Meet Me Under the Mistletoe

by M. Robinson

  “If we agreed we were a match,” I edited. And yeah, I heard it. My ears burned as I added. “Professionally, I mean.”

  He stepped closer, his brown-green eyes much more intense than I remembered. “What would I have to do to get you to agree to choose me?”

  My breath caught. Because Josh. Josh Grant was standing so close to me.

  Nothing, I answered him inside my head. Absolutely nothing. I chose you a long time ago.

  Out loud, I croaked. “Um, exactly why do you want to become a senator anyway?”

  Josh stepped back, his expression going neutral. “That was always the plan. House of Representatives. Then Senate.”

  Hmm… I didn’t love how automatic and rehearsed his answer sounded. Also…. “My sister said you only ran because Sawyer was no longer a viable candidate due to their whole….”

  I searched for a polite way to describe his brother’s political career disruption story and could only come up with “…saga.”

  Josh’s neutral expression didn’t shift. Not one inch. “Sawyer wasn’t able to complete the mission, so I took over for him. I’m fortunate that my father’s constituents accepted me as a worthy candidate.”

  I scrunched my brow. “So you’re saying that you were happy to give up your law career and take your brother’s place on the campaign trail?”

  Josh’s neutral expression remained, but his eyes became a little colder. “I’m honored to serve—whether it be my country, my clients, or my state.”

  Wow, this guy had all the correct answers. I could tell what voters saw in him, and technically, I had everything I needed to write a speech as upright and capable as him.

  But I couldn’t stop digging.

  “You admired this cabin earlier,” I said, watching him closely. “Because it was quiet, with good sightlines. Are those things important to you after your time serving as a Navy SEAL?”

  He stilled. “If you want more talking points for the speech, I’ve got a few in my bag. I can go get them out of the car.”

  “A good speech—the kind of speech that changes hearts and minds isn’t just about the talking points,” I answered, trying to keep my tone as polite as his. “It’s about the candidate.”

  Josh gritted his jaw. “You’ve got the hero stuff. That always polls well. And I’m a self-starter—you can say something about that. Also, my record speaks for itself. I’ve stood up against wasteful spending….”

  I waited, all but twiddling my thumbs until he was done.

  “Is that enough?” he asked when he finally finished.

  “Oh, I was just being courteous,” I admitted. “That’s not even a beginning. If you’re looking for someone to turn you into a walking human interest story, I’ve got a friend from journalism school who freelances for Parade magazine….”

  No more southern gentleman. He glared down at me. “What more could you want? I’ve told you everything there is to know about me.”

  “You recited your resume as if I was a job recruiter,” I shot back, pissed off at him for even attempting to peddle that lie. “Tell me who you really are. What do you want? What would you be doing if you didn’t have your whole life planned out? What makes you, Josh Grant, a human being?”

  Josh squinted at me. “Are you saying I’m not a human being?”

  “I’m saying you’ve been saying a lot of words, and I still don’t know anything real about you,” I answered. “Like, who do you love?”

  “My fam—”

  I cut him off with a roll of my eyes. “Other than your family, have you ever chosen to love? Gotten your heart broken even?”

  “I….” He stopped, frowned, then admitted, “Once.”

  “Okay, tell me about that.”

  He crossed his heavily muscled arms over his broad chest. “That’s private. None of your business.”

  “So you’re private,” I surmised triumphantly. “Very private. You don’t even talk about the people you choose to love. Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.”

  The familiar rush of a speech coming together coursed through me. “How about your mom? She had a drinking problem that led to her death when you were a teenager. That had to affect you, right? Color how you approached helping people? Do you drink? How did losing your mother that young make you feel growing up? Responsible? Guilty? So guilty and responsible, you’d do whatever your remaining parent asked you to do? Even live a life you didn’t plan out for yourself—maybe one you don’t even want?”

  Josh abruptly took two steps back from me. As if I was a fire that had sprung up in the middle of the cabin.

  Too much. My aunt—my father’s sister, who’d had primary custody of me growing up was always warning me that I was too much whenever I questioned the guests at her many parties about their policies and values without letting up.

  And I’d been warned quite a few times to “not rush right in” to the hard stuff in journalism school. That’s why I liked speech-writing. Most of my clients appreciated me getting right down to their core and turning their real backstories into speeches that won elections.

  But Josh regarded me with a cold, angry look before announcing, “You were right about us needing to do an interview first. We’re not a match.”

  Not a match…I backed down, something in my chest cracking at his words, even if he wasn’t referring to the fantasy relationship we never shared.

  “Josh…” I began to say.

  But he turned, looking all around as if searching for a lifeline out of our conversation. “Wood. You need wood. I’ll chop some for you before leaving. Stay here.”

  Before I could protest, he grabbed the ax, sitting by the near-empty bin, and slammed out the back door.

  As if a blizzard was a way better alternative to one more minute of conversation with me.

  * * *

  “Stay here,” he’d told me. So stay was what I did.

  A few moments after the door slammed behind him, the heavy, metallic thunk of the ax striking wood sounded outside the cabin. Once, twice, then again and again. Thwunk!…Thwunk!…Thwunk!

  I pulled the journal I used during my Eva Rustanov embed out of my suitcase and walked over to the desk to sit down. Maybe I could get my notes typed up while I waited Josh out.

  But nope, I couldn’t concentrate….for several reasons. Thwunk!… Thwunk!… Thwunk!

  A half-hour later, I hadn’t typed a single word. And a new realization hit me when I stood up to find the snow whirling down even harder than before outside the road-facing window. This wasn’t just a passing snowstorm. It was an incoming blizzard.

  Thwunk!…Thwunk!…Thwunk!

  I turned my head toward the back door. How was Josh still out there chopping wood?

  He’d said we weren’t a match. Shouldn’t he be getting back to his real life? With Shelby?

  Before I could stop it, that betrayed feeling sliced across my chest again.

  Okay, that was it. I walked out the back door, determined to send Josh on his way. I needed him out of my life, out of my mind, out of my heart.

  But, oh my goodness! The snow almost entirely obscured the view of the river. But there Josh stood, swinging the ax, again and again, to take off chunks of the fallen tree closest to the cabin.

  Was Josh a machine? That would explain a lot, actually (Sorry, Mom!).

  Pulling my coat tighter around me, I dipped my head against the snowy cold and walked over to him.

  I stood there, waiting for him to acknowledge me. He’d been out here so long that a layer of snow covered his wingtips. But the Congressman version of Paul Bunyan kept on swinging without looking up.

  I glanced at the pile of wood he’d accumulated beside his feet. It stood nearly as tall as his waist. “That’s way more wood than I need for tonight—maybe for the whole twelve days I’m here.”

  No answer. Thwunk! Thwunk!

  “I can start bringing it inside. Do you mind stopping so that I can pick a few logs up without, you know, getting an arm chopped off?” />
  More thwunks and zero words.

  “Can you hear me?” I shouted over the howling wind. “I said—”

  “I heard you.” Josh’s face was stony and grim as he kept on chopping. “I’ll bring the wood inside when I’m done. Then I’ll get on the road.”

  Okay, what was going on here?

  The old worry nipped at me. I’d always suspected Josh was more affected by what happened during his time serving than he let on to the media. That was why I’d fantasized about bringing him here—a place where he could stop for a while and figure things out.

  But that had been a silly dream. One I’d held onto way too long.

  I resolutely pushed the old worry away and informed him, “The snow’s getting worse, and the sun’s going down. If you’re getting back on the road, you need to go now.”

  Those words finally made him stop. He buried the ax in the tree trunk and glanced around as if he was just now realizing there was a huge snowstorm raging around him.

  He looked at the angry snow. Then back at me. And still, it took him a while to answer, “Alright, I’ll go.”

  We gathered up as much wood as we could in our arms. My bundle of logs wasn’t nearly as big as his, but it would be more than enough to get me through the worst of the storm.

  I was incredibly grateful as we walked back to the house. Also, resentful because he belonged to Shelby of all people. It was complicated.

  “Well, thank you for taking the time to talk with me, Ms. Winters.”

  I bristled at his formality—not just because I still wasn’t used to being addressed by the fake name I’d taken when I was a teen to cover up my father’s real last name.

  I’d seen clips of Josh glad-handing voters and making sure to call them by their first names like they were old friends. His formality with me meant something. I sensed him trying to push me away.

  Which was fine, I supposed. I wanted him gone. The words once again rose like a mantra inside my chest. Out of my life. Out of my mind. Out of my heart.

  “Goodbye, Mr. Grant,” I answered, matching his overly polite tones.

  A weird ache radiated in my chest when he turned to open the cabin door. I refused to acknowledge it, though. The only thing I should have been feeling at that moment was relief that I got through that encounter with Josh Grant without revealing—

  A cold blast of air cut off my thoughts.

  The wind screamed past the cabin like a wraith seeking vengeance. And my stomach sank when I saw the scene outside the front door. The world had become a blanket of white. And though I didn’t see the vehicle he drove up in, I could only assume it was the car-shaped lump covered in snow.

  A top-of-the-line luxury vehicle, I guessed. And the closest hotel was at least twenty miles away. Even if we could dig his car out, I doubted it had the snow tires and four-wheel drive to make it far in this kind of weather.

  Josh simply flipped up the collar on his peacoat and set his insanely square jaw.

  “Best of luck in your future endeavors,” he said before dipping his head to walk out into the blizzard.

  Okay, apparently, I wasn’t as big of a coward as I thought I was. Just as he was about to clear the threshold, I grabbed his arm.

  He froze like a statue put on pause. Only his eyes moved, down to my hand, then up to his face.

  The Ice Block. He’d carried that nickname with him through his SEAL duty, law school, and political career. And I got it now.

  His face was suddenly so devoid of expression. I couldn’t tell if he was upset or just surprised that I touched him.

  Either way, it was now my turn to say… “Stay here.”

  The words came out as a choke. And I had to swallow down the huge lump of fear in my throat to repeat, “Stay. At least until the storm passes.”

  Chapter Five

  Call Your Girlfriend

  Josh did return to his car—but only to get all his stuff out of the trunk.

  His face was as hard as his nickname when he returned to the cabin. I could tell the decision between risking his life to get to a hotel and staying here with me had been a close thing.

  We’d both just have to make the best of the situation.

  At least he had one of those flint fire starter thingies on his keychain. After he got the stove going, I was able to make dinner.

  And while I plated it up, Josh figured out the one-chair problem, like the efficient soldier he was. He simply took a bunch of records out of one of the milk crates and flipped it over to make a stool.

  Even on a milk crate, he was taller than me seated. So splendid and noble, it hurt to look at him across the table as we ate our dinner.

  So I cast my eyes down and concentrated on the meal I made instead. Pork chops, mash potatoes, and roasted vegetables that were supposed to have lasted me at least a week.

  During my creepy stalker period, I’d read that Josh ate at least two cups of veggies with every meal. And I was happy to share, but eventually, I couldn’t take the awkward silence anymore.

  “I’m sorry for what I said earlier,” I offered to break the terrible silence. “I like to drill down to the essence of my clients, and sometimes I don’t realize I’m too pushy until it’s too late.”

  Josh visibly stiffened. “I’m not angry at you. This is my fault. I’ve had bad interviews before, and I know better than to let them get to me.”

  Don’t, I warned myself. Don’t…

  But the words came spilling out before I could even finish that censuring thought. “So that’s what you’d call a few questions about your private life? A bad interview?”

  Something in Josh’s jaw ticked before he answered, “I showed up unannounced, and now you’re providing me with shelter due to my poor planning.”

  He appeared to be reminding himself of these things out loud before concluding, “I should have expressed my reservations about being asked personal questions in a better way from the start.”

  “I’d rather you be upset than polite,” I insisted, old childhood feelings flaring inside me. “Don’t smile in my face if you hate me.”

  His gaze had stayed on his food throughout the majority of our exchange, but after I said that, he flicked his eyes up to me, and they had that weirdly intense look from earlier. “I don’t hate you.”

  Just four words. But each one fluttered in my stomach like faerie wings.

  Then Josh asked, “You going to eat that?”

  I glanced down at my plate. The vegetables were all gone. My father’s homeland was what some might call a healthy food desert. So, I’m the opposite of most people from my mother’s homeland. I always gratefully eat my vegetables first. But I pushed the meat and potatoes over to him.

  Something tingly and intimate rushed through me as I watched him eat from my plate.

  He has a girlfriend, I reminded myself.

  Then I reminded myself again by saying out loud, “I’m sorry there’s no reception out here. You probably want to call your girlfriend to let her know you’re safe.”

  He cut another piece off my pork chop. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  The whole world stopped.

  “You don’t have a girlfriend?” I repeated.

  “That’s one of the reasons I came up here. If you could help Eva Rustanov get elected with a Russian husband, I figured you could help me get elected to the Senate without a serious girlfriend or spouse.”

  So that picture hadn’t been what the magazine said it was. All sorts of thoughts flooded into my mind. Thoughts I didn’t know how to handle. Not with Josh…. girlfriendless Josh Grant sitting right across from me.

  “Do you want me to put on some music?” I asked him in a rush. “My mom has some records. I could put on some music.”

  And drown out all these thoughts I shouldn’t be having about you.

  “No music, please.” Josh looked away from me again. “I like it here just like it is. Quiet.”

  A new thought put all the other ones on mute. “You like it
here because it’s quiet—that’s the second time you’ve said that. Is quiet something you value?”

  Josh considered the question with his head down, then seemed to decide to answer, “Yes. Yes, it is, especially after coming back Stateside. Quiet’s hard to come by here. But that’s not something I’d want to say in a speech.”

  “I wouldn’t put anything you told me into a speech without your permission,” I assured him. “I want to know my clients, but what they share is up to them. I should have told you that…before.”

  Josh shifted uncomfortably on top of his milk crate like he wanted to leave this conversation behind and go chop some more wood.

  But instead of standing up, he asked, “Can I tell you something else I don’t want in any speeches? Something I never told anyone else?”

  I nodded with clamped lips. I wanted to know him so badly, but I didn’t want to scare him away with any other pushy questions.

  “I don’t…I don’t want to run for Senate. If it were up to me, I’d buy a cabin, just like this. Live out here in the woods. And I wouldn’t stop there. You asked what I’d do if my life weren’t already planned out. I’d build cabins like these. Places where guys who’d finished their last deployment could come and be at peace for a while. That’s what I’d do.”

  I couldn’t help but get caught up in his vision. I unclamped my lips to add, “Learning to be alone with your own thoughts might be hard for some of the soldiers. Maybe you could add a central gathering place too. A wellness center where they could come and do activities that help with mental health. Like yoga and meditation.”

  Josh gave me a grim look. But then, he said, “I do that. Yoga and meditation every morning. I was desperate, and I’d read an article about it helping vets who came back with…. issues. It does. But it’s not something I go around advertising.”

  “The center could be low pressure, like a church. Come if you want. Don’t if you don’t want. It could just be there for them either way,” I answered carefully. But then I got too excited again. “I have a few contacts who could help you with this. Investors who would see its appeal….”

  Josh held up both his hands, “Whoa, it’s just a dream. I’m not going to abandon my political career to make it come true.”