Page 65 of Babies for the Christmas Grump

The scent of fresh coffee drifts in from the kitchen, mingling with the evergreen garlands decorating the columns, a strange contrast to the pressure weighing on my chest.

I step forward, scanning the room with my usual glance, when something, or rather, someone, catches my eye.

At first, I think I’m imagining it. Then my heart stops.

It’s Claire.

I can’t make sense of it at first. She’s sitting in one of the plush chairs near the front desk, a casual air about her as she flips through a magazine.

But it’s her. The same face I haven’t seen in years, the same sharp gaze that’s somehow more piercing now. She looks out of place, and yet, in some way, she’s meant to be here.

I freeze in the doorway, my mind racing, heart pounding against my ribs. What the hell is she doing here?

Is this a damn family reunion? First Mom, now my sister?

She doesn’t notice me at first. Her focus is on the magazine in her lap, but when she flips the page, she looks up, her eyes meeting mine with a calmness that sets my nerves on edge.

I can’t even hide my surprise. I don’t know how to react to this. How to handle her being here after all this time.

The last time I saw her, we barely spoke. Years of silence, resentment, and a thousand unspoken words have piled up between us, leaving a divide that’s nearly impossible to cross.

But here she is, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Well,” she says. “This is… awkward.”

My pulse is still racing, my mouth dry as I take a tentative step forward.

“Claire,” I finally manage to say, the name feeling foreign on my tongue. “What the hell are you doing here?”

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even look uncomfortable. Instead, she stands up, smooth and graceful, as though she hasn’t just dropped into my life like the bombshell she is.

“I came to see you,” she says, as if that’s supposed to make sense. “I thought we could talk.”

I blink, processing her words as though she’s speaking in another language.

“Talk?” The word feels wrong. It doesn’t belong in this situation.

Her smile is thin, but there’s something unspoken in it—a challenge, maybe, or just an acknowledgment of the tension between us.

“You’re surprised,” she notes. “You probably didn’t expect me to show up here, of all places.”

I can’t quite hide the irritation that creeps into my voice. “No, I didn’t. I haven’t heard from you in… God, it’s been years, Claire.”

“I know,” she says quietly, looking around the lobby as if noticing the hotel for the first time. “But I saw you online. The Christmas Prince debacle… the hotel article… I take it Mom is back in your life?”

Of course.

Of course, she saw it. Claire is nothing if not always in the loop, no matter how long she’s been out of the picture.

She’s the one who left. Who disappeared when things got hard. And now, here she is, and I’m not sure why…

I run a hand over my face, fighting the urge to snap.

“Yeah,” I grit out. “She’s back. And I didn’t ask for it.”

Claire’s eyes narrow, and for a brief moment, I see a flicker of something in her gaze. It’s the same look I remember from when we were kids. The one that could go from calm to cutting in a heartbeat.

“I didn’t think you did,” she says. “I know how she can be. I can help.”