Page 19 of A Newport Christmess

“Margaret had a great idea, and I think we should try it—just our small family together, here in San Diego, for Christmas.”

“I thought Margaret and Michael were going to go on their belated honeymoon.”

“They’re postponing it until after the holidays. Margaret sent me an article the other day about establishing traditions as newlyweds. I’ll have to forward it to you, but research shows that shared family traditions ground a couple and make for stronger, healthier marriages—something about weaving two separate lives into one. So Margaret was thinking, because Michael gets too overwhelmed with the whole extended family, we should start a new tradition and just have our immediate family get together for Christmas.”

Thankfully, my swollen eyelids concealed my eye roll. Now that my older sister had started her PhD program in psychology, she was apparently an authority on all things that contributed to a strong marriage. If she hadn’t already been accepted into the program before my divorce, I’d think my failed marriage was the sole motivation for her choice of study with how often she shared her expert opinion. “Isn’t the point of a tradition to have done it for a long time—like us going to Santa Barbara?”

“It apparently doesn’t matter if the tradition is long-standing or newly established, as long as those participating are committed to it. Besides, it’s probably time we stop our large family gathering. Without Grandma here, I think the whole thing is overwhelming for Grandpa. I’m guessing he’d prefer to visit individual families for Christmas instead.”

It was true that, the past two years, Grandpa had seemed out of sorts with all of us there. My aunts had all stepped up to fill the huge void that Grandma left, but it wasn’t the same. And yet, the thought of it ending broke off a small piece of my heart. True, I hadn’t planned on going this year, but that didn’t mean I never wanted to again. “And what did Xena have to say about Margaret’s new tradition? She loves going to Santa Barbara.”

Mom smiled unapologetically. “Your sister will take one for the team.”

A hollow laugh slipped out. There was no way I’d take one for the team this round. The past year had been torturous enough, helping to plan and then taking part in Margaret’s wedding when I was still reeling from my own failed marriage. I didn’t need to spend the anniversary of Cody walking out on me with a poignant, PDA’ing reminder of everything I’d lost. “As much as I’d like to be there, I don’t think I can change my flight now.”

“If you can’t, Dad and I can pay for a return ticket.”

A quiet knock sounded on the door, drawing my attention. Hallelujah. “Coming,” I called. “Hey, Mom. I’ve got to go. Landon’s back with the medicine.”

“Okay.” She paused. “But think about what I said. It would mean a lot to Margaret—to all of us—if you were here for Christmas.”

Guilt wriggled around my resolve. “I can’t make any promises.”

“Thank you, sweetie.” Before I could attempt a redo, she pointed at the camera. “And make sure you keep your pepper spray close by. I don’t like the idea of some man you don’t know having a key to the house.”

“I’ll be safe. Love you, Mom.”

“Love you, sweetie.”

I set my phone down, hurried to the door, and glanced out the peephole to confirm it was Landon. My hived hand resting on the bolt made me pause. Was I really going to let Landon see me like this—straight out of the shower with a towel on my head, swollen eyes, and hives covering half of my exposed skin? How low had I sunk?

“Quinn. It’s me.” Landon must have heard me at the door or seen the peephole darken when I’d looked through. “I’ve got medicine.”

The secret code word—medicine—had been spoken, and I pushed my embarrassment aside. Besides, why should I care what Landon thought of me? He’d made it very clear that he not only didn’t want to be set up with me, but that he didn’t even want to be on friendly terms. With that reminder, I threw open the door without a care. “Hey.”

He stepped through, bringing an assault of cold air and that delightful woodsy smell with him, but paused when his gaze dropped from my towel-wrapped head to my face. His widened eyes roved over every mortifying inch of my swollen, hived skin. “Are you doing okay?” The concern in his voice startled me, making me second-guess if I was. “Have you developed any more symptoms?”

“No, but I may have rubbed my eyes ... a few times.”

His posture relaxed, and he closed the door behind him before gesturing to the living room. “Let’s get you some medicine.”

He removed his heavy coat as we walked, tossed it on the far end of the sectional, and took a seat facing me. I left one full cushion between us, knowing how he preferred his distance, and tucked my legs beneath me.

“Here,” he said, dumping the contents of the bag onto the empty seat.

My stunned gaze went from the pharmaceutical jackpot to him. “I thought you said you were grabbing Benadryl. What’s all this other stuff?” I grabbed a tube of cream to examine.

“That’s hydrocortisone cream for the itching.” He pointed to a pink bottle next. “And calamine lotion if you prefer that instead. Liquid Benadryl, of course. This one’s an antihistamine to take for the next few weeks while you’re here. And this”—he gestured to a pleated cloth sack with a plastic top—“is a reusable ice bag. A cold compress helps with the itch.”

I blinked, taking in his haul one more time. “How much did all of this cost?” I asked, trying not to let my worry impact my tone. Maybe I would have to send the bill to my parents after all.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll put it on Nikki’s tab. Here.” He grabbed the Benadryl box, opened it, and handed the plastic container to me. “The dosage is by weight.”

I studied the dosing chart. I was right at the upper weight limit of the lower dose, so it would probably be safe to take the higher one considering how intense my reaction had been. I poured two teaspoons into the included cup, downed it, and then went back for a second shot of the same amount.

Landon’s attention remained on me. “It should kick in soon—maybe fifteen minutes or so. And you can take more in four hours if you need it.”

I placed the measuring cup and Benadryl on the coffee table, wishing it would take effect sooner. The itch was slowly intensifying again. “Will it make my eyes stop itching?” Unable to stop myself, I rubbed the heel of my palms into the sockets. “Because I think I might scratch them out if not.”