Page 33 of Christmas in Quincy (The Edens 0.50)

For so long, I’d pretended to be a professional. I’d maintained a professional distance. I’d kept our interactions professional. I’d stayed away from her to maintain professionalism.

If professional actually meant acting like a rude, motherfucking asshole, I had professional nailed.

Cleo hadn’t deserved my attitude. For the last day, for the last four years, I’d been acting like an ass. Keeping up the act was exhausting.

Today, I would attempt being a true professional.

“Dinner sounds great. Thank you.” I gestured to my shirt. “But I don’t have anything nice to wear.”

“Neither do I. And I checked with the dining room. It’s not fancy. We can come as we are.”

“Okay, then. What time?”

Her face lit up into a beaming smile. “Seven thirty.”

That gave me four hours to get my shit together, stop pouting and quit ruining her vacation. “I’ll be there.”

“This is so good.” Cleo closed her eyes and hummed. The look of rapture on her face was more mouthwatering than the chocolate cake on my fork. She opened her eyes and smiled. “How’s yours?”

I dropped my gaze to my plate and cleared my throat. “Good.”

“Want to try some cheesecake?”

“No, thanks.” I shoved a bite in my mouth and looked anywhere but at her.

We were the only two left in the dining room. There’d been two large parties here tonight, but both had disbanded and left an hour ago.

Cleo and I had eaten at a leisurely pace. There hadn’t been much conversation, but thanks to the others in the room, we’d spent the time people watching. The other guests had graciously let us stare while they’d eaten, laughed and opened gifts. Cleo and I had both ordered steaks. Not an ounce had been left behind on either of our plates. They’d been that good.

“More?” Cleo lifted the bottle of red wine between us.

“Sure.” I held the stem of my glass as she poured.

“I like this version of Austin.”

“The one who drinks?”

She giggled, topping off her own glass. “Yes. He’s chill.”

“You’re the first person to ever call me chill.” I took another bite of my cake followed by a sip of wine, and the last shred of tension over this meal melted away.

I let myself chill and enjoy her company.

“Did you always want to own a bakery?” I asked.

“Yes. My mom used to let me help her in the kitchen. She’d let me mash bananas for banana bread and she’d measure out ingredients so I could dump them in the mixing bowl. I was so little when she died, but I never forgot those days in the kitchen. When I got older, it was something I could do to feel connected to her.”

There was nothing but adoration and love in her eyes whenever she spoke of her mother. It wasn’t often, but enough to see that Cleo carried Janet in her heart. Maybe that was why her food was out of this world. It was infused with love.

“What about you?” she asked. “Did you always want to be in private security?”

“I don’t know if anyone in this business plans on being in this business.” At least, that was how it was for all of my guys. “I just fell into it. I always wanted to be a fireman, like my dad. My mom wanted me to get my degree first, but I’d planned on applying to a station as soon as I had one. Then a month before graduation, I met this guy who owned a security firm. He w

as looking for some muscle to work at a few events.”

Most of the other twenty-something-year-old guys he’d hired had been bored as hell. They’d hated standing against the wall, observing a party instead of participating in it. But I’d liked the work. It was interesting to watch people when they didn’t realize they were being watched.

I’d seen men check out women other than their dates. I’d heard women talk about other women. And I’d learned how it felt when the tension in a crowd spiked before a fight broke out.