Page 53 of A Newport Christmess

She sighed. “Probably. I guess it was a good thing I made that gingerbread house for your grandma yesterday. Thankfully, I shouldn’t need any more since the houses are all built.”

“What about your frosting?”

She tipped the smaller bowl to view its contents. “The icing uses meringue powder instead of eggs, so it’s safe. I just keep it in here because I like the consistency of it when it’s cold. I can always add a little more powder to thicken it up.” She shook her head. “But all that food you bought for me—the milk, and eggs, and yogurt—what a waste.”

“It’s not a big deal. As soon as the roads get plowed, I can go grab some more groceries.”

“We can at least eat the fruit.” She grabbed a small package of berries, a bag of kiwis, and two pears.

While we washed and cut the fruit, I could sense Quinn was more guarded than usual. And I hated it.

I waited until we were sitting to breach the uncomfortable subject. “Quinn, can we talk about what happened last night?”

Her eyes shot up from her plate of fruit. “We don’t need to. Really.”

“I thought you wanted to communicate like mature adults.”

“Yes, but I said that when you were the one who didn’t want to talk. Now that I don’t, I’m actually not opposed to brushing things over and pretending they didn’t happen. Being a mature adult is significantly overrated.”

“I’m sorry about what happened,” I said, unwilling to be deterred. Quinn deserved an apology. “I shouldn’t have—”

“You’re sorry?” she interrupted. “I’m the one who should be sorry. Like I said, it was late and dark, and my feelings were all muddled because of it. It was like, one minute, I was partly rational, and the next, I—” She bit at her lip. “I don’t know. I was awkward and things got uncomfortable.”

And I’d caused it. It had only taken me a moment to realize my error—that I was crossing a boundary by clasping her fingers in mine—but apparently it was all it took. “I’m sorry you were uncomfortable. I should have stopped it before it got to that point.” I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated with myself. “We need to reestablish our boundaries around this whole fake-interest thing. If you’re even still wanting to do it?”

Quinn fingered the fruit on her plate, her gaze distant. “I think redefining boundaries would be helpful. We need to make sure we’re on the same page.”

That was acceptance enough for me. “Agreed. So what boundaries do we want to put in place?”

She didn’t hesitate. “When we’re alone together, we’re platonic friends. No flirting. No touching.”

So no holding hands or imagining what it would be like to kiss the other person. Got it. I popped a piece of kiwi in my mouth, hoping to appear casual instead of guilt-ridden. “Anything else you’d like to add to the list?”

“Could you not come over smelling like an intoxicating concoction of spices and the great outdoors? It’s hard to focus when you’re constantly wafting a scent that makes me want to take a romantic stroll in the woods with a cup of steaming cider in hand.”

My head reeled back from the unexpected admission, and I was relieved her attention was on her food. Had I misunderstood her discomfort somehow? Had my breaking the boundaries not been the problem, but my unwillingness to break them? I was suddenly entirely confused. “So, I should stop showering?” I asked, testing the situation with humor, as dry as it was.

Her eyes sparkled when they met mine. “That would definitely help. Oh, and when you run your hand through your hair like you did a minute ago and leave it looking tousled ... that has to go. And the way you rub your hand along your bearded jawline, like this—” Quinn’s hand traced over her chin and jaw dramatically, wearing a mockingly seductive expression.

I lifted a brow. “I do that?”

“All the time.” Her head tipped from side to side. “Okay, I might have overdone the sexy look for theatrics. Yours is a little more subtle than that.” She scrunched up her nose at me. “But not much.”

This felt like dangerous ground. But if I was careful, maybe we could have a little fun without letting it go too far. “Well, if we’re listing personal traits now, I need you to stop scrunching up your nose like that. No more biting your lip. And I wouldn’t mind if you started using that calamine lotion as your morning moisturizer so I’m less distracted by you.”

She tilted her head to the side and brought up her bottom lip. “I thought you said the calamine lotion was a good look on me.”

I pointed to her pout. “And no more of whatever that was.”

She scrunched up her nose again.

I tossed up my hands. “You’re already breaking the boundaries.”

Her gaze flicked to my hair. “Your hair is still tousled.”

I patted it down. “Better?”

She studied me, her eyes scanning my features and then moving to my hair. “Have you ever considered shaving your head? Because if we want to get serious and prevent any future lapses ...” She gave a timid shrug, and I thought to ban that from her as well. “Though you’d probably be one of those attractive bald guys. It’s basically hopeless.”