The Christmas Romance Wish (Love, Laughs & Mystery in Coco Key #5)

2. Alex

Alex

CHAPTER 2

Most people assume that being a sniper is all about aim. While that’s incredibly important, breathing is too. I do my best to calm mine to a resting rate when Emmie answers.

She’s the only person in the world who knows my life story, well from eighteen years old and up—no one has the full picture of my childhood.

I’ve never trusted someone with my biography until now. She holds the keys to my past on her hard drive as well as to my future when she turns the manuscript in to the publisher.

In the military, I knew who to trust. In the civilian world, it’s different.

“Hi, Alex,” Emmie says.

I remind myself she’s not a hostile enemy. I’m not in danger. Typical post-trauma triggers can include loud noise, small spaces, and even media reports of current events. Mine is trust. It was broken and I’ve worked hard to build it back. Writing this book is part of my exposure therapy and recovery.

So far, it’s been a healing journey, but my heart rate still increases whenever we talk. I have to actively remind myself everything is okay.

It’s not because when I hear her voice I feel like I’m sixteen—back when I was all lanky limbs, jumbled teeth. Thanks to my mother working extra at the nail salon to pay for orthodontics that just about disappeared. My father was a hairy guy which also meant I could practically grow a beard in two days—in theory, that was cool among my friends. The nicks and cuts while I learned how to shave, not so much

Now, I’m grateful for the hair on my head. The odd piece in my ears now and then, not so much. But aging is much better than the alternative—one I’m all too aware of.

No, talking to Emmie reminds me that soon my story will be in the hands of readers and that opens me to a different kind of exposure.

Exhaling, I say, “I was just calling to remind you to bring the bagels.”

From Emmie’s line, someone in the background asks, “Is that code for something?”

I chuckle.

“I’ll pick them up early tomorrow so they’re freshest.”

“I appreciate it and so will the guys.”

“Just doing my duty, sir,” she says with her tinkling laugh.

“Did you just salute him? He can’t see you,” the other voice says in the background.

I laugh again. Emmie is lighthearted and playful. She laughs easily and is a balance to my military precision and seriousness—I’m working on that.

The guys in my group and I agreed to keep all the good from our years in the service and ditch the rest—also a work in progress.

“You should bring this little dress too,” the second voice says from Emmie’s line.

There’s shuffling on the other end of the phone. “Sorry about that. Anything else I can bring from the Big Apple?”

The other person hollers something, but it’s muffled.

Through the phone, a door closes. “Seriously. Sorry. She’s got it in her head—never mind. I’m all set to fly and will see you tomorrow.” A certain nervousness filters through her voice, but I’m fairly sure the emphasis was on the word fly and not the part about meeting me.

Despite my background and the stories I’ve shared while we’ve been co-writing, I’m a well-adapted civilian now. She’s not in any danger. It’s not like we’re meeting in a dark alley.

“Excellent. Sydney’s flight will arrive before yours so you can ride to the ranch together. I’ll loop you into a group text so the two of you can connect.”

“I can rent a car.”

“We’ve got it covered. The roads can be rough up this way. I’m just about finished reading the final manuscript and am looking forward to finalizing everything in person,” I say, in case she’s worried about that.

“Great. Me too.”

For the first time in our many conversations, the awkward ripples from the beginning don’t smooth out. We don’t segue into a discussion about regular things—the specials from her favorite bakery, life in New York, or me out here on the ranch.

I say, “Safe travels tomorrow.”

“Yeah. I hope so.” She’s quiet for a moment.

She must be nervous about the trip. This would be a good time to say something reassuring. Heck, if I knew she didn’t like to fly, I would’ve driven out there instead.

“See you soon.”

Emmie says, “Can’t wait to see y—your snow and the mountains.”

“It hasn’t snowed there yet?”

“Just a few scattered flakes. Nothing that stuck around.”

“We have plenty of the white stuff. It’s been windy too. Let’s hope for blue skies and no storms for the weekend.”

Now we’re talking about the weather when so often our conversations are meaningful or humorous. Even our emails get deep or funny, depending on which chapter of the book we were on. Emmie is a master at pacing, getting into the thick of a story, building tension, and then giving the reader a reprieve before dropping them off a cliff.

The last thing I want is for our meeting to be awkward with us so close to the completion of the project. I’ve always been of the mind to quit a winner. But why would it be awkward? This is a professional relationship. Nothing more.

For all I know, Emmie is a cave beast. She could also be married to one, and her husband is reluctant for her to meet with me.

Still on the phone, she rambles, almost nonsensically, about packing and wrapping everything up before she leaves—a bit odd since she’s usually so good with words. She mentions having to move after New Year’s and something about a penthouse high rise.

“Sorry. I’m procrastinating. I’ll go now.”

Giving my head a shake, I simply say, “See you tomorrow, Emmie.”

But before either one of us ends the call, excited squealing comes through the speaker.

The same voice from the background says, “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold the phone, Doodles. You didn’t tell me his voice sounded like that. And the way he said your name?—”

Then the line goes quiet.

My voice is like what?

“What did she mean about my voice?” I say, wondering if there’s something in it that I’ve never noticed.

“Are you talking to yourself?” asks former Green Beret Jesse Stockton upon entering the room.

Along with Paxton, he’s one of my good friends, works for Wild Warriors, my company, and is helping me out with the Wild Warriors Winter Weekend. We’re doing a hike with full gear and coming back with enough material to make one hundred wreaths. We’ll deliver those and supplies to make a warm Christmas dinner to vets, single moms, and other folks in our community.

“He said something about his voice...in his voice?” says Paxton Pearce, an ex-marine with a wild streak, to say the least. He’s a troublemaker but would carry one of his men across a field while under open fire. In fact, he has. He also works at Wild Warriors and is helping this weekend. It takes a team, even if we’re not all SEALs.

“Who were you talking to?” Jesse asks.

“Given that smile on Lexman’s face, it was a female. A girl. A woman,” Paxton says as on target as ever.

“What’s her name?” Jesse asks.

“Emmie. She’s my co-writer and nothing more. Remember, she’s coming up this weekend. You’re to be on your best behavior.”

Pax waggles his eyebrows. “You can’t deny that you’re wearing a certain kind of smile. Maybe you’ll have a little weekend fling.”

“I’m too old for that.”

“What do you mean? Charlie Kincaid found love at the age of forty. It’s not like there’s a time limit on romance,” Jesse says.

Somewhere along the way, I signed off on love. Missed the boat. Too late for me. Plus, I wouldn’t know where to start trying to romance a woman. Give her a bouquet of rifles? Make her a cake with bullet casings? I’m forged with iron. Made of grit and gunpowder. There’s nothing in me a woman would want.

Jesse points to my phone. “As I was saying, Charlie met Denise on a dating app called Marry Me. You should try it.” He goes on to tell us how it works with an intensive interview process that goes beyond superficial stats and interests.

“The questions are thorough and get vetted to authenticate the app users and provide real marriage matches,” Paxton says, reading from his device.

“So, it’s modern and old-fashioned.” I pour a cup of coffee.

“Just like you, Lexman,” Jesse says.

He refers to my preference to live on a ranch in the Middle of Nowhere, Utah. I also have all the latest gear, guy toys, and kit. I’m big into off-roading and fast driving, hiking and biking—of the motorized variety—and using the right tool for the right job. Sometimes that’s a handmade knife. Others, it’s a CNC machine to fabricate the Wild Warriors flag and eagle logo on wood for our brothers who hit service milestones.

“With Emmie coming, maybe instead of Christmas bells, there are going to be wedding bells,” Paxton says, lifting his gaze from the Marry Me app.

Is it getting warm in here? With the snow outside, the wood stove is running. I’m wearing a flannel but am suddenly overheating at the notion of Emmie and marriage in the same conversation. Maybe the second cup of coffee was a bad idea.

The truth is, if I’d lived a different life, I’d like to get married, settle down, and have a family. Show a woman the best of me, offer hope, happiness, and a happily ever after, but there’s none of that left—maybe for Charlie, Jesse, and Paxton even, but not for me.

“You have an account on the Marry Me app, Jesse. Don’t deny it,” Paxton singsongs.

“I wouldn’t mind getting married someday, and it’s not like I’m going to meet someone hanging around with you two.”

Pax shrugs. “You never know.”

“Do you have a sister? Never mind, she’d look like a cave troll.” Jesse contorts his face to resemble something that just crawled out of a trench.

“What does Emmie look like?” Paxton asks.

I shrug. “You’re not supposed to judge a book by its cover. Cave trolls can be cool.”

“Have you met one?” Jesse asks, genuinely curious.

“So, what does she look like,” Pax repeats.

I grunt. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” they both say at the same time.

I sip my coffee. “Nope. We’ve only talked on the phone, emailed, and texted.” In some format every single day for nine months. Sometimes multiple times a day.

“You didn’t look her up on social media? ”

“Pax, you handle the accounts. That’s your job because I don’t want to bother with that.”

“A girl you’ve never seen before made you smile like that?” Jesse asks with an air of disbelief.

“I don’t know what smile you’re talking about.” I truly don’t. Probably.

“Don’t forget he was talking to himself about his voice,” Pax adds.

“Someone in the room with Emmie said something about my voice. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Let’s hear it,” Pax says.

Scratching my temple, I recall her exact words. “‘Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold the phone, Doodles. You didn’t tell me his voice was like that. And the way he said your name?—’”

The guys analyze it while I run through a mental checklist for the ruck this weekend.

Jesse interrupts, “What else do you know about her? Did you do a background check?”

“No, because I’m not a creeper. Our mutual editors connected us for the book. Oh, and don’t get any ideas. She’s sweetly innocent. Keep your eyes and hands where I can see ‘em, boys.”

I know a lot about Emmie—she loves the ocean but prefers winter. She enjoys mini golf but is admittedly terrible at it. She drinks a daily peppermint mocha year-round and avoids alcohol. And more. Much more. I just don’t know what she looks like and that’s fine because she’s mentioned a guy named Dylann, so she probably has a boyfriend, fiancé, or husband. Never mind the fact that I’m not looking for someone to make me smile, for a fling, or to get married.

“What makes you think you’re too old for marriage? Charlie has two years on you and he’s tying the knot soon,” Jesse says, once more breaking into my thoughts.

“We have work to do, guys,” I say instead of answering .

“Yeah, preparing for a weekend with a bunch of dudes,” Pax says, typing on his phone.

“They’re our brothers,” I correct. “Men who take life, liberty, and loyalty seriously.”

Without looking up from his device, Paxton says, “I still think we should’ve gone with Wassail and Warriors.”

“Do you even know what wassail is?” Jesse asks.

He chuckles because, of course, he doesn’t.

“What about Winter Wonderland and Warriors?” Jesse asks.

Pax wrinkles his nose. “Sounds girly.”

“Some of the strongest warriors I know are women,” I say.

“Then why aren’t they coming out for the workshop?” Pax asks, disappointed.

“Because they’d crush you.”

“Get a crush on me, more like,” Pax mutters.

“If you’re looking for love, you could open a Marry Me account,” Jesse suggests.

“I’ll stick with the flings. Jesse, you can have love, settle down, and be bored for the rest of your life.”

Jesse starts to defend marriage when Paxton interrupts. “What about you, Lexman? What did Emmie’s friend mean about your voice?” He grins as if he already knows the answer.

I steady my breathing and offer a shrug. “Doesn’t mean anything.”

Even though I have no idea what Emmie looks like, she’s a good person, sweet, thoughtful, and kind. I trust her. That’s all though.

I’m no longer in the SEALs, but I am on a mission and that’s building my business to help keep these men strong. That’s the focus. Not flings or love, settling down, or marriage.

Emmie is probably a cave troll. She’s just helping me write my memoir.

That’s the story I tell myself.