Page 20 of Christmas in Quincy (The Edens 0.50)

“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.