Page 2 of Christmas in July

“I am sure that your noises and bodily fluids are wonderful,” he says as he sets up his laptop.

My eyes grow wide at this odd and shocking compliment.

Then he turns to me with horror written all over his face. “Oh, shit! That’s not how I meant that at all. I am so sorry—I am just distracted and I need to get some work done. I have a deadline.”

“No worries,” I tell him.

When he opens his laptop, I am greeted with a stunning display of photographs of sparkling azure waters. And boxes of text.

When the flight attendant comes by to ask what drinks we want, he orders a glass of champagne. “Would you like one?” he asks.

“Sure,” I answer, as I stare at the photos curiously. “These are amazing. What do you do?”

“I’m a travel writer,” he explains. “I work for a magazine, and they hire me to go all over the world and stay in the finest hotels, and visit all the local attractions. I take high quality photographs and write up quirky passages about the places I visit. Just finished visiting a few spots in Hawaii, and I have one article due in nine hours. So, I’ll be writing for most of this flight.”

“Oh, I’ll let you focus then,” I tell him, reaching for my phone to find something to occupy myself with. Maybe a dumb game like Candy Crush. But I feel a bit silly while the handsome man beside me is doing something so much more important and interesting. I can’t help glancing over to watch his fingers fly across the keyboard—his hands are so beautiful. No wedding ring. No tan line.

But he’s wearing stylish, sexy cufflinks. Jesus!

“Are you from Minneapolis?” I ask him.

“No,” he responds. “The next spot on my list that they want me to visit and write an article about is in Minnesota, just a short drive away from the Twin Cities. Some quaint little town where it’s always Christmas. Even now, in the summertime.”

I feel an odd sensation tickle my shoulders. A little shiver of serendipity. “Where is that?” I ask him, already knowing the answer.

“Snowflake Creek,” he responds. “Have you heard of it?”

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