
Graham was shaking his head in a mechanical motion, and though he was aware of it, he seemed unable to stop. “You’re not Ellie O’Neill,” he repeated, and she nodded again. “And we haven’t been in touch.”
“What?” she said. “No. Why? Wait a minute. Does that mean you’ve been in touch with…” She let out a sharp laugh. “You’ve been in touch with Ellie?”
“Yes,” Graham said, suddenly unable to stop grinning. “Look, I’m sorry for the mix-up. I really am. I know this must seem really odd to you.”
Quinn stared at him. “You and Ellie.”
He nodded, then thought better of it and shook his head. “Not exactly,” he said. “I mean, we’ve never even met before, obviously.”
“I thought you said…”
“We’ve just been e-mailing, so I don’t actually know her,” he explained, then added: “But I want to.”
“This makes no sense at all,” Quinn said, slumping back in her seat. “I have no idea what’s going on right now.”
The waiter returned to clear their plates, but neither of them had touched the shrimp. He gave Graham another threatening look before turning around again. Once he was gone, Quinn sat forward.
“So you and Ellie have been writing e-mails to each other,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact, and Graham nodded.
“I got in touch with her accidentally a few months ago, and we started writing back and forth,” he said. “It was one of those things that just sort of… happened.”
She was eyeing him carefully. “And now here you are.”
“Right,” he said. “Here I am.”
“In Henley.”
“Yup,” he said with a feeble grin. “Beautiful Henley, Maine.”
It took only a moment for her eyes to widen as she connected the dots. “And is that why?”
“Why what?”
“Why the movie’s here this summer?”
Graham tried not to look sheepish as he shrugged. “Sort of.”
“You came here to meet her?” she asked, her tone increasingly incredulous, and when he nodded, she shook her head again, as if trying to absorb all of this. “Wow,” she said, almost to herself, and then she said it again: “Wow.” She picked up her water glass, but made no move to take a sip. “I can’t believe she never told me. This whole time she’s been pen pals with Graham-freaking-Larkin, and she doesn’t even tell me.” She closed her eyes, just briefly, then blinked them open again. “And here she’s been going around acting like she couldn’t care less that you’re in town.”
The smile slipped from Graham’s face, and he cleared his throat. “Well, in fairness, she doesn’t know it’s me that she’s writing,” he said, hearing the defensiveness in his own voice. He reached for his glass and took a swig.
Quinn let out a little breath of air, then raised her eyes to meet his over the rim of the glass. “You probably saw her already. She was right outside Sprinkles when you came in. She’s kind of tall. With red hair?”
Graham’s heart bounded in his chest, and he lowered the glass, thinking of the girl with the green eyes, the one who had been sizing him up. “Yeah, I think I did see her.” His eyes strayed to the door, and he forced them back to the table. “That’s great,” he said, craning his neck for the waiter, then picking up his menu again. “I’ll see if I can go find her tomorrow.”
Across the table, Quinn watched him; he could feel her pointed gaze, and after a moment, he lowered the menu and looked up at her.
“Go ahead,” she said, and he raised his eyebrows.
“Go ahead where?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. But when the cameras weren’t rolling, he was a terrible liar, and he knew she could tell.
“Go find her now,” Quinn said with a half smile. “You’ve come all this way, and I’m not going to make you sit through a whole dinner with me.”
“No,” Graham said in weak protest. “I’m having a good time.”
She rolled her eyes. “Really, it’s fine,” she said, casting a glance over her shoulder at the waiter, who was still lingering near the kitchen. “I’ll make Devon eat with me.” She winked at him. “And I’ll still let you pay.”
Graham laughed. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” she said, and before either of them could change their minds, Graham fished a handful of bills from his wallet and laid them on the table, then rose from his seat.
“She’s probably home right now,” Quinn said, pointing to the window behind Graham, where the main street of the town had grown quiet as the dusk settled over it. “It’s the little yellow cottage near the corner of Prospect and Sunset.”
“Thank you,” he said, and this time, he remembered to kiss her on the cheek.
She smiled. “Tell her to have fun on my date.”
Just as Graham was about to rush out the front door, Joe appeared at his side. “I sent them away,” he said, nodding out across the street, “but I’m sure they’re still around here somewhere, so if you’re planning an escape, I’d go out through the kitchen.”
Graham thanked him and hurried past the pots of whistling lobsters and the chefs in white shirts. Just before slipping out, he paused beside Devon, who had watched with a stunned expression as Graham charged into the kitchen.
“How do I get to the corner of Prospect and Sunset?”
“Just head down Main Street and take a left onto Prospect,” he said, looking flustered. “You’ll run right into it.”
“Thanks, man,” Graham said, then gave him a little pat on the shoulder as he pushed open the door. He nodded back at the dining room. “She’s all yours.”