Page 34 of Christmas in Quincy (The Edens 0.50)

“I was working this concert. It was a private deal in a hotel for a twenty-first birthday party. The birthday boy was a spoiled rich kid. His dad was an actor—and no, I can’t tell you who.”

“Bummer.” She pouted.

“I’d just turned twenty-two and was weeks away from graduating. My class load was light so whatever jobs he gave me, I took because I wanted the cash. So I’m at this concert and these two hothead assholes are about to get in a fight over a girl. I broke it up without breaking any bones or making a scene. No big deal, but my boss was there that night. He watched the whole thing. Before we left that night, he offered to train me and give me a job that paid three times what I would have made in one year as a firefighter. I couldn’t pass it up.”

“How long did you work for him?” Cleo asked.

“About five years. He retired, moved to Hawaii, and I decided to start Garrison.” I’d built my company slowly and deliberately, only hiring crew members when I could guarantee their income for a year. I’d been working Garrison for two years before Ray had become a client, and since, we’d grown considerably.

It was still a small company in terms of the private security firms in LA. I intended to keep it that way, choosing quality services over a massive team. Still, Garrison was bigger than I’d ever dreamed it would be after less than a decade in business.

“Do you ever wish you had become a fireman instead?” Cleo asked.

“Occasionally,” I admitted. “When I see catastrophes and those in uniform banding together, I have regrets. But mostly, I consider myself fortunate to have a good job. And I like calling the shots.”

Cleo laughed. “You are rather bossy.”

“Occupational hazard.”

She picked up the purse she’d brought to dinner off the seat of the empty chair to her left, taking out a small wrapped box. “I got you something.”

My heart dropped. Fuck. I should have bought her that spatula. “I, uh, didn’t get you anything.”

“Oh, this is nothing. I don’t expect or need gifts this year. But I saw this and couldn’t pass it up.” She slid the box across the table.

I took it and gently unwrapped the red and gold foil paper to reveal a deck of cards. The box was a hand-painted mountain scene with the words Welcome to Quincy written on the face.

“I noticed you collect them.”

I managed a nod. I held the box, speechless. How had she known? I collected decks of cards from all the places I’d traveled. If I had seen these myself, I would have bought them.

“I saw those in the airport yesterday when I flew in and thought they were beautiful,” she said. “If you don’t like them, you won’t hurt my feelings.”

Wait. She’d bought them even before I’d shown up here. Why? Why would she buy me something when she hated me?

Maybe . . .

I shoved that thought aside and cleared the lump in my throat. Then I looked up, meeting her shining hazel eyes. “They’re great. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She beamed. “I hope you like them.”

“I do. Very much.”

“Why cards?” she asked. “I think it’s a cool thing to collect. Better than shot glasses or refrigerator magnets. But I always wondered why.”

“My mom. She taught me to play different games when I was little, but I was rough on cards. Whenever I had money, I’d buy a new deck and beg her to teach me a new game.”

“How many decks do you have?”

“No idea. But they fill up three drawers in my kitchen.”

“That’s a lot of cards.”

And this would be my favorite deck.

Our waitress appeared beside our table, her hands clasped around a black folio that likely held our bill. “How was dessert? Can I get either of you anything else?”

“No, I think we’re done,” Cleo said. “Thank you. May I put this on my room?”