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

9. Emmie

Emmie

CHAPTER 9

I read and reread the text from the airline. There’s no mistake. The flight to Miami isn’t happening and the hiccups won’t stop. Also, my cheeks are still red from when I admitted to Alex that the only way to make them go away is to kiss.

I’m royalty alright, the queen of embarrassing myself—from my general awkwardness to thinking Ginny was Alex’s girlfriend.

Tapping on a link for more information from the airline’s message, it looks like all the flights are grounded. Gazing at the sky, the lower we get in elevation and closer to Salt Lake City, the worse the weather gets.

“It doesn’t look like there are any other flights today. The airport is shut down.” I tap away on my phone, searching for options.

“I know a few guys who fly private planes. I could see if they’d be willing to try to get you out.”

Not great at pivoting as my thoughts race in multiple directions, I let out a long exhale. “Thanks, but it’s not like this is an evacuation mission. My brothers aren’t expecting me until New Year’s and Christmas isn’t for another few days. I’ll stay in a hotel until the airplanes are allowed to fly again if it’s no trouble to bring me to whatever hotel is closest. ”

“Don’t be silly. You can stay at the ranch.”

“Yeah, but you have work and it’s a long drive from there to the airport. You’ve already had to pick me up and now this?—”

A plow truck blazes past. “I insist…unless you don’t want to stay with me.”

The bah humbugs certainly have no problem flying in these conditions. “That’s really generous. Are you sure?”

Alex’s answer is a careful U-turn back the way we came.

And my reply is yet another hiccup.

After another slow-going couple of miles, Alex pulls off the road into the parking lot of a stand-alone coffee shop. “I could go for a pick me up and you probably wouldn’t pass up a peppermint mocha.”

“It’s like you read my mind.” But it’s so cozy and warm in the Jeep, I’m reluctant to get out.

“And maybe something to drink will get those hiccups to quit.”

“Not likely. This happens to me about once a year. When I was in third grade, they were so bad, I had to be sent home from school. The other kids in the class all faked cases of the hiccups so they could go to the nurse. The teacher said I was disruptive. Trust me, if I could’ve made them stop, I would have. Same now.”

Alex glances at my mouth. Then his lips quirk. “I take it third grade wasn’t when you discovered the secret trick.”

Our gazes drift together for a moment. Like the ride to the ranch, now that we’re back in the car together, the energy shifts. It goes from a cloudy day to something else, but I’m not sure if it’s sunshine or a snow shower—both are beautiful in their ways.

My phone beeps with another text, breaking the moment. Maybe the flight wasn’t canceled. I reluctantly check because returning to the ranch sounds preferable to a turbulent flight in a storm. Nope. It’s a repeat message in case I didn’t get the first transmission of bad news.

Though is it? I’ll get another day with Alex. Now that we cleared up the whole Ginny thing, I wouldn’t say no to some flirting, if I were capable of such a thing.

It’s cruelly ironic that I can hang with my brothers, roll with guys in jiu-jitsu, and handle Alex’s friends, but when it comes to him, I turn into an awk-topus—the image of an awkward octopus that comes to mind being a case in point.

He opens the passenger door for me like a perfect gentleman, and we hurry into the coffee shop. Red and white lights span the ceiling and light-up plastic candy canes drape the order counter.

I scowl at the smiling wooden snowman on top of the sandwich board sign with the daily “Cozy Christmas Coffee Drinks” for being so jolly. That jerk. But it doesn’t quite have the effect I’d like because I hiccup again.

The coordinating snowman sugar cookies get nothing less than a glower from me. I browse the menu and display case for treats that aren’t holiday-themed.

“Do you have any plain scones or shortbread cookies or anything without red, white, and green sprinkles?” I ask the counter girl.

The barista replies, “You mean the Rice Krispies treats? The sprinkles are just seasonal. But we have the peanut butter Rudolph cookies with red M&Ms for noses, snowman cupcakes—they’re S’mores flavored—as well as the brownies with Christmas tree designs.”

“So, nothing that’s not Christmassy?”

She looks at me like I’m a sad, bitter Grinch woman.

With a harrumph, I get one of each and then let the snowman know what I really think about all his holly, jolly, festive flair.

“Did you just stick your tongue out at the snowman?” Alex asks, giving me a side-eye.

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

He laughs.

While we wait for our beverages, we each use the bathroom. When I glance in the mirror, sure enough, my cheeks are as red as the Santa strung on the wall. But they may as well be Grinch green for how upset I feel. My busy brain offers altogether too many possibilities instead of identifying why I, an adult woman, stuck my tongue out at a wooden holiday decoration. I’m starting to wonder myself.

The barista calls my name as I exit. Alex already waits with his seasonally printed paper coffee cup in hand. He takes mine and then passes it to me. Our hands brush as before.

The bah humbugs flicker to life.

“I’d say we could stick this out here and wait for the weather to ease up, but beyond the mountain pass, the plows come less frequently. We should probably get back on the road.”

“We have plenty of treats for the ride back.” I jiggle the bag, planning to give him anything remotely Christmas-related and keep the sugar and butter bits for myself.

“You’d love the bakery in Holidayle. They make amazing seasonal items too.”

“I thought you preferred savory foods to sweets,” I say, recalling a conversation we had a while back.

“Except at Christmastime.” Alex pats his belly, hidden beneath several layers of winter gear. But I know he’s trim and toned from when he took off his thermal shirt after the ruck.

“Santa can have his cookies and the reindeer can keep their carrots,” I mutter.

“But you ordered a Santa hat cookie and a reindeer carrot cake bar.”

“They only had Christmas-themed treats,” I say, defending my choices.

With an amused chuckle, Alex unlocks the Jeep. After cranking the heat, he turns on the radio and Christmas carols play.

I turn down the volume dial.

“Hey, I like ‘Let It Snow.’”

“But maybe not today. Anyway, the passenger always operates the radio. Those are the rules.”

“Whose rules? ”

“My brothers’ rules.”

Alex tips his head from side to side. “I guess that checks out.”

There isn’t much traffic, but the vehicle creeps along because it’s like we’re in a snow globe that a kid won’t stop violently shaking.

“Should we see if there’s a hotel nearby?”

“We’d have to turn back. Plus, once we get past Frosthold Gap, we’re only ten minutes from the ranch.”

He makes this treacherous weather seem like a piece of cake. I take a bite of the carrot cake bar. It’s surprisingly good and doesn’t taste like the bitterness I associate with Christmas, but it doesn’t stop my hiccups.

After taking a few sips of coffee, Alex says, “We have a bit of a ride ahead of us. Let’s tell the truth.”

“You mean like the two truths and one lie game?” I hiccup.

“No, just the truth. I’ll go first.” He hesitates then says, “I hate staying in hotels.”

“I grew up in one.”

“How does that work?

“Technically, it was a resort. The Driftwood. My grandfather built it out of reclaimed materials from old salvaged ships. In its day, it was a family-style place with old-school amenities and not the bells and whistles of modern resorts.”

“Reminds me of the Holidayle Sleighbell Lakeside Hotel, minus the driftwood and salvaged items. But they do have a holiday theme and a home-style feel.”

“I’m more of a bells and less of a whistles kind of person.”

Alex chuckles. “Is that true, city girl?”

“We agreed on the truth, right?” I hiccup.

“Here’s a truth, I hate flying.” Alex slows because of the worsening visibility.

“I’m not a huge fan either. My brother is a pilot. He was in the military too.”

“He might like some of the Wild Warrior workshops.”

“You could do a swap. He has an organization called Boo’s Battle Bros.” I tell him about the work they do matching retired military working dogs with veterans.

Alex handles the road with care and confidence, but he isn’t a cocky driver and in these conditions, I appreciate that. “No way. I heard about them. I think we’re both sponsoring an event for vets this spring.”

“Here’s a truth. I wanted to surprise my brothers for Christmas, but I wasn’t all that excited to go to Coco Key.”

“That’s where you grew up at the resort. It’s home, right? Sounds like a cool place.”

“It’s a place. Lots of memories there.” I tip my head to the side. “Actually, that’s not quite right. It’s more like there should’ve been lots of memories there. Instead, it was kind of lonely.”

“But you have four older brothers.”

“They mostly did their own thing and treated me like a princess.” I hiccup at the same time the wind from the blizzard buffets the Jeep.

“A jiu-jitsu princess? Doesn’t sound half bad.” Alex shifts into a lower gear.

“That was for their benefit so they could sleep at night, knowing I could defend myself if necessary. So mostly for selfish reasons on their part. But our parents practiced it, so in a way it makes me feel closer to them.” Talking to Alex about my mother and father feels like a risk. The more he knows about me, the more hurt I could get. All my turtle-like protection mechanisms tell me to keep my mouth shut and retreat inside my shell, but I don’t. I can’t.

Alex is quiet for a long beat. “Here’s a truth. My parents split when I was in sixth grade. I was an only child and wish I had siblings.”

“But you have an entire brotherhood. And I bet they’re every bit as stinky and annoying as my brothers.”

Alex chuckles. “As I get older, I forgive my parents and appreciate my brothers and sisters in service, but it’s not the same as a family of my own. You know?”

“To a degree.”

He squints through the windshield as the wipers work double time to keep the glass clear. “So, let’s hear more about this tropical island where you grew up because that sounds mighty appealing right now.”

“It’s not as fancy as it sounds.”

Alex raises an eyebrow. “You know me well enough by now, I’m not a fancy kind of guy. A few bells. Not too many whistles.”

“The last time I was at the Driftwood was shortly before my grandfather passed away. After Hurricane Howie, it’s like Chip gave up on the property. It fell into disrepair. The whole town did. My brother inherited the resort.” I hiccup. “He is a fancy kind of guy. Until recently, he lived in Manhattan not too far from me, but in a penthouse. I expected him to level the resort to the ground and replace it with something shiny.”

“Sounds kind of like Tad Tobin who’s been poking around Holidayle. I live in Holidayle Hills, but it’s technically part of the town.”

My inner terrain quakes. “Who?”

“Tad Tobin. Thinks he’s a hotshot developer. He made a ton of money in tech and got into real estate I guess. No one in town likes him.”

“And with good reason,” I mutter. The guy is a snake. Alex must not hear me over the howl of the wind and the scratching of the windshield wipers, trying to keep up with the snow freezing on the glass.

“He wants to take over the Holidayle Hotel. Turn it into a modern resort with what he called smart amenities like automated room service and toilets with twenty settings like the kind they have in Japan. The folks here aren’t like that.”

“Sounds just like him.”

“The guy even offered me twice the value of my land because the trails in the back are adjacent to the resort’s property line. ”

The last person I want to think about is Tad, so I make a slight redirect. “Thankfully, my brother didn’t sell out. He and his wife did the right thing and restored the Driftwood to its former glory. At least, that’s what he claims. Knowing Royal, there are probably a few extra bells and whistles.” I hiccup.

The blizzard is blinding and the wind pushes the Jeep toward the canyon wall. There aren’t any other cars as we approach the mountain pass, but Alex turns his full focus to the road.

With the radio low, the only sound is the wind and my intermittent hiccups.

He’s going less than ten miles an hour when a whoomph sound comes from somewhere above. The Jeep shakes as Alex carefully applies the brake so we don’t slide. A rumble like thunder approaches across the mountains, but it’s different from the kind that comes with lightning.

Alex’s gaze focuses and he remains in control.

I’m afraid to ask what’s going on. My stomach knots and my throat goes dry as a wall of snow spills across the road ahead of us.

“Well, this is a real soup sandwich,” he murmurs.

“Do you mean a snow sandwich?” My voice shakes.

Exhaling, he says, “I mean an avalanche.”

“An avalanche?” I repeat around another hiccup.

“Usually, the highway department triggers controlled slides on backcountry roads like this to prevent this from happening.”

I incline my head, not sure I heard correctly. “You’re telling me we’re stuck in an avalanche?”

“Stuck is a relative term. It just missed us. Had I been going faster...” He throws the Jeep in reverse and slowly backs away from the wall of snow.

I’m thinking it’s more of a cataclysmic catastrophe, but I’m hoping it’s a big misunderstanding.