Page 45 of My Secret Santa Dallas

Act normal, I told myself, even though the heat was already starting to creep up my neck.

“I thought you were ready to take the town by storm with your binoculars around your neck and safari hat on,” I said, resting the cup and condiments on the bedside table. “Skimmed almond milk, chocolate drizzle, and ten packets of Splenda, right? Just the way you like it.”

She stared at me. “That’s hot coffee.”

“I know,” I replied. “So, the town today or not?”

“For that, you’re buying me another cup when we get to town,” Blair said, reaching for the cup and waving her hand. “Now, go away, coffee boy.”

“Ten minutes?”

“Seventeen,” Blair corrected me. “It takes a while to straighten this hair.”

“Or you can let your hair down, literally,” I suggested.

“No chance, buster,” she said. “You’re eating up my time.”

Stifling a grin, I left her room and went for the truck, hoping it wasn’t buried in snow. As I scraped the windshield off, my cell rang, and I accepted Warrick’s call.

“Hey,” I said. “What’s up?”

“What’s up is this damned snowstorm that is blowing into DC, and everything is grounded,” Warrick sounded pissed. “We were supposed to be home yesterday, and with how things are looking now, we’ll be home in two days. Zara and I are at a hotel near the airport, hoping a flight might clear soon so we can get home before the Black Friday drawing.”

“That’s in five days,” I said. “Hopefully, you’ll be home soon.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I hope so too. So, how are things going?”

“If you mean with the plant, it's going well,” I kept an eye on the door. “It's snowing hard up here, so we’ll check with the builders and see what they’re saying.”

“I’d expect they would shut down for a while,” Warrick said as Blair stepped out the door, all bundled up and withher beanie on, inching her way across the snow. “Don’t get too frazzled about it.”

“I won’t,” I promised. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll call you if anything pops up.”

Warrick was quiet before he said, “Okay. Tell Blair I say hello.”

“Will do,” I said while dropping the phone into my back pocket. “Ready to go?”

She nodded. “Yep.”

After getting things squared away with the builders, who said they would be on break until January, we made sure the site wasn’t compromised. We’d headed to get her the coffee she wanted, and the moment we stepped into the Riverbend café, she ordered an iced coffee.

“Iced coffee…” I said flatly.

“Yes.”

“In winter.”

“Yes.”

“On the coldest day to date,” I said.

This time, her eyes narrowed. “Yes. So go and get my coffee, minion.”

I got her a large cup of sugar coma-inducing coffee and said, sliding it to her, “You know, I think I read somewhere that people who drink iced coffee in winter are psychopaths.”

We left the store and began walking along the waterway. “It’s possible,” she said. “Did they interview Dahmer on what he drank while seasoning his gall bladder and spleen?”

“He never ate those,” I said. “I am scared that you know that.”

---