Page 25 of A Newport Christmess

I followed her, stopping on the threshold of the kitchen and leaning against the wall. “What do you mean you’ve eaten through most of your fresh food?”

She opened a cabinet and grabbed the canned chicken. “I knew I wouldn’t have a car while I was here, so the grocery list I gave to Irene contained a lot of non-perishable items and freezer food.”

“You know there are such things as ride-shares, right? And taxis?”

“I prefer eating canned food to getting into a strange car where I don’t know the driver or what their intentions could be.” She found the can opener and moved to the stovetop where there was nothing cluttering the workspace. It was odd seeing her look so at home in my kitchen while I stood on the outskirts like an outsider.

“I’ve found that their intentions are usually to take you where you want to go in exchange for payment.”

The can hissed when the can opener punctured it. “Usually is the keyword there.”

I laughed, which pulled a reluctant smile from her.

“Go ahead and laugh.” She cranked the handle of the can opener until the lid came free and then turned to face me. “But next time you are a five-foot female without a means of defending yourself, you might feel a little different.”

My gaze trailed down her body with far too much enjoyment before I realized what I was doing and lifted my gaze to hers again. “That’s fair,” I said in appeasement. “But what about having groceries delivered? That wouldn’t jeopardize your safety.”

“I wasn’t sure that was an option. And honestly, I don’t think I have enough credit on my card to cover the cost until I could get reimbursed. It seemed easier to have Irene order non-perishables.” She eyed me. “You really don’t have to stay and eat a canned-chicken sandwich. I’m kind of sensing you don’t want to.”

“Have you left the house at all?” I asked, too intrigued by her admission to respond to her comment.

She busied herself by grabbing a bowl and emptying the contents of the can into it. “No. I really have had a lot to do.”

“Have you at least walked down to the bay?”

She shook her head, pulling the mayo and mustard from the fridge. “Like I already said, I came here to make the gingerbread houses and get away for Christmas. I never planned to go sightseeing.”

“Considering the bay is one street over, I’m not sure it would qualify as sightseeing.”

She spooned some mayo into the chicken and threw in a little salt and pepper and a touch of mustard. I thought she might have been ignoring my comment, but her gaze met mine. “Honestly, I know it sounds strange, but I don’t enjoy going out by myself. I met Cody—my ex—my very first week at college, and I’ve done everything with him or my best friend, Ashlee, since then. Before that, I was always with my parents, my sisters, or friends when I’d go out. When I’m home, I’ll do errands by myself, but only if no one wants to go with me and only if I’m familiar with the place I’m going. Here, I’m across the country and alone.” She paused, as if allowing her admission to sink in for me. “So no. I haven’t even walked down to the bay yet.”

Guilt settled over me like a suffocating blanket. If I hadn’t treated Quinn like a piece in Nikki’s game—a game, it turned out, I was wrong about—I might have realized her predicament sooner. Instead, I’d spent the weekend brooding like an inconsiderate jerk, when none of this was Quinn’s fault. It appeared I had a few blunders to redeem.

I rubbed a hand over the back of my neck and released a heavy breath when I realized Quinn was still watching me. “Can I help you with anything?” I pushed myself off the wall and walked into the kitchen. “I’m a revered expert on heating frozen vegetables.”

She smiled and gestured to the freezer. “By all means. Have at ‘em.”

We worked in comfortable silence until the green beans were heated, the frozen sourdough bread was toasted, and our plates were loaded up. Quinn shoved the mostly empty tortilla chip bag under her arm, and I followed her to the couch, sitting one full cushion away from her like I’d realized she preferred.

She unrolled the bag of chips and positioned the opening toward me. “Excited?”

I only grabbed a few chips to ensure there would still be some left for her and pushed the opening back in her direction. “My mouth has been watering since you first mentioned canned chicken.”

She laughed. “You’ll regret that snark when you take a bite.”

The crunch of the toasted bread was extremely satisfying, and I closed my eyes to make a point of it. The melted cheese was a nice addition, and the taste was ... I opened my eyes. “It’s surprisingly good,” I said, my mouth still full.

Pride touched her striking smile, and she took a bite of her own sandwich. Her legs were wrapped under her on the sofa, and she looked the very image of contented comfort. “Told you.”

I swallowed my next bite, curious to know more about Quinn and her reasons for wanting to be an influencer. She didn’t seem like so many of Nikki’s friends that I’d met over the years—always on their phones and desperate to get the next shot or to capture the perfect reel at whatever cost—but maybe she was. Maybe she was more like Eliza than I was inclined to think. “So tell me about your social media account.” I glanced at the undecorated gingerbread houses on the table behind her. “I assume it involves baking.”

“Mostly.”

“Have you always enjoyed it—baking?”

“Since I can remember. My grandma taught me how to bake. When I’d visit, we’d spend all day in the kitchen, making cakes, brownies, candy ... you name it.” She grinned, her expression wistful, as though the memories were flashing through her mind. “And every year, as soon as school got out for Christmas break, my grandpa would drive down from Santa Barbara to pick me up. My grandma and I would spend the next few days baking all sorts of yummy things for our annual family gathering. I even went up the week before Christmas those first few years of college.”

“So, being here, you’re missing both of those traditions—the baking and the gathering?”