Page 9 of The Christmas Romance Wish

I’m no longer in the SEALs, but I am on a mission and that’s building my business to help keep these men strong. That’s the focus. Not flings or love, settling down, or marriage.

Emmie is probably a cave troll. She’s just helping me write my memoir.

That’s the story I tell myself.

Emmie

CHAPTER 3

My cheeks aren’t red from me dashing into the early morning to grab bagels. No, they’re still blistering hot because I belatedly realized I hadn’t hung up the phone with Alex last night and he might have heard Dylann’s comments about his voice.

His voice makes me want to assume the Crush Pose and chat with him all day and night. His low, commanding tone makes those pesky bah humbugs hum.

But I can’t let myself think about that because I’m catching a flight west in about two hours. Five hours after that I’ll meet my writing partner for the first time and I have to be purely professional.

In the living room of our apartment, Dylann has Christmas carols playing on her vintage record player and strings up poofy garlands in pink, sage, and gold. I hope Ginny is a Grinch like me and doesn’t decorate. I couldn’t handle being at their ranch at Christmas on top of trying to keep my crush on a man I’ve never met in person under wraps.

Oh, that’s what I’ll do, I’ll wrap myself up in scarves and cold weather gear so no one can see my flaming cheeks which are sure to remain red throughout the weekend since Alex likely heard my roommate’s comment.

“You’re still overthinking?” Dylann tosses a giant foam gumdrop at me.

I’ve had a major case of “Busy Brain” since last night and hardly slept. “I just wish you’d waited to be sure I’d hung up the phone.” I already can’t stand the whine in my voice.

She balances half on the counter and half on a kitchen stool while draping the area above the cabinets with faux evergreen swag. “He probably didn’t hear me.”

“But what if he did?”

I catch the edge of her smirk. “Then you don’t deny you have sight-unseen feelings?”

With a huff, I say, “Is that a technical term? Seems you’re in the market of making stuff up lately. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll tell Alex you’re a serial liar and blurt things out at random. Corgis have dumb butts. Chocolate was made by aliens. Leggings have no place in society.”

“You can throw me under the bus, but all of those things are false. What I said was fact.”

My brain races, laying out all the what-ifs and yeah-buts.

“And I’m sure he’ll buy that from his adorable co-writer, emphasis on adorable, and co-writer meaning you make stuff up for a living.”

“That’s not how placing emphasis works and I write nonfiction. Usually.” I have been toying with trying my hand at a romance about unrequited love.

“Just saying, you like Captain America.”

“Dylann, he has a Ginny.”

“Are you sure about that?” She winks.

“Yes. He’s mentioned her.”

“What if hehada Ginny? Past tense and he’s single now. Or what if Ginny is his sister? Didn’t someone once mistake you and your brother for a couple?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes and ew. The woman was ninety-seven and had poor eyesight.”

“What if you’re just trying to come up with reasons for him not to be available?” Dylann presses.

My busy brain has been over all of these possibilities. I ran a Sharpie through every one, crossing them out. It’s not possible. It’s not happening. End of story.

That same brother would scold me for the pout I wear right now. “Why would I try to come up with reasons for Alex not to be available?”

Like a Christmas elf, Dylann hops down from the stool and takes my hands in hers. “Christmas is the time of year for hope and wish-making.”

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