A Christmas Call of Duty (Sweet Christmas Kisses)

10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Shay

T he next afternoon is spent rushing around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to round up any last-minute donations Colt and I were able to secure earlier this morning. I finally find myself back at the shelter, sitting with the rest of the volunteers from our group while Tyler goes over numbers on the white board. Colt is sitting in a chair at the end of the row in front of me, and I try not to focus on how good he looks in his Henley shirt. Which is especially important considering how I have dinner plans with Harrison later.

I don't know how I feel about the way things are going with Harrison. He really is a great guy. But there's something holding me back from being vulnerable with him the way I was with Colt the first night we met. And quite frankly, there's a part of me that doesn't want to. Not yet at least. We need more time, but with him living an hour away and traveling for work, it doesn't feel much different than it would if he were—

"Alright, everyone," Tyler's voice snaps me out of my thoughts. "Thanks to your hard work, we've made some progress with presales and sponsorships. It's a great start, but we still have a long way to go."

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the reality check he's about to deliver.

"As a reminder, we need to reach our goal of $350,000 by January 25th. It's a huge number, I know. But between our team and the other three volunteer groups, we can't give up trying, no matter how impossible it seems."

Just before Tyler continues with his victory speech, a loud notification chime cuts through the air. My face goes flush when everyone turns, and I realize the offending cell phone is mine. "Sorry," I say, looking at Tyler with apologetic eyes as I dig my phone out of my purse and turn it to silent.

It's a text from Harrison.

Sorry to cancel last minute but leaving for Jersey tonight to close on a new contract. Be home in a few days. Rain check?

Sure, no problem.

I type back my response and hit the send button, feeling a surge of disappointment. I was looking forward to an evening out where the focus didn’t revolve around all things fundraising. I reach around to tuck my phone into the pocket of my coat hanging on the back of my chair and see Colt turned toward me with a tender expression. He holds the gaze when his eyes meet mine, but only for a moment before he turns back to face Tyler. What was that all about?

By the time Tyler wraps up with tomorrow's agenda and what time we all need to meet at the community center to set up, I'm starving. "You ready for the big day tomorrow?" Colt's voice behind me on our way out to the parking lot makes me jump.

"Sure, I guess. Ready as I'll ever be," I say, feeling a sudden rush of blood flow into my cheeks as he falls in line beside me.

"You've worked hard this last week. I'm sure it'll all pay off in the end." His hand brushes against mine, and even with frost in the air, I swear it's enough to set my heart on fire. "I was going to ask Tyler if he wanted to grab a bite after the meeting, but since he can't join me, what about you? Any plans for dinner?" he asks in a casual tone.

I hesitate, wondering if I should bring up how my plans with Harrison were kiboshed. Torn between hunger pains and my resolve to keep Colt safely tucked away in the friend-zone, the thought of going home to an empty apartment and a judgmental cat makes my mind up for me. "Sure, I could eat," I say, trying to sound equally as casual.

"Great. There's a diner up the road I've been wanting to check out. I'll meet you there."

Ten minutes later, we're sliding into a worn vinyl booth at Murphy's Diner. The place is nearly empty, save for a couple of truckers at the counter. As we look over our menus, I can't help but notice how different Colt has been acting since the first time he showed up at the shelter. He's more relaxed, for starters. And definitely less guarded. He even seems to have this weird bromance thing going on with Tyler and Donny. I'm sure it's only a matter of time before the three of them are getting together to play Call of Duty in Tyler's mom's basement.

The conversation over burgers and fries is nothing like I thought it would be. Instead of talking about the fundraiser, Colt asks me all kinds of questions about my favorite things. I tell him my favorite movie from childhood is Matilda and how I wished I had an ally like Miss Honey when the other kids would bully me about my size. Then, I tell him about my obsession with Brittney and all her excellence only to find out Colt's been secretly following Taylor's career since she put out her Speak Now album.

"Oh, no. Ralston," I say with a mock-serious expression. "Don't tell me you're a closet Swifty."

"You're the only one who knows besides my mom," he says, polishing off the last bite of his cheeseburger. "So, if anyone else finds out, I'll know which of you is doing the talking."

"I'll have you know, I don't spread gossip. I only read about it in the tabloids." I shoot Colt a smile that feels way too flirtatious for a man I'm trying to keep in the friend-zone. His green eyes sparkle when they meet mine, and it's enough to make my heart want to grow wings and soar right out of my chest.

"Save room for dessert?" our waitress asks, hopefully interrupting before Colt notices me looking at him like a love-sick puppy.

"Depends. What do you have?" he asks, shifting his gaze to the middle-aged woman with a pen and pad in hand.

She turns and gestures toward a glass case on the opposite side of the dining room that's filled with… pie?

Oh, no.

"We make all our pies from scratch and in-house. Today we've got peach, cherry, pumpkin, apple, pecan, and chocolate silk."

"Scratch, huh?" Colt looks back at me and wags his eyebrows.

"Actually, I'm pretty full from—"

"Tell you what, Ginger," he says, reading her name tag. "My friend here says she doesn't know what kind of pie is her favorite. Think you can help us out?" I narrow my eyes at him, and he winks like now's the time I'm supposed to roll over and beg for a belly rub before I get my treat.

Ginger chews on the inside of her lip for a moment. "I think we can figure something out. Let me see what I can muster up for you. I'll be right back."

As soon as she turns and disappears into the kitchen, I reach across the table, swatting at Colt with the back of my hand. Only, he catches it mid-air and, before I can protest, gently laces his fingers through mine. I'm too stunned to say anything. And anything Colt could say with his words he says perfectly with his eyes instead. Slowly, he lowers my hand to the table, but he doesn't let go—and I don't pull away. "Is… this okay?" he asks, searching my eyes for any sign that it's not.

Would it be so wrong to say yes? I think about the last few days I've spent getting to know Harrison. He seems like a great guy. But he's not Colt. He's never seen the broken parts of me that make other guys pull away. And it's hard to imagine how he'd respond if I did. Harrison is so… proper. The way he agrees with everything I say, it's almost like he rehearses his lines in front of a mirror. Don’t get me wrong. It’s nice that he can go with the flow, but sometimes I can’t tell if he's going with the flow because he really is that laid back, or because he’s trying to impress me.

I look down, making a mental note of how perfect my hand looks entwined with Colt's, and nod. Time stands still as we gaze deeper into each other's eyes, and it’s only when I hear the kitchen door swing open that I finally pull away.

When I glance up, I'm horrified to see her carrying an entire tray of plates. But when she sets the tray on a stand beside our table, I let out a sigh of relief. None of the slices of pie appear to be whole. Instead, each one is only about an eighth of what a regular slice would be. "Well, what do you think?" Ginger asks, looking down at Colt with a proud look. "Think this will get the job done?"

"Looks like you've outdone yourself," he says, flashing that gorgeous smile. "Seriously. Thank you so much. This is perfect."

"Good. Care for some coffee to go along with it? I just brewed a fresh pot."

"Coffee would be amazing," I gush, perking up in my seat.

"Two coffees it is, then," Colt says.

Ginger nods and then clears our dinner plates. "Coming right up."

"So… which one do you want to try first?" he asks when Ginger is out of earshot. "Let me guess. The chocolate silk?"

I look at him like he's a total savage. "Rookie move, Ralston. Always save the best for last. You pick."

He eyes the tray before pulling two of the plates and setting them on the table between us. One looks like peach and the other is cherry. I go for the peach while Colt starts in on the cherry.

"Mmm. Good, but I think it needs ice cream. How's yours?" I ask, my mouth still savoring that last bite.

"Try it and see." He nudges the plate toward me, and I go in with my fork.

"Meh, too tart," I say, making a face.

"Okay. Let's keep going then."

The next two plates he picks are the apple and pecan slices. We both try a bite of each, and I go in for a third time to get a little bit of both on my fork. "Oh my gosh, you have to try them together," I say, still chewing. "Soooo good."

Colt does, then gives his nod of approval. "Not bad. Not bad at all. Now… are you ready for the grand finale?" He pulls the last two slices from the tray—the pumpkin and the chocolate silk—and while both are to die for, the winner surprises me.

"Yeah. I have to go with the pumpkin," I say, slicing into it with my fork as I go back for more.

"Really?" Colt says, leaning back in his seat with a look of wonder. "Never would've taken you for a pumpkin girl."

I shrug and give a playful smile. "Me either."

After Ginger brings out our second coffee refill, and I’m sufficiently stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey, Colt asks for the bill—which he insists on paying for entirely. "You about ready?" he asks.

I nod, and Colt waits for me to gather my purse before he stands and helps me into my coat. When we walk for the door, I feel the pressure of his hand on the small of my back. It's little things like this that I always notice about him, but what I appreciate most is how he never seems to anticipate the next move. Everything he does seems to come from a place of inherent wisdom, and things like helping me put my coat on or getting my door are as natural to him as remembering to breathe.

We walk like this all the way to my car, then he waits for me to find my keys until I finally turn to back face him. I crane my neck up at him, and he stares back down at me with an intense smolder. "Oh, you um…" he reaches an ungloved hand up to my cold cheek and brushes his warm thumb over the corner of my mouth. "You had a piece of pie there."

"Thanks," I whisper, not breaking my gaze.

He lets his hand fall slightly, caressing my neck as the warmth from his palm radiates down my spine. He leans in. He's slow at first, but when I find myself pushing up onto my toes, his hands find my waist, gently lifting me until his soft lips crash down on mine at the start of what might arguably be the best make-out session of my life.