Page 5 of The Christmas Romance Wish

She tucks the shoes back in my suitcase at the same time my phone rings.

Alex’s name appears on the screen.

“Ooh. Captain America calls. Are you going to answer?”

I shoo Dylann away and pick up as I flop onto my bed, and without realizing it, assume what she called the Crush Pose.

“Hey, Emmie,” Alex says in his deep, smooth voice with a twinge of a western accent.

As usual, those pesky butterflies in my belly hum to life when we talk or I get a notification that he sent an email or text.

The guy on the other end of the line can no longer be my crush because soon I’m going to meet him and Ginny. It was fine to pine over him from afar. This is about to get real and I have to squash it.

These are just silly, swoony insects in my belly.

They’re bah humbugs.

But I don’t have the heart to squish them.

Alex

CHAPTER 2

Most people assume that being a sniper is all about aim. While that’s incredibly important, breathing is too. I do my best to calm mine to a resting rate when Emmie answers.

She’s the only person in the world who knows my life story, well from eighteen years old and up—no one has the full picture of my childhood.

I’ve never trusted someone with my biography until now. She holds the keys to my past on her hard drive as well as to my future when she turns the manuscript in to the publisher.

In the military, I knew who to trust. In the civilian world, it’s different.

“Hi, Alex,” Emmie says.

I remind myself she’s not a hostile enemy. I’m not in danger. Typical post-trauma triggers can include loud noise, small spaces, and even media reports of current events. Mine is trust. It was broken and I’ve worked hard to build it back. Writing this book is part of my exposure therapy and recovery.

So far, it’s been a healing journey, but my heart rate still increases whenever we talk. I have to actively remind myself everything is okay.

It’s not because when I hear her voice I feel like I’m sixteen—backwhen I was all lanky limbs, jumbled teeth. Thanks to my mother working extra at the nail salon to pay for orthodontics that just about disappeared. My father was a hairy guy which also meant I could practically grow a beard in two days—in theory, that was cool among my friends. The nicks and cuts while I learned how to shave, not so much

Now, I’m grateful for the hair on my head. The odd piece in my ears now and then, not so much. But aging is much better than the alternative—one I’m all too aware of.

No, talking to Emmie reminds me that soon my story will be in the hands of readers and that opens me to a different kind of exposure.

Exhaling, I say, “I was just calling to remind you to bring the bagels.”

From Emmie’s line, someone in the background asks, “Is that code for something?”

I chuckle.

“I’ll pick them up early tomorrow so they’re freshest.”

“I appreciate it and so will the guys.”

“Just doing my duty, sir,” she says with her tinkling laugh.

“Did you just salute him? He can’t see you,” the other voice says in the background.

I laugh again. Emmie is lighthearted and playful. She laughs easily and is a balance to my military precision and seriousness—I’m working on that.

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