Dinner was so much fun! The boys all wore disguises so no one would recognize them and chase after them. We talked a lot about random things. Whenever one of them asked about my past, I would skillfully make something up. I wanted them to think I was a really cool girl instead of a big dork, especially George.

"So, love, where are you staying?" Ringo asked, shoveling a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth and being careful to avoid his fake mustache.

Darn. The one question I can't dance around.

"Nowhere," I shrugged.

"'Nowhere' meaning you don't want to tell us or 'nowhere' meaning you don't have a place to stay?" John smirked, the ends of his fake beard turning up in his silly grin. I paused for a moment.

"Both?" I tried.

"Well that clinches it," Ringo laughed. "You're staying with us."

"Do you want to stay with us?" Paul offered, rolling his eyes, smoothing out his handlebar mustache, and pushing his fake glasses up his nose.

"That'd be great!" I exclaimed, my heart leaping into my throat.

Imagine me! Quinn Winslow! Living with the Beatles!

"We'll have to get another room," George pointed out quietly. I turned to look at him but all I saw was his massive fake sideburn blocking his face.

"No we won't," John teased. "She can sleep in my bed."

"And where will you sleep?" Paul asked, giving John a warning look.

"In my bed too," he joked, winking at me. "I don't think Winslow minds. Do you, Winslow?"

"It doesn't matter if she minds or not," Ringo chuckled. "I agree with George. We'll rent out the room next door so Quinn has her own place."

"Okay," I smiled, taking a bite of my cheeseburger. I leaned over and took a slurp of my strawberry malt.

"I'll tell you, Winslow," John said in all seriousness, "I can't imagine that a bird with your figure can eat like that."

"I exercise a lot," I shrugged. "Being in theatre, I do a lot of dancing and running around. It's very fun and it keeps me healthy too." John eyed me teasingly.

"Remind me to take you to a club sometime," he purred. "I want to see this dancing." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw George's fingers grip around his water glass.

What's up with him?

"Well, we should get going," George announced, standing up. "I'll pay. John, you go get a cab."

"Okay, boss," John rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Winslow. Let's go get a taxi together."

"I need Quinn to come with me," George said solemnly.

"Oh…Okay," John shrugged. "C'mon, Paul, Ringo." The three other Beatles walked out of the restaurant.

"Is everything okay, George?" I asked as we walked up to the front desk to pay our bill.

"You know that John is married, right?" George said softly but firmly.

"Of course," I told him. "What's the matter?" George didn't say anything else. He just kept his eyes ahead, staring at the wall. "George," I whispered, putting my hand on his arm, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing," George retorted stiffly. "Go tell John that I have a quick stop I need to make on the way back to the hotel and that I'll be back later." I drew back from him and nodded slowly, walking outside.

"What's wrong, Quinn?" Ringo asked, putting his hand on my shoulder. "You look like someone's taken the good mood right out of you."

"It's nothing, Ringo," I said, forcing myself to smile. "Hey, John?" John turned his head around. "George said to tell you that he has an errand to run and that he'll be back at the hotel later."

"That's so like him," John huffed. "Make plans and then change them in five seconds. No one can tell what that bloke is going to do next!"

"Right, then," Paul interrupted John's tirade. "Then it's just Quinn, Ringo, you, and me. So let's go."

. . . .

The boys weren't kidding when they said that they'd get me my own room. They did actually rent out the room next door to theirs so that if anything bad happened, they'd be right next door so they could help me.

This hotel room was more expensive and beautiful than any of the houses I'd ever lived in for my entire life. The bed was plush and comfortable and the blankets were all soft and warm. The lavender carpets tickled my feet if I walked barefoot and the ceiling even had a pretty pattern on it. The walls were papered in a light turquoise. And lamps hung from both sides of the double bed. It didn't take me long at all to fall asleep.

When I woke up the next morning, a familiar scent greeted my nose. I popped my eyes open and took a deep breath. Coffee and roses! I sat up and kicked my blankets off, tearing into the little kitchen area. Sunlight was filtering in from the bedroom window and warmed my bare legs. (On the way back, John had the cab stop at a little store and bought me a nightgown since I "didn't appear to have one of my own.")

The little, round kitchen table was built specifically for one. I would always be going over for meals next door because apparently if I didn't, John and Ringo would come and carry me over. But, on the table, there was a vase of white and dark purple roses and a cup of hot coffee. I walked over to the table and sniffed the flowers. They really were beautiful. I picked up the cup and took a deep whiff, sighing happily. As I took a sip of the coffee, I noticed a small letter on the table. I picked it up.

To Quinn

I turned it over in my hands, but there wasn't any other writing on it. I wondered who it was from and I tore open the envelope. Unfolding the letter inside, I started reading.

You're beautiful. Every time I look at you, I see the sun, even if it is gray and raining outside. What I wouldn't give to hold you in my arms and call you mine.

Your secret admirer

My heart soared. I never had a secret admirer in all my life. I never had anyone ever say these things to me and it made me feel amazing. But, unfortunately, I had to have other things on my mind besides the letter.

Maybe the boys will take me clothes shopping today if they have nothing better to do.

I didn't want to be a sponge, but something told me that John and Ringo would insist once they saw that I was wearing the same outfit two days in a row. Paul would ask me politely if I wanted to go shopping. I would say yes. And George would not be part of the conversation. He was being so quiet ever since he helped me with my cut. I was beginning to worry. He had been so sweet and talkative when we first met. But now he was just keeping to himself, always slinking off to do who knows what.

But, I reluctantly pushed that thought out of my mind as someone knocked at my door. I drained the rest of the coffee, put the cup in the sink, and walked over to the door, smoothing down the wrinkles in my new pajamas.

"Good morning, Winslow," John grinned. "I see that the nightie fits like a glove just like I said it would."

"Yes it does," I smiled, turning around so he could see it from all angles. "Thanks again. I don't think I would've enjoyed sleeping in my cos…I mean clothes." John gave me a look before shrugging.

"The breakfast has just been brought up. The lads and I are starving and they sent me over here to get you. We won't start without you, you know," he winked. I started to close the door.

"I'll just get changed and…"

"Oh no, not when we're this hungry!" John shouted, scooping me off the floor. One of his arms looped around my legs and the other arm held me around my back. I squealed, throwing my arms around his neck so I wouldn't fall.

"John!" I screamed. "Put me down!" A few people were poking their heads out of their hotel room doors and giving us odd looks.

"My fiancé," John shrugged to them, growling at me seductively and kissing my neck.

"JOHN!" I exclaimed again, kicking my legs in a very poor attempt to get down.

"Love you too, honey," he purred. He shot a mischievous glance at the people in the hall and kicked the door to his hotel room open. Swooping in, he dropped me unceremoniously on the couch. "She's here!" he announced to the other three Beatles.