Alexandra Hope

I loved Christmas.

The lights, the caroling, the hot cocoa by the fire. In my family, the winter festivities were practically a call to arms. But this year? It couldn’t have come at a worse time.

“I’ll be available on my cell anytime,” I spoke rapidly to my assistant who was eagerly jotting down notes as she hastened after me through the bustling office located at the very top of one of New York City’s most prestigious skyscrapers. “Don’t hesitate to reach out if anything, and I do mean anything, goes wrong. Missed shipments, fussy photographers, sick models—”

“Certain assholes trying to step in and take your promotion?” my assistant, Marissa, asked, raising a perfectly manicured brow and frowning at me.

I rolled my eyes and reached for my suitcase which was already packed and stashed just inside my office.

“Don’t mention his name to me until the new year,” I groaned, reaching out and taking the briefcase she passed along.

“Oscar won’t get the promotion, Gemma,” Marissa said for the hundredth time, still miraculously appearing as though she truly believed it.

I smiled, truly appreciating her unparalleled, if misplaced, devotion and then checked my watch. Shit. I hurried toward the elevators on the other side of the thirtieth floor office of Alarie, the luxury fashion brand I had worked at for four years now. My heels clicked loudly against the Venetian marble, my too-tight pencil skirt restricting the movement of my legs so that I had to take three mini-steps for every usual single stride. Not the most practical travel attire, sure, but I was heading to the airport straight from the office so my options were limited. Besides, my wardrobe consisted almost entirely of professionally curated outfits at this point anyway. Sweats and ratty old tee shirts just weren’t in the cards for me.

“What do we say, Marissa?” I chided with a click of my tongue, though my heart wasn’t in it and I knew she could tell.

“Never underestimate your competition,” she dutifully recited anyway.

I gave her a wink and my patented good-job smile before stepping into the elevator.

“Your flight number is AA894. I booked you in first class, of course,” Marissa was saying as we took the elevator down to the lobby and stepped out onto the bustling New York City street. 

I took a moment to blink in the bright sunlight like a mole who had remained too long underground. I hadn’t left the office prior to nine in the evening since I started working here. My vitamin D was seriously deficient. So even though it was a Saturday, my anxiety was nearly incapacitating as I stepped out into the light of midday. I turned and peered back at the massive skyscraper feeling like I was forgetting something. Or several things, actually. Maybe everything. But Marissa was already raising a hand and a sleek black car pulled up to the curb. 

“Do you need me to arrange transportation once you land or—”

“Thank you, Marissa,” I interrupted as the driver approached to take my luggage and load it into the back. “But you’ve done more than enough. I truly appreciate all of your hard work on this and every other project this year. Go home and enjoy your holiday. I’ll call you after Christmas to discuss your raise.”

Marissa beamed at me and I smiled back. Then, as if she couldn’t contain herself any longer, she rushed forward and threw her arms around me in a warm embrace. I chuckled and hugged her back.

“Have an amazing Christmas, Gemma,” she told me. “I’ll be waiting for your return with bells on.”

“As long as they’re vintage,” I said with a wink and she laughed as I separated myself and gave a little wave before settling into the back seat of the car.

I didn’t look up from my phone the whole way there. Nor did I so much as glance up through TSA precheck, a vital stop for a caffeinated pick me up, or the entire boarding process. Only when the pilot himself requested it did I finally close my email and take a breath, relaxing back into my plush first class seat, glass of white wine in hand.

Alright, Gemma. Relax. You can still do that, right?

I could not.

I’d never liked flying and my muscles were sore from the tension by the time we landed, having miraculously survived some unexpected turbulence over Ohio. In fact, I hardly relaxed at all until the captain welcomed us all to Louisville, Kentucky and I leapt out of my seat to be the first one off the plane. 

The moment I set foot on the jet bridge my phone buzzed a dozen times. I pulled it from my pocket, scrolling through the notifications, dismissing them all in favor of Marissa’s call.

“Catastrophe already?” I asked into the receiver as I strode into the terminal.

“Julio is demanding to reshoot the Melanie spread,” Marissa was already saying before I even finished talking. “He’s saying it ‘has no soul’ whatever that means. He claims he’ll quit if we publish those pictures with his name attached.”

“We don’t have time to reshoot those pictures. Julio knows that. He approved those proofs before anyone else. Remind him of that. Then offer to cut anything neck up and feature it ad-style. Julio hates someone tampering with his work more than he hates lifeless models. He’ll acquiesce. Then duo-tone it to match the color palette and tell him it’s art pop. He’ll think it’s cutting edge and won’t demand a reshoot.”

“Genius as always, Gemma. I’ll tell that photographing madman to leave you alone now. Enjoy your vacation!”

I looked down to end the call and glanced back up just in time to see my father standing right on the other side of the red line. I smiled, dropping my phone into my purse as I stepped toward him. He removed his hands from the pocket of his jeans at the last second to embrace me and, all at once, I was home. 

“It’s good to see you, sweetie,” my father said and I swore I could feel his smile against my hair.

“You too, dad,” I replied. “Where’s mom?”

At that exact moment, I heard a high-pitched screaming that sounded exactly like my mother. I started to turn, confused, but my father was muttering something.

“Don’t be mad,” he started slowly and my gaze instantly snapped to his and narrowed.

“What?” I asked warily.

“Your mother made a new friend. In New York, actually. The last time she went to visit you.”

“You mean when she walked into my new apartment and took one look around before declaring the feng shui to be entirely off and rearranging every last bit of my furniture.”

My father chuckled, shaking his head as he slid his hands back into his pockets, taking up his preferred stance.

“Yeah, then. Well, they met at that conference of hers and hit it off. She flew out to visit us in Chicago a few times and one of those times she mentioned she didn’t have anywhere to go for the holidays since her husband passed. And well, you know how your mom is.”

“She invited her,” I grumbled, already sensing where this was going.

“She wanted to be helpful and you know she hates the idea of anyone being alone on Christmas. Plus she thought it might help Aunt Bonnie. You know, she hasn’t been the same around the holidays ever since Richard passed and your mother thought they might have that in common.”

My smile faltered at the mention of my deceased uncle. Uncle Richard and Aunt Bonnie had been the ones who had begun our annual holiday traditions. The man was so obsessed with the magic of Christmas that I had truly believed, when I was seven years old, he was the real Santa Claus. Now, I simply understood that he might not have been Santa Claus but he was what the Christmas spirit was all about. It would be strange not having him around this year and I’d known it would be hard on Bonnie and their children, my cousins Zane and Zelda too. But I wasn’t certain that bringing a stranger into the house who had also lost the love of her life was the answer. I didn’t say that though. The woman was already here. There was no use in pointing out the folly of my mother’s plan now.

So all I said was, “That’s nice.”

“I know you prefer it to be just family for Christmas.”

“It’s not that. It’s just I—” I sighed. How could I explain this? “I already don’t see you all as often as I’d like and Christmas has always been… it’s like… we have our traditions and— I don’t know. It’s ours, you know?”

My father was watching me, lips drooping lower and lower into a more pronounced frown the more I spoke. I deflated at that expression.

“There’s more?” I asked, shoulders slumping.

“She, um, didn’t come alone,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. My dad was the height of non-confrontational and, because of that, absolutely hated being the bearer of bad news.

“What? But I thought mom invited her so she wouldn’t be alone. Her bringing someone along implies she wouldn’t have been alone anyway.”

“Her son was deployed. He wasn’t supposed to be home for the holidays but I guess he got some leave so…”

I stopped in my tracks, staring up at my father.

“So mom invited a strange man none of you have ever met to Aunt Bonnie’s for Christmas?” I asked, stunned.

“Bonnie loves strange men, you know that,” my father joked.

“Dad–”

“I know, Gem. But Carol is nice enough and, well, he is a soldier you know. He serves this country.”

“So did Gary Ridgway.”

My dad snorted.

“I don’t think the man’s a serial killer, Gem,” he said.

I cocked a brow.

“And how can you be sure about that?” I asked. “I mean what kind of creep spends Christmas with some random family he just…”

I trailed off at the horrified look on my father’s face. A sense of dread buried itself deep in my gut as I turned, slowly, to find the hottest man I had ever laid eyes on standing right behind me.

No, no, no. Dear God, do not let this overtly masculine, extremely sexy, rugged Josh-Duhamel-looking male model be Carol the friend’s son.

“Gemma!” my mother’s voice broke through my mortification only because it was a shriek louder than the baggage claim announcements. And then she was there, throwing her arms around me while I continued to stare at the extremely attractive man behind us who, I’d just noticed, was wearing fatigues.

Fuck.

“Carol, this is my youngest daughter, Gemma. You’ve met my husband Bill. Gemma, this is Carol, my new best friend,” my mother said, grinning at Carol like two long lost primary school pals. Carol giggled along. “And this is her son, Burke.”

Josh Duhamel gave me a curt nod and I disintegrated.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Evans, Miss Evans,” he spoke. His voice was a deep, amber bourbon mixed with honey. It melted my very bones. I learned something about myself in that moment.

Turns out I like a guy in uniform. Too bad this one most certainly hates me now.

I returned his nod of greeting, offering what I hoped was an apologetic smile as well, and ran an appraising eye over his army fatigues. I’d seen these before, hadn’t I? Alarie had done a whole line in camouflage two years ago. I’d even been on the shoot. But none of those models had worn the pattern half as well as he did.

“We should get your bags,” my father piped in, loudly clearing his throat to grab our attention as he did. Then he pushed his way through the group toward luggage carousel number three. At least my dad was just as uncomfortable as I was.

Mom and Carol went off with him, chattering and giggling to themselves. I had no choice but to bring up the rear with Burke. I walked beside him quietly, cautiously, like one might approach a dangerous animal in the wild. I was practically worried that if I moved too quickly, the gorgeous hunk would sprint away as if the polarities of this earth and the way it tilted on its axis meant that me and a man of this caliber could never get too close or we would bounce off of each other and go spinning into eternity. Like two magnets when you try to push them together. They just aren’t meant to get that close.

“So, um, I—” I began after a moment, trying my hardest to word my apology in a way that wouldn’t make things any more awful between us. Not that that was possible.

“Don’t worry about it,” he grumbled.

“I owe you an apology,” I told him. “And I’m not the type of person who won’t admit when she’s wrong.”

“No. You’re just the type of person to drag someone you don’t even know behind their back.”

My lips popped open in surprise as he quickened his pace to stride forward ahead of me. I blinked after him, watching as he leaned down to pull a little floral suitcase off of the conveyer belt that must have been his mother’s. Did he just… not accept my apology? Could you even do that in polite society?

“We should get home,” my mother was calling out to us, already walking away arm in arm with Carol. “Bonnie will have dinner ready by now and she’ll only get grumpier the longer we aren’t eating it.”

I snapped out of it, peeling my eyes off of Burke to face my dad who was coming back from the baggage carousel, my luggage in hand.

“I’ll take your bags, kiddo,” my dad said, still smiling warmly at me as he passed.

I met Burke’s eye once more but he only gestured for me to walk ahead of him and filed in behind me as we left. He marched behind me, silent and solemn, the forced smile he had offered in greeting before completely vanished from his handsome face. I kept my eyes ahead, ignoring him as best as I could, making polite conversation with my father about what everyone had been up to since I’d last seen them while my mother and Carol chatted away ahead of us, still arm in arm, still grinning wildly. But I couldn’t help but cast a glance over my shoulder from time to time at the surly soldier. He never even looked back, just kept his eyes ahead, cold and distant. I wrinkled my brow as I turned back to see that we had reached my parents’ SUV.

Maybe I was an asshole, I thought as my father loaded my things into the trunk and I headed for the passenger’s seat which my mother insisted I take so that she could sit in the back and chat with Carol all the way to Bonnie’s. But he was an asshole longer. And that just isn’t acceptable.