Page 24 of Christmas in Quincy (The Edens 0.50)

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.

After twenty minutes of waiting, Cleo had had enough time to get out of the shower and put some clothes on, so I took my muffin wrapper to the trash, nodded a silent thanks to the barista and set out into the Arctic.

My teeth chattered as I made my way to the hotel. My goose bumps had goose bumps. Why hadn’t I brought a damn coat? Right. Because the plan had been to get in and get out.

The hotel lobby was quiet as I walked for the staircase, hoping four flights would warm me up. When I reached the room and slid my key card into the door, Cleo’s scent hit me once more and sent a rush of blood to my groin.

I was tempted to plug my nose. Instead, I opted to breathe through my mouth.

The door to the bathroom flew open and Cleo emerged, her hair wet and twisted in a knot. Her face was bare and flushed from the shower, but at least she was dressed. Her designer distressed jeans fit like a second skin and her black tank top left none of her curves to my imagination.

Fuck, she looked beautiful. Stunning, really. There wasn’t a Hollywood starlet who could rival Cleo’s beauty. My heart skipped and my throat went dry.