Page 2 of A Newport Christmess

Ashlee considered me for a moment, then let out a resigned breath. “I just want to make sure you feel up to taking on something like this. But whatever you decide, you know I’ll support you.”

Her words pierced me. As my best friend, I knew she meant them, and yet a part of me wished for Cody to be here, offering his support like he’d vowed to do at our wedding. But he wasn’t here. I pushed the thought away and gave Ashlee a cautious smile. “Even if it means your kitchen will be a disaster for the better part of December? Because I can always make the centerpieces at my parents’—”

“No. We don’t need their well-intentioned guidance putting unhelpful thoughts into your head. You’ll make them here.”

I jumped forward, wrapping my arms around her. “Thank you.”

Ashlee allowed my hug for a moment before giving me a stiff pat on the back and straightening her blazer. “Okay. Okay. I get it. You love me.”

“More than you know.” I stepped back. “Now, tell me, how was your trip? Did you get the clients?” Ashlee had gone to school for nursing, but for the last two years, she’d been helping her uncle run an at-home care company. She not only managed their entire nursing staff throughout California and oversaw the hiring and training of all the nurses, but she also helped convince established medical practices to contract with their company. Basically, she was amazing—and gone a lot.

Ashlee gave a timid nod. “We did.”

“That’s incredible.” I took note of her absent smile. “So why don’t you look thrilled about it?”

“They want us to start training their staff the second week of December so they can offer their patients the service beginning January first.” She hesitated. “Which means I’ll need to be in San Francisco through the New Year.”

“Oh.” Despite the heaviness that settled into my chest, I gave a dismissive wave of my hand. “That’s okay.”

Her head tipped to the side, and she gave a small frown. “I fully intend to fly home on Christmas Eve so the two of us can at least spend Christmas together like we planned.”

Spending Christmas with Ashlee was the excuse I’d used to opt out of attending my family’s annual Christmas gathering. I typically loved extended-family events, but that had changed this past year. Now, it seemed I spent the majority of time at get-togethers dodging comments about my unfortunate situation and fake-smiling through unsolicited advice. I didn’t have the strength. Not at Christmas.

I shook my head. “You are not flying home for one day. You have family in San Francisco. Spend Christmas with them.”

“But it will be your first Christmas ...” Her words trailed off, and her frown intensified.

“Alone. Yes. But I’ll be fine. The divorce is official. Christmases alone will be my new normal.” I meant my tone to be cheery, but it came off more depressing than anything.

Ashlee pulled her phone from her back pocket. “That’s it. I’m booking my flight.”

“Don’t you dare.” I lunged for the phone in her hands, but she lifted it above her head and out of my reach. I was a scrappy little thing, so I debated jumping for it but reconsidered when I remembered the thousand-dollar camera dangling around my neck.

“If you’re here, then I’m coming home,” Ashlee said resolutely.

Before I could argue, a distant ringing drew our attention. My phone. I turned toward the muffled sound, pushing aside stacks of used mixing bowls and baking trays in my search. I glanced behind a dish of white, red, and green confetti popcorn and around the oversized platter that held the cookie advent calendar that had turned out more darling than I could have hoped. The elusive ring stopped.

Ashlee’s gaze lifted from her own phone.

I shrugged. “I’m sure they’ll call back if it’s important.”

The ring started again.

“Where are you?” I asked in a sing-song voice, concentrating on the faint hum of the vibration instead of the tinkling ringtone. I neared the sink and peered around a stack of dirty pots to a discarded kitchen towel I’d used for raising cinnamon roll dough. I yanked at the corner, and, like a magic trick, my phone reappeared. “It’s a 212 number.” I glanced back at Ashlee with a furrowed brow.

She gestured toward the phone. “So answer it.”

“Hello?”

“Yes, hello. Is this Quinn Cook?” The woman on the line had an East Coast accent that made me smile. I loved accents, despite that a clipped formality accompanied hers.

“It is.”

“This is Irene Garrity, the wedding planner for Nikki Aker.”

“Oh, yeah. Nikki said you’d be in touch.”

“Yes. Well, I sent you an email two days ago, but seeing as I didn’t hear from you, I thought I’d try calling.”