Page 32 of The Christmas Romance Wish

“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 wecleared 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 Grinchgreen 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.

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