Page 3 of Christmas in Quincy (The Edens 0.50)

I made it. My suitcase rested against my calf, much like me, too weary to stand on its own.

“Let me just pull up your reservation.” The woman typed quickly, the smile on her pretty face soft and sweet. The silver name tag on the lapel of her black blazer caught the warm light from the chandelier above.

“Thanks, um . . . Eloise? As in the—” My finger twirled in the air, indicating the stately hotel.

“Yep.” She laughed. “My great, great grandmother, Eloise Eden. The inn was named for her by my great, great grandfather. She was my namesake.”

“Ah. Well, it’s beautiful. The inn and your name.”

“Thank you.” Her smile widened. “I take pride in both. I’m the manager here.”

“Impressive.” It was possible that she just had great genes, or a miracle skin cream, but with her flawless, youthful skin, I’d peg her in her early twenties.

As Eloise returned to her task, a wood fire crackled in a large hearth on one side of the grand room. The hotel’s lobby was decked out for Christmas, the mantel piled high with pine boughs and ornaments. Above the fireplace, a stone column towered to the rafters and in its center hung a wreath at least three feet in diameter.

Golden bulbs framed the windows. Inside the door, a fir tree three times the size of my car greeted customers with its woodsy scent and red bows. Tiny boxes, individually wrapped, were staged on a brass platter beside my handbag.

As far as Christmas escapes went, I’d chosen my destination well. Not that I’d ever escaped Christmas before.

But this year, Quincy, Montana, was going to be my hideaway.

“Okay, Ms. Hillcrest.” Eloise looked up from her computer screen with another welcome smile. “I have you here for three nights. Checking out on the twenty-sixth. Is that correct?”

“Yes, it is.” I nodded, fishing out my wallet for my driver’s license and credit card.

“Are you visiting someone in Quincy for the holiday?” she asked, swiping my card through the reader.

“Oh, um . . . no.” Exactly the opposite. I was in Quincy to avoid anything that resembled visiting. It probably seemed strange—it was strange—but since I didn’t have the energy to explain the disaster that was my family at Christmas, I changed the subject. “When I called and made my reservation, I was told that room service would be available each day.”

“Yes, of course. The menu and meal hours will be in your room’s booklet. And our chef, who happens to be my brother, has something lovely planned for Christmas and Christmas Eve. We’re happy to bring it to your room, but if you’d like to come down, the dining room will be open as well, starting at five and closing at nine.”

“Perfect.” I took the key card from her outstretched hand and collected my purse.

“Have you been to Quincy before?” Eloise asked.

“No, this is my first visit.”

“Well, if you feel like exploring, we’re in the heart of downtown. There are some lovely restaurants and shops on Main Street, most owned by local families.”

Much like the hotel. The charm of The Eloise Inn was not something you’d find at a large hotel conglomerate. It had those personal, loving touches that made it perfect for my impromptu escape.

“Are there any bakeries in town?” While I was here, I might as well do some research.

“The coffee shop puts out a case of pastries and breakfast sandwiches each morning. If you like chocolate—”

“Who doesn’t.”

Eloise laughed. “The chocolate croissant is incredible.”

“Sold.”

“Head out the front doors and take a right. It’s the cute green building across the street, three doors down. Eden Coffee.”

“Eden?” I cocked my head. Wasn’t that her last name?

“Full disclosure, my sister owns the coffee shop and is the pastry chef, so I’m biased. But she truly is talented. My great, great grandfather founded Quincy. My family has lived here ever since. You can’t throw a rock without hitting an Eden.”

“Good to know.” I smiled. Five generations and the Edens were probably this town’s royal family. “Thanks for the recommendation.”