Page 33 of The Christmas Romance Wish

The barista calls my name as I exit. Alex already waits with his seasonally printed paper coffee cup in hand. He takes mine and then passes it to me. Our hands brush as before.

The bah humbugs flicker to life.

“I’d say we could stick this out here and wait for the weather to ease up, but beyond the mountain pass, the plows come less frequently. We should probably get back on the road.”

“We have plenty of treats for the ride back.” I jiggle the bag, planning to give him anything remotely Christmas-related and keep the sugar and butter bits for myself.

“You’d love the bakery in Holidayle. They make amazing seasonal items too.”

“I thought you preferred savory foods to sweets,” I say, recalling a conversation we had a while back.

“Except at Christmastime.” Alex pats his belly, hidden beneath several layers of winter gear. But I know he’s trim and toned from when he took off his thermal shirt after the ruck.

“Santa can have his cookies and the reindeer can keep their carrots,” I mutter.

“But you ordered a Santa hat cookie and a reindeer carrot cake bar.”

“They only had Christmas-themed treats,” I say, defending my choices.

With an amused chuckle, Alex unlocks the Jeep. After cranking the heat, he turns on the radio and Christmas carols play.

I turn down the volume dial.

“Hey, I like ‘Let It Snow.’”

“But maybe not today. Anyway, the passenger always operates the radio. Those are the rules.”

“Whose rules?”

“My brothers’ rules.”

Alex tips his head from side to side. “I guess that checks out.”

There isn’t much traffic, but the vehicle creeps along because it’s like we’re in a snow globe that a kid won’t stop violently shaking.

“Should we see if there’s a hotel nearby?”

“We’d have to turn back. Plus, once we get past Frosthold Gap, we’re only ten minutes from the ranch.”

He makes this treacherous weather seem like a piece of cake. I take a bite of the carrot cake bar. It’s surprisingly good and doesn’t taste like the bitterness I associate with Christmas, but it doesn’t stop my hiccups.

After taking a few sips of coffee, Alex says, “We have a bit of a ride ahead of us. Let’s tell the truth.”

“You mean like the two truths and one lie game?” I hiccup.

“No, just the truth. I’ll go first.” He hesitates then says, “I hate staying in hotels.”

“I grew up in one.”

“How does that work?

“Technically, it was a resort. The Driftwood. My grandfather built it out of reclaimed materials from old salvaged ships. In its day, it was a family-style place with old-school amenities and not the bells and whistles of modern resorts.”

“Reminds me of the Holidayle Sleighbell Lakeside Hotel, minus the driftwood and salvaged items. But they do have a holiday theme and a home-style feel.”

“I’m more of a bells and less of a whistles kind of person.”

Alex chuckles. “Is that true, city girl?”

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