Page 18 of Stuck in Christmas

Eli gave me a long, sympathetic look. “Was he in the Army?”

“Marines,” I replied, my tone a little sharper, though I softened it with a smile. “Hoo-rah.”

The corner of Eli’s mouth tipped up, and my heart soared. “Hoo-rah! A fellow Marine. That’s no small thing.”

“You’re a Marine?”

“Joined for college money,” he said. “But I came back with much more than just tuition help.”

I leaned against the truck bed. This sounded like a story, and I loved a good story. “Like what?”

“Oh, you know,” Eli teased with a mischievous glint in his eye. “The ability to make a bed so tight you could bounce a quarter on it.”

I laughed. “That makes one of us.”

"That and some serious cooking skills," he added. "They found out I grew up working in a diner, so naturally, I ended up in the kitchen most of the time."

"Peeling potatoes?"

"Sometimes," he admitted with a grin. "But I worked my way up, eventually. I even became Armed Forces Chef of the Year three years in a row."

My eyes widened in surprise. “That’s impressive. But wait—you also have two Michelin stars, don’t you? At your restaurant?"

"I do," Eli nodded as he looked into thedistance. "But winning Chef of the Year in the Marines is my favorite achievement. They’d give us a mystery basket of ingredients, and we had to create a four-course meal."

"How long did you have to pull off this culinary magic?"

"Not long," he huffed. "And no time for looking up recipes either. It’s where I got good at improvising in the kitchen."

"Sounds like pressure cooking at its finest."

“Pressure cooking,” he snickered. “Something like that." He tilted his head, looking thoughtful for a moment before asking, "What about your dad? What did he do in the Corps?"

I took a breath, feeling the familiar weight of my memories. "He was a helicopter pilot. He flew Marines in and out of combat zones. One day, he didn’t come back."

Eli looked at me, his voice soft and understanding. "I’m sorry."

"I never knew him.” I pushed down the wave of sadness that always followed this story. "Only through the stories my mom would tell."

"Did she ever remarry?" Eli asked gently.

"No. She always said she had two great loves. The first was my dad, and he gave her the second—me."

Eli’s expression softened, and we stood silently at the edge of the woods, filled only by the distant rustle of wind through the trees. "Sounds like you two are close," he said, his voice low and warm.

“Were." I blinked back the sting of tears. "She passed away three years ago. The day after Christmas.She always loved Christmas. Called it the most romantic time of the year."

"It is," he agreed softly.

“That’s when she met my dad at a Christmas party. They got caught under the mistletoe. She’d always say it was fate. She told me that story every Christmas, even our last one together. She’d tell it like it had just happened yesterday."

Eli took a step closer to me, his gaze locked on mine. "Some memories," he said quietly, "are so strong they feel like yesterday." He reached out, just inches from me, his hand hovering as if he wanted to touch me but wasn’t sure.

My breath caught in my throat. My heart raced as the space between us shrank. He was looking at me with a mix of tenderness and something else I couldn’t quite place. Desire? Longing?

"It probably has something to do with them being," I began, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Soulmates," Eli finished for me.

---