Page 62 of A Newport Christmess

“What would you prefer?”

“Maybe it’s best if we just stick to me being Nikki’s ... gingerbread house ... maker.”

“Quinn Cook. Nikki’s gingerbread house maker. Got it.”

Quinn shifted in her seat. “But what if Nikki has already mentioned your interest in me? Or your pretended interest in me? Or maybe she didn’t say anything so they’ll assume we’re together since you brought me.” She lifted a hand to her face. “I shouldn’t have come. I can’t stop thinking about what they’re thinking about about us.”

I leaned against the driver’s side window and studied her worried profile. “That’s a lot of abouts.”

Her head whipped toward me. “You’re teasing me when I’m on the verge of a panic attack?”

I should have never asked her to come. “We don’t need to lay on the interested-in-each-other thing too thick, if that’s what you’re worried about. Just tell me what you’re comfortable with. Or if you’d prefer, I’ll take you back to the house. It’s really not a big deal.”

She drew in a slow breath and released it from her mouth. “I don’t want you to be late. And once I’m in there, I’ll be fine. Most of the battle for me is the needless worrying.” Her gaze flicked to my mouth. “Just no kissing me. Not that you would in front of your family ...” She tucked her lips inward briefly. “But anything else is fine.”

“We really don’t need to—”

“It’s okay. Really. It’s all pretend, anyway.” She opened the door, not waiting for a response.

Her comment rammed into me like a lead ball, twisting and turning and making a mess of my insides. It should all be pretend. That was what we’d agreed on. But for some reason, her comment stung. Was she regretting the blurred lines between us? This muddied version of what we’d initially committed to?

She glanced around, looking for a place to set the gingerbread house while she climbed down.

“Hold on.” I touched her arm, pausing her haphazard attempt to exit. “Let me come help you. The ground could be slick.”

I turned off the truck and hurried to help Quinn out. Since she seemed unwilling to relinquish her hold on the gingerbread house, I steadied her arm while she climbed out.

“Thanks,” she whispered, stepping past me to the sidewalk. I grabbed the bag of candy and frosting and shut the door. The walkway to the entrance had been salted, rendering my continued help unnecessary. When we reached the lobby, I glimpsed Nikki and Kade through the window. My hand automatically moved to Quinn’s back when I opened the door for her, but her comment echoed through my mind, and I shoved my fist in my coat pocket instead.

“Quinn!” Nikki’s questioning gaze skirted to me when she wrapped her arms around Quinn in a side hug to avoid the gingerbread house. “What are you doing here?”

“I made your grandma a gingerbread house, and Landon thought I should come help her decorate it. I hope that’s okay.”

Nikki glanced down at the house. “Of course it is. That was so sweet of you. And I loved the reel you posted last night. It was so good to see your beautiful face in your feed again.” Her gaze slid to me. “Did you make it?”

“I did,” I said like it wasn’t some huge deal, and I nearly set my hand on Quinn’s back a second time before lowering it again. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Your dad and Sandra are already back with Grandma,” Kade answered since Nikki was too busy analyzing me. “And Julie texted, saying they were running a few minutes late. They should be here soon.”

“Should we head back, then?” I asked.

Nikki seemed to break out of her trancelike evaluation of us. “Kade and I were going to wait for Julie, but you two go on back.”

When we were out of earshot, Quinn leaned toward me. “Did you see how intensely Nikki was looking at us? I nearly confessed the whole thing to her.”

With how Quinn’s eyes twinkled in shared humor, maybe I was overthinking her comment earlier. “You and me both.”

When we reached Grams’s room, I stepped through the door first so Quinn wouldn’t have to. “Hey! I heard this is where the party is.”

Grandma sat smiling on the chair, seeming delighted to have more visitors she likely didn’t recognize. Dad and Sandra stood from their seats next to her and approached us, their curious gazes sliding from me to Quinn.

“Hey, son.” Dad wrapped me in a tight hug. “Who is this gorgeous woman you brought along?”

“Quinn Cook.” I smiled at her. “This is my dad, Marty, and my step-mom, Sandra.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” Quinn still clutched onto the gingerbread house with white knuckles.

Sandra stepped up to Quinn. “What’s this?”