Page 5 of Christmas in Quincy (The Edens 0.50)

“Unless the building floods or burns down, I’m not calling you,” Brynne said. “Have fun. Sleep. Relax.”

I slid on the other slipper and scooted deeper into the bed. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Did you at least miss me a little bit today?” Searching for compliments wasn’t a good color on me, but in my defense, I’d had a really long day.

“When I had a guy yell at me because he ordered a chocolate cream pie but wanted apple, yeah, I missed you. And when I burned my hand on the oven because I was in a hurry, I missed you a lot. You make the best ice packs. But today was a good day. And tomorrow will be a good day. I like that I can run this place alone. It’s a challenge but I’m up for it, so thanks for trusting me with this opportunity.”

Oh, she was good. Now I felt guilty for not leaving her in charge of the bakery sooner. “You’re the best. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas. See you later this week.”

I tossed the phone aside and glanced around the room. Coming here, leaving California, was like stepping into another world. Outside, the snow was falling, blanketing everything in a fluffy layer. It would be easy to stay for days and days, relaxing inside this room and pretending the outside world didn’t exist. But three days, that’s all I had. I’d missed today at the bakery and wouldn’t be there for Christmas Eve. We were closed on Christmas Day and my flight home was first thing the following morning. Three workdays was not a long break, but Brynne had been right.

I hadn’t taken a vacation since I’d opened Crumbs five years ago. Mostly because I hadn’t had anyone to run the shop before Brynne, and even with her, I liked being tied to my confections and creations.

Crumbs wasn’t just my job, it was my passion.

I stripped off my coat, tossing it to the floor, and scooted into the pillows. The king-sized sleigh bed was a rich mahogany. The cream comforter was thick enough to swallow me whole—I planned on letting it. The pillows were fluffy and abundant. A television rested on a wide chest of drawers across from the bed.

This room was bliss. It was classy and there wasn’t a bit that seemed hotel generic, even the furniture. When I’d called to make my reservation, the clerk—maybe it had been Eloise herself—had told me that I’d snagged the last room. Even though the inn was full, there wasn’t a noise beyond the door, likely because of the thick carpet in the hallway.

The artwork on the wall over my shoulder was a black and white photograph of Quincy from 1950, according to the date in the corner. It looked similar to the town I’d arrived in, though it had been nearly dark when the plane’s wheels had touched down. Still, there was something peaceful about knowing that the town hadn’t changed all that much, decade after decade.

I pushed myself up and off the bed, moaning with pleasure as my feet sank into the thick soles of the slippers. Then I picked up my coat, walking to the closet to hang it on a wooden hanger.

My plan for the evening was to unpack while I waited for my champagne. Then I’d have a glass, peruse the room service menu and order dinner. Then I’d have another glass and a bath followed by more glasses until the bottle was empty.

There’d be no need for a predawn alarm tomorrow, and maybe if I drank enough, I’d sleep through my body’s alarm too.

I carried my suitcase across the room to the drawers and flopped it on the carpet, opening it slowly. The instant the zipper was free, the clothes inside exploded, spilling onto the carpet like they’d been holding their breath during the trip and could finally exhale.

Want a chocolat

e soufflé or croquembouche? I could whip those up without breaking a sweat. Pack light for a three-day trip? Sorry, wrong girl.

I carefully refolded pajama pants and tank tops before placing them in a drawer. The two pairs of jeans I’d brought plus a black dress—because Christmas dinner might demand a dress—were hung in the closet. And my collection of panties and bras, extra in case of emergency, were safely stowed in another drawer. I took my toiletry case to the bathroom and was about to zip the empty suitcase closed when my phone dinged again. I swiped it off the bed and my heart dropped.

Dad.

“Damn it.”

I scrunched up my nose, pacing in front of the door. Should I answer? Decline? The only reason he was calling was because I hadn’t shown up at the party tonight. He couldn’t know that I’d left California for the holiday, right? I’d left hours ago. But if one of his minion-spies had been trailing me, he would have known this morning that I’d left the state.

Last year, when I’d threatened to disown him if he didn’t call off his hounds, Dad had agreed to no more bodyguards. Without them cataloging my every move, there was no way he could know I was in Montana.

There was only one way to find out.

“Ugh.” I hit the green circle. “Hi, Dad.”

“Cleo.”

Oh boy, he was mad. Shit. He said my name in that quiet, ominous tone I’d only heard twice in my life, once after I’d flunked math my junior year and once when I’d gotten caught making out with the neighbor boy in the pool house.

“I’m sorry for missing your party tonight.”

“Are you sick?” he asked.