Page 32 of Christmas in Quincy (The Edens 0.50)

I trusted each and every one of them while they were in the field, so attending events and parties personally hadn’t been something I’d done for years.

Especially when it came to the Hillcrests. It was too much to see Cleo decked out in a shimmering gown, the fabric skimming over her curves, and her smile bright—fake, but beautiful nonetheless.

I passed a rack of sweatpants and swiped up a pair in light gray. They’d be better to sleep in tonight than my jeans when I camped out on the floor.

“Anything else happening?” I asked Channing.

“Nah.” His attention had clearly turned back to his game, not that he was all that talkative on the phone anyway. Getting any idea how his classes were going was like pulling teeth.

The two of us did better in person. I’d find some time next week to take him out for lunch or dinner and make sure he was good. “Okay, I’ll let you go. Give Mom a hug for me. And don’t eat everything. I’ll be back the day after Christmas and there better be enchiladas.”

He laughed. “No promises.”

I ended the call and took another look around the store for anything else I needed. There wasn’t. Everything I’d bought would fit in my backpack. Tonight, I’d work on my laptop, answering emails and reading reports. Hopefully that would be enough of a distraction from Cleo in the bed wearing those skimpy pajamas. Though it would be harder to mask my attraction in sweats.

“Back again?” the clerk asked as I approached the register and set my things down. “I thought you’d come back to get a last-minute gift for your girlfriend. That’s pretty much what everyone shopping is doing today.”

“She’s not, uh . . . no. This is just for me.”

Damn it. Should I buy Cleo a gift? I hadn’t even thought about that. Why would I? If I got her something, that would make it weird, right? But it was Christmas.

Maybe I could grab her something from that kitchen store. Cleo had more kitchen utensils than any person on earth but she’d been eyeing some sort of spatula. Would she see through the gift? Would she know that I’d been watching her every move in that store, not because I was concerned with her safety, but because I could barely keep my eyes off her?

Fuck my life. When had a spatula become so complicated?

“Cash or card?” While I’d been debating the merits of a goddamn spatula, the clerk had rung up my purchases and bagged them to go.

“Oh, sorry.” I dug out my wallet and swiped my card through the machine. Then I took my things and left. I forced myself across the street so I wouldn’t be tempted to go inside the kitchen goods shop.

If Cleo were mine, I’d buy her all the kitchen trinkets her drawers could hold. I’d get her tasteful gifts, ones that she’d appreciate, as opposed to the too-fancy jewels her father bought her every Christmas that she never wore.

She’d appreciate a pair of simple earrings and a new rolling pin better than the Tesla he’d bought her last year. The Tesla that she’d sold two weeks later, donating the proceeds to charity.

Blake had been with her that day. He’d laughed and rolled his eyes at Ray, then he’d praised Cleo for being the breath of fresh air that she was.

She didn’t need a new car. What she needed was a weekend in Montana to unwind.

That could be my gift to her. These couple of days.

When I got back to the hotel, I walked through the doors and looked toward the fireplace. Cleo was on one of the couches, her eyes glued to her phone. She’d been in the same place when I’d left earlier.

I crossed the lobby, standing beside her couch. “Hey.”

“Hey.” A natural smile spread across her face as she looked up. She smiled at everyone and it was always genuine. Those smiles, combined with her baked goods, were the reason people flocked to her bakery. Cleo was magnetic. “Where’d you go?”

I held up the bag. “Bought a couple things so I could change.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders fell. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. I’m going to head on up and change, then do some work. I’ll be out of your hair so you can chill in the room.”

“Actually, I made us a dinner reservation.”

“Oh.” I grimaced. An intimate Christmas Eve dinner with this beautiful woman would be torture.

Cleo’s smile disappeared. “I can cancel.”

“No, don’t.” If dinner was what she wanted, then I’d eat with her.