Page 1 of A Newport Christmess

ONE

QUINN

Everything appeared perfect through the viewfinder of my camera, and I couldn’t help but note the irony of what wasn’t being captured. Maybe that was how I should start looking at my life—through a metaphorical viewfinder. Focus on the stuff worth capturing and pretend that the rest of my existence wasn’t in absolute shambles. Too bad I wasn’t sure there was anything worth capturing at the moment.

I sighed and pulled out the chair from the kitchen table to get a new angle. The marine layer hadn’t burned off yet, causing the diffused light seeping through the windows to deepen the steel-blue icing of the cookies and brighten the white piping of the snowflake design. The dark, grained wood was one of my favorite backdrops lately—rustic, yet chic. I clicked a few more pictures and grabbed a quick panning video.

The narrator’s voice blared from my Bluetooth speaker. “It seemed they had found their assailant. Or had they?” The eerie theme music trilled through the empty kitchen, and my arm hairs stood on end.

“It wasn’t him,” I said aloud, scrolling through the images I’d captured. “It’s the boyfriend. He’s the only one with a clear motive.”

The subsequent advertisement for security cameras went silent mid-pitch, and a quiet laugh from behind sent me reeling in my chair. “Jeez, Ashlee!” My hand settled over my racing heart. “You scared me!”

Pure amusement lit Ashlee’s dark features, her suitcase stationed behind her. “Girl, of all people to have an obsession with true-crime podcasts ...” Her words faded into laughter, her ponytail swinging with her shaking head.

“If I know how murderers think, I’m less likely to be killed by one.” I tucked a mass of my blonde waves behind my ear, but it freed itself immediately, refusing to be tamed. “Besides, it wasn’t the podcast that scared me. I just wasn’t expecting you home until eleven.”

Her chin lowered, and she peered at me through the tips of her black bangs. “Quinn, it’s almost noon.”

My gaze flew to the clock. How did time do that? Hours passing like minutes?

Ashlee scanned the piles of dirty dishes, the flour and powdered sugar dusting the countertops, and the trays of baked goods that cluttered her kitchen. It was absolute chaos. “You may have outdone yourself. This mess might even top the one you made during your Jane Austen dessert week posts. What with the”—she wiggled her fingers in front of her—“stiff Jell-O stuff you made in those hilarious shaped molds.”

I laughed at the memory. “Flummery is a lot more difficult to make than I’d thought. And a lot messier, too.”

Ashlee smiled and gestured around us. “Honestly, you should do a behind-the-scenes shot for your social media followers. I think they deserve to see what your creative genius looks like in action.”

The camera strap tightened under the weight of the digital SLR, and I hopped down from the chair with an impish smile. “I’ll clean it all up. Right after I finish.”

She gave an airy laugh and shook her head again—her classic response to most things I said.

“Hey. You should be proud of me. I have the rest of November’s posts scheduled, and this”—I gestured around us—“is half of December’s. All of it accomplished while you were away.”

Her brows lifted. “You, Quinn Cook, are ahead of schedule?”

My triumphant smile lessened when her eyes narrowed.

She crossed her arms, leaning a shoulder against the wall and crossing her foot at the ankle. Shoot. Interrogation stance. “And what prompted this sudden spell of motivation?” Her gaze bore into me. “Did you agree to make the gingerbread houses for that wedding in Newport Beach?”

Was I that obvious? I bit at my lip. “I was weak without you here.”

“Quinn!”

With Ashlee’s disbelieving stare on me, I shifted. “Nikki sent a message asking me to reconsider. She was so sweet and complimentary ...”

“And completely inconsiderate of the previous refusal that we spent hours discussing.”

I tried an innocent smile. “She offered me more money.”

Ashlee’s eyes flicked to the ceiling. “Of course she did. She’s apparently made of it.”

Ashlee had never understood my admiration for Nikki. Not that she knew her, but she had a hard time believing a social media influencer with millions of followers could also manage to be an authentic and kind person. Though I knew differently, this clearly wasn’t the moment to change Ashlee’s mind about Nikki. I needed to try a new angle.

“It was you who first encouraged me to take this job. And I think you were right. It will help take my mind off of ... everything.”

“Need I remind you that you were the one who said you couldn’t handle the extra stress this year?”

“I know, but I just kept thinking about the opportunity I was giving up. Nikki’s audience is beyond massive, and doing the centerpieces for her wedding could be just the thing to revive my account and land me some sponsorships.” When her expression didn’t change, my shoulders dropped. “Honestly, it’s a last-ditch effort. I can’t keep putting so much time and money into this whole influencer thing if it’s not going to pan out.” Wow. I was starting to sound like the logical, reasonable person my parents were always encouraging me to be.