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

8. Alex

Alex

CHAPTER 8

Patting Ginny’s flank and making sure she has everything she needs since I’ll be gone for the better part of the day, I catch Emmie eyeing my horse. Her gaze narrows with suspicion as if she expects the animal to morph into a human woman.

Her comments over the last few days about Ginny make a bit more sense. Sort of. But was she jealous? Trying to keep distance between us because she assumed I was taken?

I feel like repeating, Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Hold the phone.

“Who did you think Ginny was?” I ask.

Emmie hesitates then says, “Your girlfriend.”

I bark a laugh. “My girlfriend? That’s hilarious. Haven’t had one of those in a long, long time.” I am not romance material.

“But you talked about her all the time and—” She flits around, pacing a circle, and making me dizzy.

“Very much no. No, Emmie. The horse is not my girlfriend. Nor do I have a girlfriend.”

“But you?—”

Gripping her upper arms so she comes to a stop, I shake my head, wondering why she’s insisting I’m mistaken about the horse and actually have a girlfriend named Ginny .

“But nothing. Ginny is my horse. I love her, I guess, if a guy could love a horse. She’s special. But not, uh, like that.”

Relief washes over Emmie’s features and her lips move as if she wants to continue to question and object, but forces herself to remain quiet.

Dropping my hands, I say, “How about we just call this a big misunderstanding and then forget it ever happened?”

Eyes as big as saucers, she shakes her head this time. “Don’t say it. Whatever you do, don’t say it.”

“Don’t say what?” But as soon as I ask, I realize it’s the abbreviation for a big misunderstanding she refers to. I chuckle. “I have to admit, our in-person meeting hadn’t exactly gone smoothly. But we can work on that.”

“Just in time for me to leave.” She puffs a regretful exhale.

I feel like reaching for her hand, squeezing it. Doing something, anything, to reassure her that we’ll probably meet again—maybe at a book signing. The publisher already talked about sending me on tour for the launch.

However, my internal battle continues with one side not wanting Emmie to leave. The other part hangs back, no longer sure where it stands because I no longer know who I want to win this fight.

Clearing my throat, I say, “I’ll probably come to the city during the release of the book. You can show me around. We’ll get bagels.”

“You’d come to the city?”

I once mentioned that I’m not a fan of concrete spaces and crowded places. “For you, of course, and because the publisher might make me.” I chuckle because no one makes this wild warrior do anything.

The pink shade in Emmie’s cheeks deepens. “All this time I thought you had a girlfriend. Now it makes sense that you didn’t want to mention Ginny in the dedication or the acknowledgments of the book.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Ginny is awesome, but that might be kind of weird. Maybe if I write a memoir about living on a ranch or out here in the country.”

As we exit the barn, Emmie calls, “Sorry for assuming the worst, Ginny. It was nice to meet you. Dylann would adore you.”

“You realize you’re talking to my horse.”

“And you don’t talk to her?” She elbows me.

“So, uh, Dylann, huh?”

“She has a thing for horses and wants to ride off into the sunset on one instead of a car after her wedding. Her fiancé isn’t a fan, so they’re compromising and doing a horse and carriage ride through Central Park.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I do say this time. “Dylann isn’t a dude?”

“No, of course not. She’s my roommate. Well, she was. When I get back to New York, we’ll both have moved out.”

I scrub my hand down my face. “I thought Dylann was?—”

Emmie’s peel of laughter echoes over the hills. “I won’t say it, but I think we both had the wrong idea. Like Sydney, Dylann’s name is neutral. She’s definitely a girl. So that means that we’re both...”

The word on her lips is single , but she doesn’t say it.

We pause on the path toward the house.

Despite the sparse flakes of snow swirling and dancing around us, heat sneaks along my skin. My gaze hovers toward the middle distance, trying to resist landing on this beautiful woman with hazel eyes that I couldn’t have imagined if I’d tried. She’s no cave troll. Quite the opposite actually. I’m afraid if I lay down my weapons and surrender, that means I’m failing at my mission. If I shift course, I’m not sure what my objective will be, or what the standard operating procedure is. I’ll be flying blind.

But should I?

“Does this change things?” Emmie, eyes soft, surveys my face as if sensing the battle beneath the surface.

I call a temporary ceasefire and my gaze sweeps hers before they lock together.

My voice is low when I say, “I was wondering the same thing.”

She glances at the Jeep parked in the driveway. A fine dusting of snow coats the windshield.

I snap out of my stupor. “Right. You have a plane to catch.”

She opens her mouth and then closes it as if she is about to say something but then thinks twice.

We get into the car and silence drifts between us.

Regretfully, I turn the key in the ignition.

Emmie says, “I can’t believe I’ve been living in an imaginary love triangle. This might make a good romance plot. It could be a twist to my story of unrequited love.”

“You could write a memoir.”

“No. I don’t have a story,” she murmurs.

As I cruise down the driveway toward the gate, Emmie hiccups.

I glance at her, hoping she’s okay and doesn’t get carsick from the curving mountain roads.

She grips the handrest. “Excuse me. I get the hicc?—“

“Need water?” I lift my water bottle partially out of the cup holder.

“Thank you, but they’ll go away soon. Prob-hiccup—ably.”

I pull onto the road as the hiccups continue at regular intervals.

“I’ve heard of ways to get rid of hiccups.” I list a few such as gulping water, plugging your fingers in your ears, and sucking on a lemon.

“I’ve tried them all.”

“Nothing works?”

“Well, there is one way, but usually they go away on their own.” She hiccups again.

“What’s the trick?”

The big snowflakes, almost distinct as they fall from the sky, get heavier. Looks like we have an incoming blizzard.

“Um, the trick is, hiccup—” She doesn’t finish.

“Hiccup?” I repeat but not actually hiccupping.

“No, um, the trick is, um, kissing.”

I glance at her. Expression impassive, I don’t get the sense she’s joking around. “Seriously?”

“Like a kiss from a prince in Sleeping Beauty, Your Majesty, Princess, Royal Lady of the Circle of Mad Mojo, Order of the First Degree, Queen of Eaglewood Acres?”

Emmie laughs around another volley of hiccups.

I suppose I could be her knight in snowy armor, riding in with my Jeep to the rescue. Kissing her would be a service, a duty to kin and country to ensure a safe and pleasant journey on the plane. She’s quiet for a few long minutes, possibly concentrating on getting rid of the hiccups.

“Since I’m leaving soon—hiccup—I’d like to clear something up. We have to continue working together for the next couple of weeks. Hiccup.”

“Is there another big misunderstanding?”

“Sort of. Hiccup. You seemed annoyed at me during the workshop like you were upset that I came. Hiccup.”

“Upset at you? No, not at all. All this time, I’ve been mission-driven. My focus has been on the business—the book is part of that. Told myself no distractions from the objective. Then you showed up.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Please. It’s all very immature of me—not in the Paxton playing video games kind of way. More like a game of war with myself. I saw you and—” It was instant. I fall silent, the reality of my feelings hitting me like sleet on blacktop.

Emmie rambles like she’s trying to fill the uncomfortable quiet, but I have to come forth with the truth before she leaves.

Interrupting, I say, “You’re not what I expected. This isn’t what I thought—” I take a deep breath. I can talk to superiors with ease, outline battle plans, and recount missions, surely I can break this barrier. “Emmie, I feel like I know you. You’ve been helping me write my story. You know more about me than all the guys at the workshop combined. ”

Her hiccup comes with an air of surprise.

“But you were entirely wrong about Ginny.”

“I blame my writerly imagination.”

“But you write nonfiction.”

“Same airplane. Different wing.”

“So does that mean this is nonfiction?” Taking my hand off the wheel, I wag my finger between us.

“This is real life and this weather is very, very real. I’m used to hiding out in my apartment when it’s this nasty.”

I have a feeling the storm won’t resolve until I clear things up between us. “But you weren’t entirely wrong reading me this weekend. I thought Dylann was a guy so there was that. But I also was trying to be professional.”

“By pushing me away?”

“You’re younger than me.”

“And you admitted to being immature.”

“Can I blame it on being a guy?”

She playfully swats my arm and hiccups. “No, you cannot.”

“There was what I thought was the Dylann thing. The age thing. The living in different states thing. The working together thing.”

“One of those was a big misunderstanding. One is inconsequential. The last can change.” Pausing, she hiccups again. “When the publisher connected us for the project all those months ago, I explained the difference between fiction and nonfiction.”

I repeat her very words, “‘In fiction, you can get away with murder. In nonfiction, it has to be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.’”

She smiles. “You remembered.”

I remember everything she’s ever said to me from the first time we spoke on the phone to when we met in person—when we were driving in this Jeep, but in the other direction. The attraction was instant. Despite my combat skills, it hasn’t waned. The brief flicker of hope that it’s mutual, given Emmie’s relief that Ginny isn’t my girlfriend, sparks .

Should I let it? See where this goes? Would that be so bad? What’s the risk ratio?

Emmie’s hiccup breaks into my thoughts. “We decided that this is nonfiction.” This time, she waves her finger between us, then hiccups.

I have to admit, even though this is a serious moment, every little hiccup that escapes is adorable even though it must be annoying for her.

She continues, “So, let’s tell the truth. I’ll go first.”

Proverbially on the edge of my seat, I anticipate what Emmie is going to say when she hiccups again at the same time her phone beeps with an incoming text.

She glances at it and makes a sound that’s not a hiccup. “My flight is canceled.”

Does that mean she’s stuck with me?