Page 84 of A Newport Christmess

“I’m perfectly fine. And I know how to walk myself,” Vince mumbled, pushing out of the guys’ supporting hold. He took a few haphazard steps, supporting himself on the back of a dining room chair when he reached it. “Whoa, dude. Is the floor moving?”

Trying to be discreet, I scooted Rosecliff out of arm’s reach of Vince. The last thing I wanted was for him to flail his arms again and accidentally hit it.

“You guys can go back down,” Landon said to the others. “I’ll make sure he gets upstairs.” He stepped between Vince and the table. “Here, Vince. Let me help you.”

“I don’t need help.” His words slurred together, making it hard to understand him. He lifted up a finger. “I’m still thirsty.”

Tyler stepped toward him with his large cup of water. “I’m pretty sure water’s the only drink you should be having right now. Here.”

“I don’t want water.” Vince’s hand flew up and batted the cup out of Tyler’s grasp, directly toward me.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the impact. A spray of water hit my face, but the brunt of it, along with the cup, hit the side of Rosecliff—the only side I’d already decorated. I froze, unable to move. Unable to look at the damage.

“Look what you did,” Tyler yelled. “You just got her house all wet.”

Vince glanced over at me, but his blank gaze didn’t focus.

My vision blurred with tears, and my ears hummed.

“Get him upstairs,” Landon said to Tyler, pushing past both of them into the kitchen.

I needed to look. I needed to see what damage had been done, but I felt dizzy with the thoughts racing through my mind. There was no more dough—it had gone bad in the power outage. I could always make more, but I was already low on time. I’d never finish. Besides, how would I get the ruined piece free? The sugar-glue might as well have been cement, and I could easily damage another piece in the removal process.

Just look.

My heart was in a frenzy, beating soundly against the walls of my tightened chest, when I leaned around to view the side of the house. The icing was beginning to run in the wetter spots, and a portion of my design had been crushed by the impact of the cup. I drew closer and dusted some of the broken icing away. A sigh of relief escaped me. There was no physical damage to the gingerbread.

Landon was back at my side with a stack of towels, drying the water from the table and off the edge of the cardboard. “What can I do?”

I rubbed the sleeve of my sweater over my eyes, clearing away the tears pooling there. Whether they were from despair or relief—or a mixture of both—I wasn’t sure. “We’ve got to get the water off before it starts dissolving the gingerbread.”

Landon handed me a towel and started sponging up the water on the roof with careful movements. “What about the frosting? I don’t want to touch it.”

Slowly, I dabbed at the places the water had hit. The icing was saturated, and it smeared at my touch. I ran my pinky finger along the outside of one of the areas to see if I could maybe fix it, but the moisture in it confirmed my fear. With a swift motion, I ran the towel over all of it.

Landon’s gaze shot to me. “What are you doing?”

“The icing is saturated, which will make the gingerbread soggy if I leave it. I’ll just have to start over once it’s dry.”

“That took you hours.”

I shrugged, still fighting back the tears as I continued to scrub off the icing with brisk motions until every bit of it was off, and only a faded white dusting remained among the darkened spots of slightly damp gingerbread. But it would dry. I hoped. “Looks like I’m not going tomorrow.”

Landon stood there, obviously unsure what to say.

I soaked up any remaining water I saw. “I should have just gone to the hotel.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s not your fault that I’m incapable of making the right choice. Ever.” The tears sprung from my eyes, no longer willing to be dammed.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Tyler reappeared. “He’s in bed.”

Not wanting him to see me cry, I turned away and dried my face with my sleeves. Though, the way my shoulders trembled with my silent sobs, there was no hiding the truth.

The room was silent, and I was positive Tyler was noting the damage to the gingerbread and my current state.

“I’m sorry, Quinn. Had I known—”