A Christmas Call of Duty (Sweet Christmas Kisses)

9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

S hay

I drum my fingers nervously on the shelter's front desk, glancing at my phone for what feels like the hundredth time this morning. Still no word from Mayor Donovan about approving our "Bark in the New Year" event, but at least I managed to score a coffee date later with SwimmerSam. His real name is Harrison. He’s originally from California, but he moved here last year to take over his father’s company. And the best part: He’s coming through town for business this afternoon.

"Anything yet?" Tyler asks, peering over my shoulder.

I shake my head. "Nothing. You'd think after the Christmas Day emergency meeting, she'd be all over this."

Tyler leans against the desk. "Maybe she's still in a food coma from all that holiday ham."

I can't help but crack a smile. "If only we all had that luxury. I swear, these past few days have been such a whirlwind. Hard to believe it was only two days that I was ..." I trail off, not wanting to think about him again. Colt Ralston. The frustratingly handsome soldier sitting in the corner of the room who's managed to worm his way into my thoughts far too often lately.

"When what?" Tyler prompts.

"Nothing," I say quickly. "Just... a lot's happened since then, you know?"

Tyler nods sympathetically. "Tell me about it. So, what's our backup plan if she doesn't green-light this thing?"

Before I have time to even consider such an unfavorable outcome, my phone buzzes, and Sylvia Donovan's name flashes across the screen. I pick it up to show Tyler with wide eyes.

"Speaking of green lights," he says, holding both hands in the air with crossed fingers.

I shush him and answer with a steady voice. "Hello?"

"Dr. Mason! Wonderful news," the mayor's voice beams through the speaker. "I just met with the city council, and everyone loves your idea. It's going to be a lot of work, but we're approving the fundraiser!"

Relief washes over me, quickly followed by a wave of pressure. "That's... that's great, Sylvia. Thank you."

"We're giving you our full support, dear. Tell Tyler to have the team meet down at the community center tomorrow afternoon, and we'll find a suitable area for you to set up. Let's make this a real spectacle!"

I swallow hard, realizing the enormity of what we've just set in motion. "We appreciate the support. We won't let you down." As I hang up the phone, my heart is racing with a mixture of excitement and anxiety.

"Good news, everyone!" Tyler announces, his voice carrying across the shelter's main room. "The mayor approved our fundraiser!" A cheer erupts from our ragtag group of volunteers. Tyler grins and slaps me a high-five.

"Alright, let's not waste any time," I say, clapping my hands together. "We need to make a detailed to-do list. It's going to take a miracle to pull everything together in the next few days, but I know we can do it if we all work together."

As we gather around a large whiteboard in the corner of the lobby, I can't help but notice how naturally Colt takes charge. His military training is evident in the way he organizes our ideas. He even suggests the group break into smaller teams, with each one responsible for different aspects of the event. I’ll admit, it’s an idea even I hadn’t thought of. "Nice thinking, Colt," I say as everyone starts to disperse. When he looks up, his green eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I forget to breathe.

No. Absolutely not. I shake my head slightly, reminding myself of my cardinal rule: no military men, especially not my ex's brother. Besides, I have Harrison to swoon over now. Sure, he may not have Colt’s biceps. Or his smile. But guys like Harrison offer something that guys like Colt never could. Stability. And there’s a lot to be said about finding a man who you know is going to be there when you go to sleep every night.

After we finish our meeting, I rush down the hallway next to Tyler’s office and use the shelter’s bathroom before touching up my makeup. It’s nothing much. Just some tinted lip gloss, a fresh coat of mascara, and my favorite dry shampoo to give my hair a little boost. But it’s an improvement, nonetheless. When I pull open the bathroom door, I’m surprised to find Colt standing on the other side.

“Oh, hey. I thought you left,” he says, meeting my eyes in a cool but casual way. “Wow. You look nice. Hot date?” He laughs, but then his face falls when I don’t laugh with him.

“Actually, yes. I’m meeting a friend for coffee,” I say with a small voice, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. Colt is silent, and all I can do is look down at the floor.

“Oh,” he says finally. “Well, I just came back to use the bathroom. I won’t keep you.” When he brushes past me, the warmth of his body sends tiny jolts of electricity throughout my body, and I have to fight to keep myself from asking if he felt them too. I look up at him with pleading eyes, hoping for a smile that says he’s good. That… we’re good. But I get nothing. Just a half-hearted smile as he says, “Good luck on your date,” then closes the door behind him.

***

Two days pass after my date and the last time I saw Colt, and the pain I feel inside during this time is almost unbearable. Not because my date didn’t go well—because it did. Harrison is definitely better looking in person than he is in any of his profile pictures. And we had so much in common. Aside from being a total gym rat, he loves cats and even spent some time fostering when he lived in San Diego. He’s from a good family. He owns his own business. He wants to settle down and even have children one day. On paper, he checks all the boxes. So… why do I keep measuring him up to Colt?

I try throwing myself into fundraiser preparations with a fervor I didn't know I possessed. When I’m not at the clinic, I spend countless hours hunched over my laptop, my eyes burning from the screen's glow as I meticulously design eye-catching posters for the upcoming event. My fingers fly across the keyboard, tweaking fonts and adjusting colors until every detail is perfect. Even my otherwise pristine dining room table becomes command central after being covered by a chaotic array of mockups, color swatches, and hastily scribbled notes.

On lunch breaks, I dash around town like a woman possessed, and my car becomes a second home as I zip from one meeting to the next. I find myself sitting across from local business owners, my heart pounding as I make my pitch to secure donations for the silent auction. But even with the community’s response being overwhelmingly positive, and conversations with Harrison going better than I ever could have dreamed, none of it’s enough to keep my mind off the one person I have no business thinking about.

Two days before the event, and still no sign of Colt, Tyler informs us at our nightly meeting that his uncle will be delivering all the equipment for our casino the day of the event. His cousins even offered to come help man the poker tables. The whole thing feels so surreal. Almost like I'm in some sort of dream where everything I could ever want magically manifests. Well… almost everything.

Just then, the shelter door swings open, and in walks Colt looking as handsome as ever in his military uniform. My heart does a little flip and now is the time I have to stop from pinching myself. "Hey everyone," he says, flashing that dimpled smile. "Good news from Fort Drum."

I try to maintain my composure as he explains how he's secured additional support from the base. Volunteers, equipment, and even some celebrity appearances from decorated K-9 units. It's... impressive. He's impressive. As the meeting continues, I find myself staring at Colt and wondering when he ever became so... capable. Add that to the list of things that continue to surprise me about the other Ralston brother.

After the meeting, I try to sneak out unnoticed, but Tyler’s hot on my trail like a blood-thirsty hound with Colt in his wake. "Shay, wait up,” Tyler shouts. “So? What do you think?” he asks as the two finally catch up.

“About?” I reply, no doubt sounding like a complete airhead.

“Hellooo? Earth to Shay,” he says, waving a hand in front of my face. “About all our boy Colt’s handiwork. You heard what all he scored for us, didn’t you?”

"I... uh... good. Very good. The thing. With the dogs. And the... yeah." I stammer, feeling my face heat up. "Keep up the good work," I finally manage.

Tyler gives me a strange look, then laughs, and it's all I can do to avoid making an even bigger fool of myself in front of either of them on our walk out to the parking lot. Which, fortunately, doesn't last long.

Back at home, I send a quick reply to Harrison’s goodnight text, then slump onto my couch, exhausted from the day's events. Brandon hops up and curls into my lap, purring loudly as I run my fingers through his soft fur while scrolling through a list of donated items on my tablet. "See this, B? Living in a small town does have some perks,” I say, pointing to the screen. Given a few of the bigger ticket items that were promised, the silent auction is shaping up to be the star of the show.

Just as I'm about to call it a night, my phone rings. At first, I think it must be Harrison calling, but confusion sets in when I see Mr. Granger's name flash across the screen. "Hello, Mr. Granger," I answer, trying to mask my fatigue.

"Dr. Mason, I'm terribly sorry to bother you so late," he says, his voice sounding strained. "I'm afraid I have some bad news."

My stomach drops. "Okay? What’s going on?"

"There's been a family emergency, and I have to leave town immediately," he explains. "I won't be able to provide those weekend getaway packages and spa treatments we discussed. Not in time for the auction I'm afraid."

I feel the blood drain from my face. Those packages were at the top of our big-ticket item list. No way we'll be able to find something of equal value in the next twenty-four hours. "Oh no, I'm so sorry to hear that. Is everything okay?"

"Not exactly. Which is why I’m leaving for the airport tonight. I truly wish I could help, but—"

"No, no, I understand," I assure him, even as panic starts to set in. "Family comes first. You be safe getting to the airport, Mr. Granger. And let me know if there’s anything I can do for you when you get back."

After we hang up, I stare at my phone in disbelief. This can't be happening. Without those items, what are we going to showcase in their place? I pace my living room, phone in hand, debating whether to make my next call. Brandon watches me from his perch on the cat tree, his copper eyes following my every move. With a deep breath, I hit the call button.

"Shay?" Colt's voice answers with a mix of surprise and concern.

"Hey, Colt. Sorry to call so late." I say, my voice tight. "I... I need help." I explain the situation with Mr. Granger and the lost auction items, and just as I hoped he would, Colt launches into troubleshooting mode without the slightest hesitation.

"I'll reach out to some of my military connections," he suggests. "I've got a few buddies in mind that might be able to donate unique experiences. Like maybe a ride in a helicopter or a day of tactical training. Would something like that work?"

"That would... absolutely work,” I say, letting the sound of his voice calm my frazzled nerves. “And depending on what you’re able to come up with, maybe we can try bundling some of the smaller donated items into themed packages. Just to create a few higher value lots."

"Whatever you think will ramp up donations," he offers.

I try to imagine his smile on the other end of the line but worry that even if it’s there, it’s not because of me. The line is quiet for a moment too long before I blurt out, “Colt?”

“Yeah?”

“Are we… good?”

“We’ll always be good. Sweet dreams, Shay.”