Page 7 of Babies for the Christmas Grump
But I need to get back to work.
I leave without a word. I don’t need to wake her up with some half-baked excuse. She won’t even notice. I’m sure of it.
I slip into my office in the back of the hotel, a man seeking refuge. The space is cold, clinical, familiar. The walls are lined with shelves of ledgers, reports, and stacks of financial papers that could bury anyone who’s not careful.
But for me, it’s where I thrive. There’s no room for distractions in here, no room for feelings, no room forher.
I settle into the leather chair behind my desk, staring at the blinking cursor on my laptop. The reports, the spreadsheets, the numbers… they all start to blur together after a while.
I force myself to focus, clicking through projections for the hotel’s profitability, concentrating on keeping this place going. That is what’s important right now.
I don’t need the money. That’s not why I’m doing the job.
It’s for her—Evie.
I still can’t believe she’s gone.
I met her at a little café not far from here. We both went there for breakfast every morning, at the same time, without fail. She’d always order the same thing, an omelet with extra cheese, and I’d get my black coffee and toast.
Neither of us was a big talker at first, just two regulars sharing the same space, the same routine. But after a few weeks, I found myself nodding to her across the counter, and one morning, she slid a blueberry muffin over to me with a smile.
“Try this,” she said. “I know the secret ingredient.”
We started talking after that. Slowly, at first. Just idle conversation about the weather, the coffee, and the news. But as the weeks turned into months, I found myself looking forward to seeing her every morning.
She had this way about her, a quiet wisdom that settled in her bones. A no-nonsense attitude, but also a softness that made her one of the most dependable people I knew.
We never became best friends, not in the sense of deep personal confessions, but I trusted her. And over time, she became someone I genuinely cared for.
She didn’t need me to fix anything for her. But when she told me about the hotel, and how it was slipping through her fingers, I knew I had to do something.
I didn’t care about the money or the prestige. It was never about that.
Evie had a vision for this place, and I wanted to help her keep it alive. I never expected her to pass so soon, three months after I first walked in here. It still stings.
I promised her I’d do my best—and that is a promise I intend to keep.
“So,” my assistant, Nolan, declares as he finally leans back in his chair, “that’s the last of the reports you asked for.”
I nod slowly, but I think he senses my distraction.
“Ryder?” Nolan’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “You hearing me?”
“Yeah,” I mutter, still staring at the spreadsheets. “Keep going.”
He continues, despite my lack of focus, rattling off details. I glance up briefly, nodding as he speaks, but my mind isn’t on business. It’s on her.
The woman from last night.
Why can’t I shake her? Even now? This isnotmy style at all.
The way her eyes held mine, her lips teasing mine, the feel of her body pressed against me… I can still taste her on my tongue.
Her scent lingers, the faint trace of vanilla and cinnamon, and the ache in my chest refuses to fade.
I rub my temples, trying to shake the thought of her out of my head.
A soft click of the door handle cuts through the air. My gaze instinctively snaps toward it, expecting nothing more than the usual hotel staff or maybe Dex with a request for the bar.
