Christmas in Quincy (The Edens)

by Devney Perry

“Cleo.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise.” I smiled. “Yesterday, the manager—”

  “Eloise. My sister.”

  Of course, he was one of the Edens. I hadn’t noticed the resemblance earlier, but now the similarities in their eyes and the classic shape of their noses were evident. Mateo’s smile wasn’t sweet like Eloise’s, but it was youthful and handsome. I suspected he put that charming smile to good use on the weekends for girls younger than me.

  “Eloise said something about a coffee shop. Run by another sister.”

  “Lyla. She owns the coffee shop, but . . .”

  “Don’t say it.”

  He glanced at the clock on his computer screen. “She doesn’t open until six thirty.”

  “Damn.” My hands were shaky and with all that coffee sitting in my stomach, I’d be a jittery mess by five.

  What I really needed was some dough. Something to kneed and work and use to burn off this hangover. If I were at home, I’d make some sort of jelly-filled pastry. Or cinnamon rolls. My stomach growled.

  “Have you been here all night?” I asked Mateo, crossing two fingers behind my back in hopes that this might work.

  “Uh . . . yeah.”

  “Without a break?”

  He nodded. “So?”

  “So . . . I bet you’re getting hungry.”

  “I’m twenty-two. I’m always hungry.”

  Score. I smiled. “How would you like to make a deal?”

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  My eyes whipped up from the floury mess on the prep table as an angry man stormed into the kitchen.

  Angry, but handsome. Mateo handsome. This had to be another Eden.

  I scrunched up my nose, doing my best to look apologetic. I mean, I wasn’t sorry, but I faked it anyway. “Making scones.”

  “Scones.” He crossed his arms over his wide chest and his eyes flared. “Why?”

  The door behind him burst open and Mateo rushed inside. “Sorry. Shit.”

  “What’s going on, Matty?” the other man asked.

  “Knox, this is Cleo. She’s a pastry chef in LA. She was hungry and Lyla wasn’t open yet, so we, uh . . . she made cinnamon rolls. They’re freaking amazing. Better than Mom’s.”

  “Thanks, Mateo.” My chest swelled with pride. And I was right—brothers.

  “What the hell? You let a stranger use my kitchen.” Knox huffed. “And I’m telling Mom you said that.”

  “She’s not a stranger,” Mateo said. “She’s a guest.”

  “Guests don’t come into the kitchen.” Knox turned his attention to me and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “It’s six thirty now and Lyla’s got her shop open. Not to be rude but get out.”

  “Right.” I held up a flour-covered finger. “About that. I, uh . . . can’t.”

  There was no way I was leaving this kitchen. I was finally feeling like myself thanks to the baking, cinnamon roll and two additional cups of coffee I’d sipped while working. Besides, the only thing waiting for me outside this room was a grouchy bodyguard who planned to drag my ass to California today.

  “Why?” Knox arched an eyebrow. His chiseled jaw was dusted with stubble and his fit physique showed through even his boxy chef’s coat. Too bad I hadn’t met someone like him in culinary school. I might have won him over with my dark chocolate cupcakes and peanut butter frosting.

  Knox seemed like the kind of guy who would appreciate my bestselling cupcakes, unlike Austin. No matter what flavor I gave him, Austin greeted my cupcakes with a grimace. Even the day I’d made him a special variety pack, twelve different types nestled in my signature periwinkle box. I’d handed him the gift, and he’d sneered, then informed me that his team would love them.

  Not him. His team.

  Because heaven forbid Austin miss an opportunity to show me how much my very existence aggravated him.

  Knox cleared his throat. Mateo stared at me with eyebrows raised.

  “What? Oh.” Knox had asked me a question. Right. “Sorry, I’m hungover. I can’t leave because I’m in the middle of scones. And blueberry muffins. They’re in the oven.”

  Knox’s eyes darted to said oven, then back to the scones I’d just rolled out. “We can’t serve those.”

  “Good.” Mateo chuckled. “More for me. Can I take the extras home, Cleo?”

  “Of course.”

  Mateo yawned, then slapped his brother’s shoulder before tossing me a wink and leaving the kitchen.

  “I don’t suppose you have any strawberries?” I asked Knox. “I make this amazing strawberry-graham galette with lime zest and it would totally hit the spot this morning.”

  Knox blinked. Twice.

  Austin did the same thing when I asked him questions. Strange.

  “Is that a no on the strawberries? Or . . .”

  That earned me another blink, but instead of the scowl that usually followed when Austin gaped at me, Knox grinned. “I’m not getting rid of you this morning, am I?”

  I smiled. “Nope.”

  “Where the fuck have you been?” Austin barked. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  My shoulders fell. “You found me.”

  My trip to Montana was about over.

  Austin ran a hand over his stubbled jaw, taking in the hotel’s kitchen as he shook his head. It was rare to see him disheveled. It was a good look though, a little messy and a lot sexy.

  “Have you been here all morning?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Baking. Hiding. Same thing.

  It was ten thirty according to the clock on the wall. Had my security detail been anyone other than Austin, I might have made it until noon, but I’d figured eventually, he’d remember predicable Cleo was probably elbows deep in flour, yeast and sugar.

  “Christ.” Austin shook his head. “I was worried.”

  Whoops. I cringed, hating the guilt snaking down my spine. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry. I was just hungry.”

  Austin waved a hand around the kitchen. “And instead of finding a morning snack at a vending machine, you decided to bake enough muffins to feed the whole fucking town.”

  “Not the whole town,” I mumbled. “Just the guests.” And employees.

  Okay, maybe I’d gotten a bit carried away. The prep table was overloaded with cinnamon rolls and carrot cake muffins. The galette was cooling by the chocolate croissants. And I’d just taken a hot sheet pan of orange scones from the oven.

  “You’re probably starving.” I swiped a plate from the shelf behind me and dished Austin a warm scone. He was a big guy so I added a muffin and a cinnamon roll too. Maybe the reason he never ate my food was because he wasn’t hungry. But Austin had hangry written all over his gorgeous face and if there was ever a moment for him to embrace all that was my baking, this was it. “Here.”

  He frowned at the plate but took it from my grip, then he bit into the scone, chewed the bite for approximately a nanosecond before swallowing and setting the plate aside. “Coffee. To wash it down.”

  Seriously? My food didn’t need to be washed down. My scones were the farthest thing from dry. Asshole. My temper surged. Maybe it was the champagne’s lingering effects, but I swiped up the towel off the table and threw it at his head.

  He caught it before it could hit him in the face. “What the hell?”

  “Everyone likes my food,” I snapped. “Everyone. Mateo went home already because his shift was over, but just ask Knox. People. Love. My. Food.”

  Why don’t you?

  Austin’s frame stiffened. “Who are Mateo and Knox?”

  On cue, the door that led from the kitchen to the dining room opened and Knox came through with an empty tray. “Blueberry muffins are gone. So is the first batch of cinnamon rolls.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Austin snapped.

  “You’re in my kitchen.” Knox took the tray to the dishwasher, dropping it into the sink and not missing a beat. Then he turned and leaned against the ed
ge, crossing his arms over his chest. “Who are you?”

  The men went into a stare down and before punches could be thrown, or muffins, I jumped in to give introductions.

  “Knox Eden, meet Austin Myles, chief pain in my ass and general hater of baked goods.”

  Chapter 5

  Austin

  “Mind if we have a minute?” I asked Knox, doing my best to ignore the way his eyes lingered too long on Cleo’s figure.

  It was a gorgeous figure, curvy and fit, toned and lush—I couldn’t fault the guy for good taste. But I still wanted to shove my fist into his nose. Kicking this guy’s ass would only add another delay to our departure time—that was, if we could even get a flight out. We’d missed one already.

  Knox nodded. “No problem.”

  My hands fisted at my sides and I sucked in a calming breath as he strode from the room, his smile fixed on Cleo. I was too damn tired for this. All I wanted was to get on an airplane and nap until I was in California.

  Last night had been miserable. When Cleo had come out of the bathroom, fresh-faced and smelling like honey, I’d known that sleeping beside her hadn’t been an option. So I’d left to check out the hotel.

  It wasn’t a big building, nothing like the swank resorts I’d seen while traveling a few times with Ray. My whole inspection had taken less than an hour.

  I’d done it twice.

  Then I’d stepped outside, thinking I’d look around town a bit, but when the freezing cold had bitten into my skin, I’d retreated inside. I’d spent hours in the lobby, sitting in front of the fire, staring at the flames, hoping that if I waited long enough, Cleo would be asleep. When my eyelids had been too heavy to fight, I’d called it quits and returned to the room.

  Cleo had been facedown in a pillow, those perfect pink lips parted enough to let a slight snore slip free. She’d barely blinked as I’d come in and made myself uncomfortable on the floor. At least the hotel had a plush carpet instead of the industrial carpets in most places.

  I’d fallen asleep to Cleo’s snores. I’d woken up to a kick in the gut.

  I hadn’t meant to fall asleep after she’d tripped over me. I’d planned to let her go search out coffee, thinking she’d bring some back for the both of us. Hours later, when I’d realized how much time had passed with me sleeping on her pillow, I’d flown into a panic.

  This was why it wasn’t safe for me to watch her. I let my guard down whenever I found her with flour in her chocolate hair, like there was now. She always seemed to leave a streak beside her left ear.

  “I’m sorry about this morning,” she said. “If it makes you feel better, Knox wasn’t too happy to find me here either.”

  I grunted.

  Unhappy? Yeah, right. That guy had been drooling over her and they sure seemed like fast friends. And she was into chefs.

  Cleo had dated one last year, a guy who worked at a restaurant a few blocks down from Crumbs. Their relationship had been brief but painful. Every day, I’d get a report from whoever was assigned her detail on exactly what she and Chef John had done. Dinner. Movie. Make-out session in his car.

  Those had been an agonizing three weeks and six days.

  Cleo gave me a small smile. “Merry Christmas Eve.”

  “Merry Christmas Eve.”

  “Are you sure you’re not hungry?”

  I nodded. “I’m good.”

  “Here.” She put one of the muffins on a plate and held it out. “Try this.”

  “It’s okay.” I held up a hand. “I’m not hungry.” Worrying about her had put a knot in my stomach that had yet to shake loose.

  “Just try it.” She walked around the table, bringing me the plate.

  “I don’t want a muffin.”

  “But if you try it, you might like it.”

  “I don’t want it, Cleo.”

  “But if you try it—”

  “I don’t want a goddamn muffin,” I snapped, instantly regretting it when her face fell. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”

  She tossed the plate aside, the ceramic bouncing and the muffin rolling off the plate, dropping over the edge of the table to the floor. “Fine.”

  Her fingers flew to the ties on her apron, ripping and tugging until it was free. Then she yanked it over her head, balled it up and threw it.

  At my face.

  The white cloth and a cloud of flour smacked me in the nose before I could block it. When I set the apron aside, Cleo was marching for the door.

  “Damn it.” I shook my head, giving her a head start before chasing out of the kitchen after her. I caught her in the lobby on the way to the elevator. “Look, I’m sorr—”

  My phone rang. I tugged it out of my pocket, Ray’s name flashing on the screen. Shit.

  “Cleo, wait.”

  She didn’t listen. She pushed the up arrow and the second the doors slid open, she disappeared inside.

  I wasn’t sure which Hillcrest to deal with first. I decided on the less terrifying of the two and answered my phone. “Ray.”

  “Austin, I understand you sent the pilot home with the plane yesterday. An empty plane.”

  “Yes, I sent him home. Cleo didn’t want to leave so I agreed to stay one night.”

  “Together?”

  “Yes, sir.” There was no point in avoiding details. “The hotel was sold out. I slept on the floor.”

  His silence was reaction enough.

  “We’ll be leaving for the airport soon,” I said.

  “She’s not answering my calls. Tell her I expect her to come straight here when you arrive.”

  Ray didn’t wait for my confirmation before ending the call. He didn’t need agreement. He’d issued an order and I would see it through.

  One more year. I had to make it through one more year of working with Ray, then I’d take a pay cut from my own salary and cut him loose. But I had to make it another year. Two would be ideal, but one minimum.

  Channing was two years away from graduating college and I refused to let my brother go into debt while he earned his degree. I also refused to let my mother go into debt paying for his education.

  Mom had sacrificed enough for us both. All I wanted was for her to sail into retirement and enjoy an easier pace of life.

  She’d worked tirelessly my entire life to provide for me and Channing. Christmas hadn’t ever been the lavish affair it was for the Hillcrests, but Mom had spoiled us in her own way, with one big gift that she saved for and chose with care. On our birthdays, she’d bake us a special cake.

  I’d never cared that my jeans were secondhand and my shoes weren’t name brand. For a long time, it had been Mom and me, the Myles team.

  Dad had died in a work accident when I’d been three, and though they’d had some money stashed away, she’d used it to pay off our house so we’d never have to move. She’d given me that stability. Then when I’d been in middle school, she’d introduced me to the mailman who’d become more than a mailman.

  Eddy had been a good man. A good father and stepfather. A good husband.

  He’d died before Channing’s second birthday. Cancer.

  I was thirteen years older than Channing and after Eddy passed, I’d done all I could to help Mom raise him. She hadn’t needed my help—as far as humans went, my mother was the strongest on earth. But I’d helped regardless. She’d endured enough.

  Mom and I had both insisted that Channing get a college degree. He had the brains for it and I made a decent profit each year to pay for it.

  But I needed Ray.

  Even though I wanted Cleo.

  I walked to the elevator and pushed the button, unsure of what I’d find when I made it to the fourth floor. Hopefully Cleo standing beside a packed suitcase. Instead, I stepped into the room and was hit with a cloud of honeyed steam billowing from the bottom of the bathroom door. The shower was running.

  This woman truly hated me.

  How was I supposed to sit in here when she was naked twenty feet away? I spun for the door, escaping the room an
d that luscious smell. No matter how cold it was outside, I had to get the hell out of this building.

  The elevator would be too slow, so I found the staircase, jogged to the first floor and took the nearest door marked exit.

  The cold air was a son of a bitch, biting into my flesh, but I gritted my teeth, cursing this miserable state with every step toward the coffee shop. When I walked inside, the patrons all stared. Probably because I was the idiot Californian in Montana without a damn coat.

  I stomped to the counter, dug out my wallet and slapped it on the counter. “Black coffee. Hot as you can make it. Then a muffin and a scone. Please.”

  The barista nodded and left me to prepare my order.

  With my food and drink in hand, I found an empty table as far away from the door as I could get. I inhaled the muffin before taking a bite. It was good, not incredible, but I was starving. Cleo had been right about that.

  Buying other people’s baked goods had become this sick game. Nothing was ever as good as the food Cleo tried to force-feed me, the food I pretended was marginal at best. Instead of marveling at the culinary creations made by a woman I couldn’t have, I ate from other bakers.

  Because there were other bakers in the world. Just like there were other women.

  I inhaled the muffin and scone, scalding my tongue on the coffee, then checked my watch. Cleo normally took an hour to get ready for the day.

  I’d spent enough mornings in my car before dawn, watching her lights turn on around the house before she pulled out of her garage almost exactly sixty minutes later and drove to work. Now that she knew about her security detail, there was no point in keeping up the act. It would be smart for her to vary the routine once in a while too.

  My team was trained and damn good at blending into the shadows, but so were criminals. If something happened to her . . .

  I shoved that thought away and chugged a burning gulp of coffee. Nothing was going to happen to Cleo. She would be fine. Even when I quit working for Ray, he’d find someone equally as capable to keep her safe.

  Besides, this morning was a good example of how my game slipped when she was around.