Christmas in Quincy (The Edens)

by Devney Perry

  My arms banded around my chest and I rushed to my drawers, finding a cream sweater and pulling it over my head. The moment it was on, draping midthigh, Austin’s shoulders relaxed away from his ears.

  Really? Were my nipples that horrific? Ugh. Why did I have to crush on such a jackass?

  Another knock came at the door and I turned, ready to collect my dinner, but in a flash Austin vaulted over the bed and was yanking me away from the door.

  “Peephole.” He pointed to the circle.

  I pointed to the handle. “Room service.”

  He frowned and opened the door, barely cracking it until he could assess who was on the other side.

  “Seriously,” I muttered.

  Austin opened the door further, not before shooting me a scowl, and waved the same bellboy from earlier inside.

  I rushed to my purse, taking out another twenty because this kid had earned it tonight. “Thank you.”

  He nodded and his smile widened as I handed over his tip. “Just roll the cart into the hallway when you’re done and I’ll come collect it later tonight. Have a good night, ma’am.”

  “You too.”

  The moment he pulled the door closed, Austin flipped the deadbolt and secured the chain.

  “Paranoid much?” I lifted the metal lid on my plate and the smell of french fries and a cheeseburger filled the room.

  Whoa. The Eloise Inn didn’t mess around. They’d sent an entire basket of fries with nacho cheese on the side, and the burger was bigger than my face.

  Austin’s gaze zeroed in on my food.

  Good. Maybe if he was hungry enough, he’d go somewhere else to find food. Like West Hollywood.

  His stomach growled, but he didn’t make a move to leave. The man would probably starve himself rather than give up and leave this room and concede me a victory. The stubborn mule.

  There went the growl again. It echoed in the room like a hungry lion trapped in the cage that was his flat stomach.

  Damn it. Couldn’t he shut that animal up? It growled again and my nerves began to falter. My inner nurturer was starting to break out in hives as the growling continued. The overwhelming urge to feed people, to bring them joy through sugar, carbohydrates and fat, was engrained deep in my soul.

  Damn it, again.

  “Would you like to share? I won’t eat all of this myself,” I muttered. Or he could call and order his own cheeseburger. Maybe I should have just tossed the binder in his face.

  “I’m good to share.” Austin’s dark eyes met mine and he gave me a small smile. There were no teeth showing but it was a smile, nonetheless. “Thanks.”

  My crush flared like a skin rash immune to hydrocortisone cream.

  Hopeless. I was hopeless.

  I turned my attention to the meal, dividing it between the plate and basket. “Would you like some champagne?” Not that there was much left.

  “No.” He took the plate I offered and returned to his side of the bed, propping himself up against some pillows.

  “Water?” I walked to the minifridge and took out a bottle for myself.

  “Please.”

  I retrieved another, then sat on the bed, mirroring his posture, and popped a fry into my mouth.

  He did the same.

  Next I went for the burger.

  Austin kept eating fries.

  Five bites in—there was nothing else to do but count—I wanted to hide in the bathtub to eat. Awkward wasn’t a strong enough word for this.

  We didn’t look at one another. We didn’t speak. But it was impossible to ignore, especially in my getting-drunker-by-the-second state, every one of Austin’s movements. I could feel the heat radiating off his body, and his broad shoulders took up half the bed, putting us much, much too close. His legs were so long that even dangling off the edge, I knew he’d have to sleep at a slight diagonal to fit.

  There would be touching.

  Oh, sweet Jesus, we were going to touch. It was terrifying, yet exhilarating. If my crush were a small rash, it would probably be a full-body breakout by morning.

  What was he going to wear? Would he strip down to boxers? A shirtless Austin would be one hell of a Christmas present, but knowing Austin, he’d sleep on the floor, fully clothed with a scowl aimed my way all night long.

  “It’s snowing.” Austin shot a glare at the window.

  Outside, illuminated by the streetlamps, fat clumps of snow floated through the air like icy feathers. “Isn’t it pretty?”

  He turned to me, his face screwed up in horror like I’d just told him Santa Claus wasn’t real.

  I waved him off and lifted my basket. “More fries?”

  “No.” Austin shook his head and returned his gaze to the window. “Why couldn’t you have run away in the summer?”

  “Excuse me?” My spine stiffened. “I’m not a child. I didn’t run away. I went on a vacation.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “Then what do you mean?” I swung my legs off the bed and took my basket to the cart, setting it down with too much force.

  “You know.”

  “Obviously, I don’t,” I grumbled, reaching for my drink. In this room, the champagne was the only thing on my side. And my slippers.

  “What I mean is . . . you’re calm,” Austin explained. “Levelheaded.”

  “Predictable.”

  “Yes.”

  “Boring,” I mumbled before taking a long gulp.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  He didn’t have to. A lot of people thought that my life should be more exciting. My father was a billionaire. Dad would give me anything in the world if it was at his disposal, no questions asked. I didn’t travel the world. I didn’t spend frivolously. My idea of an exciting Friday night was experimenting with pastry recipes.

  “I get it,” I said. “This isn’t the type of thing I normally do and it’s taken everyone off guard. Cleo has a mind of her own. Surprise.”

  I swiped the TV remote from the dresser and turned it on. The generic music from the guide channel filled the room as I returned to my side of the bed, taking care to sit as close to the edge as possible.

  The Hallmark Channel was my favorite this time of year because cheesy holiday romances made me smile. I found it in the guide, punched in the number and the minute the channel changed, a couple dry humping filled the screen.

  Kill me now.

  Austin swiped the remote from my hand and didn’t miss a beat as he found a sports show. It was the one and only time I wouldn’t complain about basketball.

  “Uh . . . who’s watching the store?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He was also hovering close to his edge of the bed.

  “Brynne.”

  He hummed, his eyes fixed on the screen.

  I did my best to follow the game, but as the ball moved from one end of the court to the other, the champagne soaked into my blood, making me sleepy. Before I could crash, I forced myself off the bed and into the bathroom, where I washed my face and brushed my teeth. Then I braced my hands by the sink and met my reflection in the mirror.

  One night.

  You can make it one night.

  Then I’d sit Austin down, sans champagne, and calmly explain to him that I needed this trip. He’d go home and I’d have two blissful nights alone in my hotel room.

  I slathered on my night cream, then took off the sweater I’d pulled on because there was no way I was sleeping in merino wool, then eased out of the bathroom.

  Austin’s eyes snapped to me the second the door opened. He’d taken the food cart and my champagne bottles and bucket to the hallway but was back on his side of the bed.

  I kept my chin high and walked to the bed, turning down the covers and sliding beneath. Then I stretched an arm to the lamp and turned it off. “Goodnight, Austin.”

  “Goodnight, Cleo.” He shifted, kicking off his boots.

  My eyes darted to his socks as he lifted his feet onto the bed. “Are those pizza socks?”

&n
bsp; “Yeah,” he muttered, flipping off the light on his side of the room. “My mom bought them for me.”

  Heart. Melt.

  He wore dorky socks because they were a gift from his mother.

  I shifted onto my other side to face him. “I’m sorry you had to come here. That wasn’t my intention.”

  He looked down at me and his gaze softened. “I know.”

  If he knew, then why was he so angry? Why did I irritate him so much?

  “Why do you hate me?” I whispered, instantly regretting the words and the two bottles of champagne that had given me the courage to blurt them. Partially drunk was out the window. Clearly, I was fucking wasted. But I didn’t take back my question. I stared up at him, hoping he’d answer.

  “It’s easier.”

  Easier?

  Austin’s gaze drifted to my lips. He stared at them like . . . wait, did he want to kiss me? Because I would be totally okay with that. But why would he want to kiss me? Austin didn’t like me that way. Or any way.

  I opened my mouth to ask what he was talking about, but in a flash, he was gone.

  He pulled his boots on faster than any man in the history of boot-wearing men and picked up his phone and wallet. Those were shoved in his pockets as he strode around the bed and toward the door.

  I propped up on an elbow, my eyes tracking his every step. “Where are you going?”

  He hesitated at the door, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m going to go scope out the place.”

  “Scope it out?” A laugh escaped. “We’re in Montana.”

  His expression hardened.

  This look, I knew well.

  It was the one he gave me whenever I offered him something from the bakery. It was the one he favored whenever I protested a security measure. It was the look he gave me whenever I smiled his way.

  “Yes, Cleo, we’re in Montana,” he clipped. “And whose fault is that?”

  Before I could respond, he was out the door. And for the first time all night, I just wanted to go home.

  Chapter 4

  Cleo

  Someone was pounding a drum in the room next door. A really loud, extremely painful drum.

  No. Wait. That was just my pulse.

  “Fuck you, champagne,” I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut and hoping this headache would disappear.

  I limited myself to one bottle. Always. One bottle and then I switched to water. I’d had that rule since my best friend from college had gotten married and I’d chugged champagne at the reception like it was the maid of honor’s duty to test that all bottles were carbonated.

  The one-bottle rule hadn’t even crossed my mind last night, thanks to Austin, but if I survived today, I’d never forget again.

  I kicked at the covers, trying desperately to unwrap the sheets twined around my legs. When they finally touched air, I swung them over the edge of the bed and—

  So that was why my feet were so hot. I’d slept with my slippers on.

  My stomach pitched as I sat up, my eyes still closed. I sucked in a deep breath and forced myself to my shaking legs.

  Okay. Not bad. I was dizzy but didn’t have the urge to vomit. If I could beat this headache, I just might survive.

  I took one step and didn’t wobble. Win. Except on step number two, everything fell to pieces. The world spun, flipping upside down as my foot caught on something on the floor.

  A very large, very angry man sleeping on the floor.

  This is going to hurt. I braced, ready for impact, but I didn’t collide with the carpet. No, I hit a wall of muscle. A wall that belonged to a very large, very angry man who’d been sleeping on the floor.

  “What the fuck?” Austin caught me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me to slow my fall.

  “Shh.” I patted his chest, working my way up until I felt the softness of his lips. Then I pressed in, sucking in some air as I sat sprawled across his lap.

  My eyes, which had somehow stayed closed during the fiasco, cracked open. The dim light that peeked through the slit in the curtains might as well have been high-beam headlights for how they assaulted my irises and amplified the agony in my skull. It hurt so badly, my hands flew to my temples.

  “Cleo—”

  “Shh,” I hissed, louder this time.

  On any normal day, I would have appreciated the fact that I was sitting on Austin’s lap. That I’d just touched his lips. I would have memorized the bulk of his thighs and the feel of his strong arms. But today, I was seconds from death, and survival was the only thing on my mind. I squirmed out of his hold, and rather than try to stand, I crawled to the bathroom.

  Merry Christmas Eve, Cleo.

  This was the most humiliating moment of my life and I didn’t have it in me to give two flying fucks.

  When my palms hit the tile, I moaned as the cool marble calmed my too-hot skin. When my knees crossed the threshold, I gave up and curled into the fetal position, soaking in the chill.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Shh.” I winced and plugged my ears. How many times did a woman have to tell a man to shush before he listened?

  “It’s four o’clock in the morning.”

  Austin was scowling. I didn’t need to see it because I heard it in his voice.

  “It’s three in California.” My throat burned as I spoke. Why was he even asking? Austin knew my schedule. I arrived at the bakery by five to prep before my drive-up window opened at six. And hangover be damned, my body’s alarm clock was blaring.

  Okay. Off the floor.

  I inhaled some oxygen, then uncurled, deciding maybe my stomach wasn’t as steady as I’d initially suspected. I managed to get myself up to a seat and leaned against the wall.

  “Are you all right?”

  “No.” I shook my head, then raised a hand to wave him off.

  “Do you want me to shut the door?”

  I nodded and pulled my legs into my chest, so they were out of his way. Then he eased it closed, leaving me in the pitch-black bathroom.

  Beyond the door, Austin shuffled around the room and it sounded like he plopped down in bed. If it was only four, that meant he’d slept for a little over three hours.

  On. The. Floor.

  And he called me predictable.

  I wasn’t sure where he’d disappeared to last night. After an hour of waiting for him to return from scoping out the place, I’d drifted off. But because I was a light sleeper, I’d awoken when he’d returned to the room after midnight. I hadn’t realized or noticed when he’d snatched a room key, but the click of the lock had startled me out of my drunken slumber. Austin had disappeared into the bathroom and I’d passed out before he’d emerged.

  My mouth was dry. My body ached. I stifled a groan. What I needed was water, Advil, caffeine and calories—in that order.

  The first two were easy enough to find in the bathroom, even with the lights off. After chugging three of the tiny room glasses and drowning just as many painkillers, I fumbled around until I located my toothbrush. Now all I had to do was find caffeine and calories.

  With a fortifying breath, I tiptoed out of the bathroom. Austin was facedown on the bed, fully clothed and sleeping on top of the comforter. I silently walked to the drawers, sliding one open and taking out a bra, sweater and a pair of jeans.

  “What are you doing?” Austin asked, not moving as he spoke.

  “I need coffee.”

  He grumbled something into his pillow, then pushed up from the mattress. “Give me a minute.”

  “No!” Ouch. Too loud, Cleo. “Stay. Sleep.”

  Miraculously, the man didn’t argue. He simply buried his face in the pillow.

  During last night’s reconnaissance mission, he must have deemed Quincy safe. Shocker.

  I returned to the blissfully dark bathroom and dressed quickly, then found my shoes and picked them up along with some cash from my purse and a room card from the dresser. Even though I knew Austin wasn’t asleep, I slipped from the room without a word. />
  The air in the hallway was warm and smelled like Christmas. Thankfully, the smell didn’t make me want to hurl. I made my way to the elevator, my head pounding in rhythm with each step, and when I pushed the button, the ding was earsplitting. When I reached the lobby, the scent of coffee filled my nose and I practically jogged toward the front desk.

  The young man stationed behind it did a double take when he saw me coming, then checked his watch. “Morning.”

  “I need coffee.”

  He must have sensed my desperation because he hopped off his stool and waved for me to follow. He also didn’t speak—God bless Montanans.

  The front desk was an island in the grand lobby and behind it were two doors. One I assumed was to an office. The other, the door he held for me, opened to an enormous kitchen.

  The lights were bright and reflected off the stainless-steel prep table and appliances, but I squinted, my nose leading the way. In the corner of the room, the coffee maker beckoned.

  The guy plucked a white, ceramic mug from a tray on the clean side of the dishwasher—we had the same brand at the bakery—then went to the industrial pot and filled my mug nearly to the brim.

  “Ice cube?”

  I nodded as he went to the ice machine, using the metal scoop to drop two ice cubes into the mug.

  “You’ve done this before.”

  He grinned and handed me the mug. “Hangovers are a bitch.”

  “Thank you.” The first sip was hot, but the ice cubes helped.

  “Ibuprofen?”

  I shook my head and gulped more. “I took some already.”

  “I’m going to leave you here and get back to my post. Drink as much as you’d like.”

  “Thank you.”

  He winked before walking out, leaving me in the quiet kitchen.

  After two cups, the pain was manageable. I refilled my mug once more, then returned to the lobby.

  “Better?” he asked, turning as I pushed through the door.

  “Much. Add some food, and you’ll have saved my life.”

  He chuckled and held out his hand. “I’m Mateo.”