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

11. Alex

Alex

CHAPTER 11

The snowstorm continues to bluster outside the Jeep, but with the thermal blanket wrapped around Emmie and me in our own little cocoon, I almost forget where we are and what’s going on.

As we kiss, she lets out a contented little sigh. Drawing back, her long hair falls in waves around her face. Emmie’s lips and cheeks are pink and her lips swollen ever so slightly. With her in my arms, even though I’ve experienced so much war, I feel peaceful at last.

Her gaze is a daze and I may as well be up in the clouds.

“Wow,” she says.

At almost the same time, I say, “Whoa.”

“That was...”

But words don’t come. They don’t need to. We both feel it.

She burrows into me, her petite and curvy figure snug against mine.

After a beat, I say, “Sounds like the hiccups are gone.”

“Mmhmm,” she says dreamily. “Maybe we should make sure.”

“As we say in the military, one is none, and two is one.”

“Does that mean this is our first kiss again?” Sitting up, her eyes drop closed as she leans in.

Once more, our lips press together, the kiss a seal between us.

My fingers tangle in Emmie’s silky, shiny hair. She’s all the soft femininity missing from my life, but with a mouth that speaks the truth. Funny truths, hard truths, important truths. Even her kiss is the truth.

Her lush lips, like sugar plums, press against mine, telling me she wants this as much as I do.

The kiss lengthens between us, warming me through.

Her hand drags across my back.

Mine traces the gentle line of her jaw.

When we part, I’m reluctant to emerge from the fog of the kiss, afraid she’ll disappear. But for now, we’re stranded. Neither one of us is going anywhere.

Which means we might just have to kiss again.

Afterward, she nestles against me, warm now even though the storm continues to rage outside the Jeep. The sky darkens and Emmie’s long lashes drop, her eyes fluttering closed.

At last, the hiccups are gone. She relaxes into me, warm and safe.

I trace my finger over the shell of her ear. I study the slope of her nose and the bow of her lips before we lose light entirely.

The curve of her waist fits against me like her palm in my hand. We’re snug in the backseat. Although I’d rather be almost anywhere else, I can’t think of a single person I’d rather be with.

I tried to keep my distance. To think of her as a sister. To just be a friend, co-writers.

But I fell. It was instant. Black ice. Spinning wildly into her embrace.

There’s no stopping this and I wouldn’t want to, anyway.

“Tell me a story,” Emmie whispers sleepily.

“What kind?”

“One with a happy ending. I like the rumble of your voice with a twinge of a western accent. It’s like a lullaby.”

I chuckle internally because this confirms the comment I overheard the last time we were on the phone. “Can it be a Christmas story?”

“The bah humbugs say yes. I say...” But before she finishes, she must doze off because she falls silent.

I gaze at her and then out the window, wondering if Christmas came early, at least for me because even though I’d like Emmie to spend the holidays with her family, I count myself lucky that we get a little more time together.

Earlier, Emmie commented about not having a story. Meanwhile, I’ve been trying to escape mine.

By writing it down and sharing it with the world? I must be out of my mind.

Once the book we’ve written together hits shelves, it’s no longer just mine. I suppose that also means it’s no longer my burden to bear alone.

That’s part of the process, healing, moving on from the losses, and celebrating all the wins. There were many, and that’s not to be discounted, but it’s easy to forget them in the shadow of pain like so many of my brothers experience. The book is to show them how to experience both—the highs and lows. The victories and the heartbreak.

This, right now, I count as a major triumph.

I silently chide myself for being so dumb and denying my feelings for Emmie. She already knows almost everything about me. But I’ll keep the BM stuff to myself, thank you very much.

However, the fighter in me rears his head, reminding me of wounds and scars. It lists all the reasons I don’t have time for a relationship, never mind that I’m terrible at them.

The word selfish bounces around my head like a pinball. Then comes the reminder about our age difference and the distance between us.

Repeatedly trying to shut down the voice of doubt, I focus on my breathing, on the amazingly sweet woman snuggled up beside me. Right now, I can keep her warm and safe. Whatever happens later, I’ll deal with it then .

I’ve always told myself that fools are afraid. Warriors are prepared. But I can’t lie, what I feel for her is bigger than anything I’ve experienced. Nothing I could prepare for. It terrifies me.

For now, I turn my attention to my surroundings, looking for the plows and hoping we’re not stranded overnight. On the upside, I have enough caffeine in me to pull through.

Eventually, my thoughts drift from the past to the present and then settle on the future. Getting back to the ranch, of course, but beyond that.

Would Emmie want to spend time out here? Could I manage in the city?

In the distance, the low rumble of a large vehicle grows louder. Relief sweeps through me when the glowing lights of a commercial plow truck cut through the snow. Without disturbing Emmie, I get back in the driver’s seat and prepare for the okay to proceed through the gap.

Not much later, two more plows appear, clearing the way. I’ll have to invite these guys to the ranch for an all-they-can-eat spread sometime. The road crew goes above and beyond, working in these conditions.

Eventually, I’m cleared to proceed with caution and make slow progress home.

Emmie commented on not feeling like she had a home, nor does she like Christmas. Those two factors together make me sad for her. When I pass my few neighbors, Christmas lights festooning their houses, I get an idea to change that.

After pulling into the garage, I smooth a few stray hairs out of Emmie’s face. Curled up in the back seat, she rustles slightly.

“We’re home,” I whisper.

Wearing a faint smile, she opens her eyes. “Was that a dream?”

“Which part?”

“My flight getting canceled, the avalanche, the kiss?”

“The first two, sure. The last one, no. That was nonfiction.”

Emmie’s laugh tinkles like bells.

“Since I closed up the cabins, you can stay in the guest bedroom.”

Shuffling inside, she says, “I need to find a new place to live, never mind stay for the night.”

“You can stay as long as you’d like.” The words are out of my mouth before I think.

And no sooner do I show her to the guest room, does she collapse on the bed, out like a light.

It takes me longer to wind down and diffuse the adrenaline from the snow slide, the kiss, and the drive home.

I take a warm shower, my mind on the woman a few doors down. Can I make the time between now and when she leaves special? Memorable? I’ve led squadrons of men on special ops all over the world. I’ve dodged bullets. Taken a few. I’ve survived to tell the sordid tales and found the courage to do so to a veritable stranger. I invite men who’ve suffered similarly and worse into my home. Remind them of purpose and duty downrange.

Surely, I can help Emmie have a merry Christmas.

And wouldn’t you know it, I fall asleep to visions of sugar plums dancing in my head.

The next morning, I’m up early as usual. I check on Ginny and the other horses that board at Eaglewood. Everyone is warm in their stalls. Even though it’s still snowing, later, I’ll bring them out for exercise. I need some too after being cramped up in the Jeep all of yesterday.

I throw some logs on the fire, brew a pot of coffee, and make eggs with homemade toast. I scramble around for anything remotely festive.

Emmie will have a speckled red camp mug for her peppermint mocha, a green and gold plaid napkin that I got as a wedding favor years ago, and a white plate for her golden scrambled eggs—I made them extra cheesy. Pleased with myself because this is one of those thoughtful things Gram would’ve done for me, I give a nod of recognition to the spread on the table. Well, it’s a bit cobbled together, but I hope it makes Emmie smile.

A short time later, she appears, as fresh as the snow that continues to fall outside but wearing a Grinchy scowl.

“Good morning?” It’s more of a question than the greeting I intend.

She grumbles.

“Not a morning person?” I ask.

She bites her lip. “Not an embarrass myself in front of you multiple times and show my face the next day kind of person. You must think I’m such a baby.”

“What do you mean?”

“About yesterday...”

My stomach sinks. Does she regret kissing this grizzled old vet who’s sometimes moody and doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body? No sooner do I have the thought than I realize the story I’ve been telling myself. Lived experience and the table setting suggest a new plot.

She stares at her hands. “I’m sorry if you felt like you needed to kiss me to make the hiccups stop. I realize how annoying that must have been with us trapped in the car for hours.”

Stepping closer, I say, “You’re kidding, right? I thought we decided that this is a nonfiction story.”

Still studying her hands, a smile plays peekaboo on her lips.

Pinching her chin between my fingers, I say, “Miss, if that’s the duty of a serviceman like me, I’ll gladly make the sacrifice every day for the rest of my life.”

Her expression brightens and our eyes meet as I lean close, inhaling her vanilla marshmallow scent. “Do you regret it?”

Emmie’s lips part. “No. Not even a little bit.”

“Good, because pretending not to be attracted to you was getting exhausting.”

She nibbles her lip .

I brush my fingertips across her forehead, then along her cheek. “I hardly believe that you’re real.”

Her eyes search mine as if I just said something absurd like zebras are excellent at ice skating. But this is not a moment to overthink. I press my mouth against Emmie’s lush lips, making this a peppermint mocha kiss.

When we part, I say, “It’s an official snow day.”

“We didn’t have those in Florida.”

“Oh, right. No white Christmases either.”

“White sand Christmases.”

“I dreaded snow days when I was a kid unless I was staying with my grandmother. Being an adult means I don’t have to do things I don’t want to.”

Emmie goes still, her expression not quite far away, but not entirely present either.

I rub my knuckles down her arm. “What are you thinking about?”

Her eyes dart to me. “How’d you know I’m thinking?”

“You were biting your lip.”

“I was thinking about what you said about being an adult. You don’t have to kiss me.”

What can only be described as a guffaw escapes at the absurdity of her comment. By the way her lip juts out, I quickly realize that was the wrong response.

“Emmie, I wanted to kiss you a minute ago. I want to kiss you again now. If you thought I was doing it for some other reason?—”

She flutters her hands by her ears. “I’m sorry. Sometimes, okay, most of the time, my head is full of questions and doubts and all this noise. It rushes in. I start overthinking. I’m sorry if I ruined it. Talk about death by awkward.”

“You didn’t ruin anything. I think it’s adorable. Endearing. It doesn’t have to be a mental struggle. Also, if you didn’t notice, I’m a big guy. Anyone, even you with your jiu-jitsu moves, would be hard-pressed to force me to do anything.”

Her shoulders up by her ears ease and she sits down on the counter stool. “I learned to be alone. I’m comfortable being by myself in the company of written words. It’s being around the real people who lived the stories I help tell that can be a problem. Well, just one of the people. Who happens to be handsome and strong and has a dimple when he smiles at me. But I haven’t notice it pop when he smiles at other times.”

I step closer, the warmth between us stoked once more.

“You don’t have to question, doubt, or overthink us . This is what it’s like to feel wanted.” I haven’t ever quite experienced it in this way and it’s good. So good.

“This is new to me.”

“Me too.”

She nods, her gaze holding mine.

Boosting Emmie onto the counter, so we’re closer to being face to face, I press my forehead against hers. I close my eyes, letting us steep in this moment, in this connection and closeness.

Taking a deep breath, I shift back slightly. “Now, do you want the good news or the bad news?”

“The bad first. I like to save the best for last.”

“Flights have been canceled until at least Christmas night. The planes they rerouted can’t land because the storm hasn’t let up. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve Eve, so they’re telling travelers to find alternate means of travel. I checked in with my pilot friends and the best I can do is get you down to Las Vegas then you can fly to Miami. Or you can wait until Christmas night and hope for a seat on a plane out of Salt Lake City.”

Emmie drops into a chair at the table. She eyes the red mug. I hooked a candy cane over the side. “You did this for me?”

“I hope you like it.”

She takes a sip. “It tastes like Christmas.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Emmie wrinkles her nose but takes another sip.

Ah, I get it now. For some reason, she claims not to like Christmas when in reality, she pretends not to so she can protect herself from something. But what ?

“Did you say there’s good news?” Emmie asks.

“We’re going to decorate.”

“For...?”

“What do you think? The fourth of July.”

“Ooh. That’s rebellious. I’ve never understood Christmas in July. Instead, you’re doing the Fourth of July at Christmas. So patriotic. I like it. You’ll swap the holiday theme colors of red, white, and green for red, white, and blue. Right? Clever.”

I’m not sure whether to laugh or be concerned by how much she portrays a deep dislike for Christmas. “No, Emmie. I’m talking about decorating for Christmas at Christmas. Like a normal person.”

She waves her hand. “Pass.”

“You can’t pass. You’re my guest. Those are the rules.”

“Says who?”

“Your brothers.”

Her eyes bulge. “Did you contact them?”

This time a chuckle does escape because of her comical panic. “No, of course not. I was just calling back to your radio rules yesterday.”

“Oh, right.”

“It’s Christmas Eve Eve Eve. We’re decorating. And if you skip out, you owe me one hundred push-ups.”

She lazily salutes me. “Sheesh. Don’t make it sound fun or anything, sir.”

I pause and an exhale lifts my chest. But the truth rises to the surface so why not say it? “What if I told you this is the first Christmas I’ve spent at home? In other words, not overseas or on a base? The first one in this house.”

She softens. “Seriously?”

I nod, feeling kind of silly admitting it. I’m a SEAL, it’s what I signed up for, but now that I’m retired, part of me wants to go full throttle into the holidays.

“What about your family? Did you spend it with them, at their houses, all these years? ”

My lips bunch up and I shake my head. “The one year I was stateside and on leave, I got word my dad was in jail. My mother, uh, was otherwise occupied.”

She steps closer to me, concern filling her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I know what to expect from them and it’s not much.”

Emmie tentatively lifts her arm and then places it on my forearm before finding my hand. Hers is small and fits nicely inside mine. “I mean I’m sorry for being insensitive. For only focusing on my hang-ups with this particular holiday.”

Another long breath escapes as if urging me to tell Emmie more of these truths and inviting her to share whatever it is about Christmas that makes her blue. “I grew up watching Christmas movies like everyone else. There were two categories. One depicts drama and dysfunctional families. The other kind shows the magic of the holidays and everyone coming together. Guess which one was my nonfiction? My reality. Guess which one I’ve always wanted?”

Emmie’s mouth lifts on one side as if she understands all too well. “Like you want to make our very own Hallmark movie?”

I clap my hands together. “Okay, let’s do this. Operation Decorate the Ranch commences now.” I pause when she doesn’t break into a singing and dancing musical number like in the aforementioned films.

“You sure about this? We don’t have to...”

A smile wavers on her face before it locks into place. “Sure. Sounds better than doing a hundred pushups. But uh, where are the decorations?” She eyes the homespun table setting with the red mug, plaid napkin, and white plate as if she worries that we’re going to be making red, white, and green rings out of construction paper.

“Come on. We’re going on a mission,” I say as if leading my squad.

Emmie follows after me, and I just hope she’s up for the task.