Page 35 of Christmas in Quincy (The Edens 0.50)

“Yes, of course.” The woman handed her the check. “And you’re welcome to take your wine if you’d like to retire to your room.”

“Cleo—” I started to protest, reaching for the check, but she silenced me with a scowl. Then she signed her name on the receipt and added a tip.

“Thank you for dinner,” I said after the waitress cleared our plates.

“Thank you for eating with me.” Cleo stood from her chair. “Will you teach me a card game?”

“Sure.”

She took her wineglass and the bottle, then led the way from the dining room. But instead of veering for the elevator, she returned to the couch in front of the fireplace where she’d been reading earlier.

“Here?”

“Or would you rather play in the room?”

“No, this is fine.” I dropped to the couch and lifted the lid on my cards. The less time we spent in that bedroom, the better. “Do you know how to play gin rummy?”

“No.”

I took the cards from the box and shuffled them. Then taught her to play gin. An hour later, she’d finished the bottle of wine and hadn’t won a single hand. But you’d never know by the smile on her face or the twinkle in her eyes.

“Gin.” I discarded my last card.

“What? Already?” She giggled and tossed her cards on the pile. “Okay, I give up. Let’s play a different game. How about war? Or go fish? I might stand a chance if we play kid games.”

“I learned to play gin when I was six.”

“Show-off.” She rolled her eyes, then lifted her hand to her mouth to cover a yawn.

“We should go up.”

“No, not yet.” She relaxed into the thick leather of the couch, tipping her eyes up at the stone chimney and taking in the wreath hung above the fire. “This is peaceful. I like it here.”

“Me too.” I collected the cards, putting them back in the box, then mirrored her position.

“Thank you, Austin.” She turned her cheek to look at me. Somehow, while I’d put the cards away and she’d been sitting there, we’d gotten closer. Or maybe we’d inched closer as we’d played, using the center cushion of the couch as our card table.

Whenever it had happened, our shoulders were nearly touching. A lock of her hair had slid over the leather of the couch and brushed against the cotton of my shirt.

“For what?”

“For this break. I know it was out of character for me, but sometimes I just want to say screw it. Just do what makes my heart happy. Does that make any sense?”

“Yeah.” My eyes roamed her face. Without thinking, I brought my hand up to cup her cheek.

Her breath hitched.

Tingles raced across my skin.

What the fuck was I doing?

Making my heart happy.

I leaned in closer.

And kissed Cleo.

Chapter 8