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

12. Alex

Alex

CHAPTER 12

The floor at the end of the hallway creaks and I open the door to the attic. Cold, stale air escapes.

I climb the stairs with Emmie closely behind me. I tend to run hot, temperature-wise, but I downright burn for this woman.

She yelps when a cobweb brushes her skin. Her fingers loop through the back of my belt like we’re tandem climbing a cliff face.

When we reach the landing, shafts of low light beam through the dormer windows. Disturbed by our footsteps, dust motes dance in the air.

“I plan on getting this part of the house finished off like the basement. But the pool table, sauna, and workout room took priority.”

“We don’t have attics in Florida. They’re inherently creepy. In movies, they’re always filled with old dolls, dusty metal objects, and ghosts,” Emmie says.

“What kinds of movies do you watch?”

“My brothers made me watch the worst flicks, but I prefer historical documentaries.”

More and more, I believe Emmie is the woman for me .

With a gentle nudge, I say, “But it’s Christmastime. Nothing is spooky about this time of year.”

“All the same, remind me never to come up here around Halloween.”

I rather like the idea of Emmie being around almost a year into the future.

“This is a massive house. Four bedrooms, right? Loads of storage. The finished basement. Why didn’t you put your Christmas decorations somewhere else?”

“They seem like the kind of things you’d put in an attic. I’ve only been up here once and it was to stash all this stuff.”

“Wait. If you haven’t been home for Christmas in like twenty years, where did you get the decorations?”

I point to the cartons and bins that are right where I left them haphazardly stacked because I wasn’t sure when I’d get around to going through them.

“They were my grandmother’s. I spent a lot of time with her when I was growing up. She was a good woman. Heart of gold. Saw the best in people, unfortunately, even her own daughter who was the opposite kind of person.”

“What did you call her?”

Thinking about Emmie’s made-up royalty name, I say, “G-Money Queenie.”

“That’s original.”

I laugh. “I’m kidding. I called her Gram.”

“And your grandfather?”

“He passed away before I was old enough to remember.”

“But he left you this property and you saved all her Christmas decorations?”

“They were part of my best memories before I ran away as fast as I could from the mess that was my childhood and joined the service.”

“You didn’t mention that in the book.”

“Nah. Not worth the ink. ”

She points to the boxes. “We can leave these out then, but it sounds like a sweet spot, so I’m glad you told me.”

Still storming outside, it’s dim up here. Even though Emmie claims not to like the holidays, she still sparkles. She makes me want to celebrate them, everything in life, with her.

We bring the decorations downstairs to the main living room. On the music app on my phone, I find an upbeat holiday playlist.

Seeing the boxes in the light of day, I half expect to feel emotional about the associated memories, but it’s more like a Christmas morning situation where I tear through them. I intermittently share anecdotes with Emmie about various decorations. Like the plastic gingerbread boy I thought was real and bit into. “Chipped a tooth.”

She laughs. “Don’t tell anyone, but gingerbread is my favorite kind of cookie.”

I cup my hand around my ear. “Do you hear what I hear? The self-proclaimed Lady Grinch admits to liking Christmas cookies?”

Emmie positions her pointer finger in front of her mouth in the universal symbol for quiet.

I make a zip-my-lips gesture. But all the attention drawn to our lips makes me want to kiss her again.

She bites her lower lip as if thinking the same thing. Despite the blizzard, warmth blazes between us.

Emmie’s gaze flits to mine in question.

My eyebrow lifts. Whatever this woman wants, it’s a yes.

I step closer. Picking up a tinsel garland, I lace it around Emmie’s neck and draw her toward me. She giggles and lifts onto her toes, gripping the back of my neck with her hands.

Once more, our mouths meet. The kiss between us builds like a snowball rolling downhill, taking us both with it.

When we part, Emmie says, “If I knew Christmastime involved this, I would’ve rethought my position sooner.”

“Tis the season to be jolly.”

We both laugh. The song in the background is “Jingle Bell Rock.” Taking Emmie’s hand, we bop around. Her smile could light the star on a Christmas tree. If we had one.

I don’t think she hates Christmas as much as she says she does, but I still want to know why she’s been a grump about it in the first place. Or, at the very least, I want to show her and share with her everything I’d longed for all those years that I was gone.

Next, “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” plays over the speakers. We continue to dance.

Emmie says, “Have you been naughty or nice this year?”

“I think I finally made it onto the nice list.”

“Meaning you were on the naughty list? Unlikely.”

“You know every detail of the last twenty years of my life.”

“Not that you missed Christmases though. Come to think of it, you haven’t talked much about your childhood and life outside the military.”

That’s because the SEALs were my life.

In time with the song’s melody, I spin her around under my arm.

“How about you? What do you want for Christmas?” The question gives me an idea.

Her expression falters, and then she seems to snap back into the moment. “My letter would start with Dear Santa, I can explain...”

“Does that mean you were on the naughty list?”

“Depends on who you ask.” She taps her chin. Then, as if singing a melody, she links in a few lines from the Christmas hit, “Santa Baby.”

“A convertible? A yacht? Something from Tiffany’s?” My grandmother’s favorite movie comes to mind along with one of the main things Tiffany’s is known for selling.

Much like Emmie, it sparkles...and like mentioned in the song, it’s often made of platinum.

Emmie reminds me a lot of the actress Audrey Hepburn who plays the leading role in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, except my girl has longer hair and is more confident.

Once more, our eyes lock and in addition to the heat radiating between us, a silent question seems to hover, linger, and begs to be spoken aloud.

“Oh by golly,” I whisper.

“Fa la la la,” she replies.

Amusement on my lips and with her eyes crinkling at the corners, we both burst into laughter.

Her ringing phone breaks into our hysterics.

“It’s my brother Ryan. I’d better take it.” She answers on speakerphone.

“Ho, ho, ho, hooray. I hear you’re coming down to visit your beloved bros, but not until New Year’s. I was hoping Santa would throw you down the chimney and put you under the tree.”

“That sounds violently unpleasant. I was trying to get there sooner, but the bad weather is messing up flights.”

I have to admit, she doesn’t look too put out about it. I’d like to think it has something to do with me but don’t get the sense she has an “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” situation.

“We want to get you home, Emmie. Can we book you out on Wednesday?”

“Ry, I can handle it. Don’t worry. I’ll be there on New Year’s.”

“Fine, but make it a promise.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Emmie...”

“Fine. Pinky-promise-saurus.”

“Good. Did you know that Luke calls CJ Uncle Dino?”

“He gets to be Uncle Dinosaur? I called dino dibs. That’s so not fair.”

“You snooze, you lose.”

“Is that like dino-snore?”

Ryan chuckles. “Luke can call you Auntie M like from Wizard of Oz.”

“You’re well aware that movie gave me nightmares.”

“How are you sleeping? Eating? Do you have everything you need? Are you safe? Do I need to run a wellness check or come out there myself and drown someone in a milkshake?”

“No, and we settled this. Milkshakes are only good for one thing.”

“Yeah, yeah. They’re good for drinking. But Mark Slawkowski had that coming.”

“He was hardly even wearing flirting training wheels. More like riding a tricycle.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

“You owe me a peppermint mocha milkshake.”

“You were drinking a vanilla one.”

“Still, you owe me.” She laughs and they say goodbye.

This is a new side of Emmie I haven’t seen before. She talks about herself like she’s the queen of awkwardness, but her confidence and sense of humor with her brother are robust. She’s a master storyteller, a champion jiu-jitsu practitioner, and her lips are heavenly.

“Sorry.” She sets her phone on the counter.

“Don’t be. I like your brothers already.”

“You haven’t met them yet.” She smiles in a way that makes me think I someday might.

“Sounds like they know how to have fun.”

Gazing out the window, she says, “I’m looking forward to seeing them if I ever get there.”

“You say that and yet you’re wearing a resting Grinch face.”

Her silence suggests that I let it go, for now.

By the time most of the boxes are unpacked, the Nativity is on the mantle, Gram’s nutcracker has a prominent spot on the shelf, I finally reach the motherload. “Ah, Gram’s snow globe collection. They all play music and I’d drive her crazy by winding them up. Each one depicts the Twelve Days of Christmas song.”

“My mother had one of these. Though it was of a little Christmas village.” She studies one of the snow globes and then reaches into the box for another. “Wait. I think there’s one more.” Emmie pulls a box out of the box. “And there’s a book. ”

I take my well-worn copy of “The Polar Express” from her hands, experiencing the same electrified jolt as ever when our fingers brush even though we’ve graduated to more consistent touch and kissing. “This was my favorite when I was a kid.”

“I see you labeled it with your name.” She reads, “This book belongs to Alexander Armstrong and you doodled a little bell.”

“Speaking of doodles, Dylann called you that.”

Emmie swallows. “Yeah, um, she caught me drawing hearts once.”

“And that earned you a nickname?”

“It was an absentminded thing.” She shrugs as if eager to move on.

“If I were to ask Dylann the context, what would she say?”

“You wouldn’t. You couldn’t.”

I step into her space with a little swagger and sweep my hand under her chin. “Emmie, I’m a special forces operator. No mountain, river, or storm could stop me.”

Her gaze darkens and a smile slides across her lips as if she likes the idea of me coming after her, of being pursued and wanted. “Okay, fine. I was drawing hearts when we were on the phone. She’d just gotten home and repeatedly called for me. I was absorbed in our conversation. Didn’t hear her. She caught me on the phone with you while drawing hearts. She never let me live it down.”

“Doodles, hearts, me.” I nod, feeling rather pleased by this development. I want to kiss Emmie now, but she’s arranging the glass snow globes, so I hold off.

“It’s sweet your grandmother saved all of this for you.”

“I practically had to tear it out of my mother’s cold, cruel hands.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah. Talk about a Grinch, a Scrouge, and a Hans Gruber all rolled into one.”

“Hans Gruber from Die Hard? My brothers argue it’s a Christmas movie and the best one ever at that. ”

“It is,” I hold out my hands emphatically as if pumped someone agrees.

“Yay. Can’t wait. There will be five of you instead of four.” She deepens her voice. “Let’s watch a Christmas movie.” Then using her own voice, she says, “Yeah. How about the Holiday or It’s a Wonderful Life or even Christmas Vacation.” She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t even have the popcorn popped and buttered before John McClane would be on the plane, flying across the big flat screen. I suppose I should be heading to the airport soon though, too.”

I lasso her waist. “What if I want you here for Christmas?”

“I’m a lady Grinch, remember?”

“But the hearts of all those bad guys eventually softened. Have hope.”

“Not Hans Gruber’s.”

“I’m starting to think your dislike of Christmas is all talk.”

Ignoring me, she says, “We have all these balls, bubbles, and baubles, but we’re missing one thing.”

“You’re right.” Getting to my feet, I cross the room to the big window that overlooks the property. Opening my arms wide, I stretch them across the space and then bring them up to a peak before tapering down. “Yep, I think one will look good right here.”

“One what? I was talking about—” She looks toward the ceiling.

“I’ll be back soon.” I tug on my gear.

“You’re going outside? What about the storm? Wait, does mistletoe grow around here?”

“Sometimes the storms get stuck over the mountains. Has to do with air currents, but it’s finally moving off. You stay here and keep the fire going. I’ll be back with a tree and a kiss, without or without mistletoe.”

After tending to the horses, I trudge into the woods and find the perfect Christmas tree. It takes some lugging to get it back to the house, but I leave it to dry, then set to work making a stand out of some two-by-fours I had left over from another project.

About an hour later, I’m back in the house. The fire burns in the hearth. The lights are low and Christmas carols play softly. Emmie is curled up on the couch.

It’s the perfect scene except for one thing. Tears fill her eyes.

I crouch down and smooth her hair. “Hey, what’s going on?”

She wipes her eyes and sits up. “Oh, what? These? They’re happy tears.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes. Definitely.” She looks around. “It’s just so perfect here. A holly jolly bubble. I’ll soon return to real life at my lonely tower in New York. I thought it was what I wanted, but now I’m not so sure.”

I can fix this. I hope.

It takes me less than five minutes to make cocoa from a packet. “Sorry. I’m fresh out of marshmallows.”

“Do you usually keep them on hand?”

“No, but I should be a marshmallow guy.”

She laughs and pokes me in the side. “There’s nothing squishy about you.”

I settle next to Emmie on the couch and pick up the Polar Express. Parting the pages, I read the familiar words to the story about a little boy who visits the North Pole.

Emmie inches closer to me, resting her head on my shoulder. My breath moves deeper and peace settles over me. Her too.

When we get to the end, I say, “Now, I want you to tell me a Christmas story.”

“No, fair. You got to read one.”

“You could just tell me any story. What’s it like during this time of year in the city. Your favorite meal. What you do on Friday nights.”

Emmie tells me about the tree and ice skating in Rockefeller Center. Then she goes quiet before adding, “Here’s a truth. I’m an island girl trapped in a city girl’s body. I’m glad to be here and not there, locked away in my lonely tower.”

I chuckle. “Could you be a ranch girl?”

“Sometimes I don’t know who I am. Orphaned. Raised by my eccentric grandfather. He’d read me Tom Clancy’s espionage thrillers and World War Two nonfiction historical accounts instead of fairy tales and children’s stories.”

Whew. That’s an interesting childhood.

Her expression suggests she shares the sentiment but isn’t sure what to do with it.

Gently, I say, “Yeah, but had he not, we may not be here together. Those stories served you well.”

“I’d have liked a copy of The Polar Express.”

“You can have this one,” I offer, meaning it. If it would make Emmie’s season bright, I’ll buy her every copy in the state.

“Actually, I just want you to read it to me again.”

So I do, and Emmie nestles closer to me,

“I hear the tinkling of the bell in your voice,” Emmie says with a yawn when the story is over.

“And I hear sadness in yours.”

She exhales. “I’ve never told anyone this. Only my brothers know. The last time I saw my parents was on Christmas and I was too young to even remember. Even when I was a kid, I kind of wiped it off the calendar. My birthday too. My Christmas and birthday wishes were always for them to come back.”

She tells me they were in a boating accident and were never recovered. It pains me to hear that she never was able to have a relationship with her mother and father.

“Dylann calls it the ‘Seasonal Slumps.’”

“A lot of people get the holiday blues.”

“So now you know why I’m the delicate little sister who needs protection at all costs. Then I tried to be the independent city girl who could do everything by myself. I’ve never felt like I belong anywhere.”

“Not even with your family?” I ask, finding it hard to believe.

“I’ve never been the main character of the McGregor story.”

“If your brothers think of you as a princess, I’d beg to differ.”

She frowns. “We were more like the supporting cast in our grandfather’s theatrics. The princess and the pirates.”

“That’s better than being an NPC. And I don’t mean Navy Personnel Command. This kind of NPC stands for a non-playable character. That was my role as my parents carried out their personal dramas.”

Emmie meets my gaze with a softness in hers like we’re in the same movie and only now realizes it. “When I left my small town in southern Florida, I resolved to become a protagonist. That turned into striving, into being someone I was not.”

She’s self-reliant, but not always self-assured. I’d like to see that change for her sake because she’s amazing, dedicated, and hardworking.

Oh, and Emmie is beautiful.

Her shoulders lift and lower. “Then I poured myself into work, lived vicariously through other people’s pasts.”

I snort. “You sure you want to live through mine?”

“You were the hero, the leading figure.”

“Somewhere along the way, someone made the notion of being a regular person not enough. I don’t believe that. I rose to the occasions that I was called to. Nothing more.”

“You were surrounded by men like you, brothers.”

“So were you.”

“All the same, it can get lonely even though I have a family who loves me.”

I wrap my arm around her, holding her close. Never wanting her to feel lonely again. “You’re whoever you want to be, Emmie.”

“But what if I can’t fill the role?”

“You mentioned that you don’t have a story. That’s not true. You do. You’ve just never told it.”

It’s like she wants to argue but knows that I’m not wrong. And having her in my arms feels so right. But I’m afraid that eventually she’ll push me away. Everyone always has.