Page 49 of The Christmas Romance Wish

“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.

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