Mistletoe Magic

Christmas makes me uncomfortable, like a foreign land where I don't speak the language.

The scene in front of me is sheer chaos—an explosion of colors, and foods and emotions that are way out of my comfort zone.

But skipping the holiday party for my new job seemed like bad form.

Even though I'm not in the merrymaking way.

“Seth, want a drink?” The former SEAL they call Mako raises a bottle of vodka near the makeshift bar.

I lift my tumbler of soda in return. “All good, thanks.”

Another reason I've never been to a holiday party. I don't drink. A conversation that I'm sure will come up sometime. Not that I've hidden it, I just don't talk about it any more.

The front door swings open and bangs the wall, hitting a stopper. “Hey everybody!” the blonde fireball yells when she tumbles inside.

The woman is a flurry of black and red plaid, bookended by red combat boots and swinging pigtails. On her heels is her muscle-bound husband, Scotch, carrying some kind of casserole dish.

“Merry Christmas people!” Simona shouts as she hustles across the room with a big platter in her hands.

More food.

Although this time the scent of cinnamon and apples in Simona's wake has my stomach perking up. I recognize that smell. Apple pie—even if it's only from the menu at McDonald's. A rare treat when I was a kid.

From somewhere in the rear of Marshall's house I hear a squeal. Then, Danee, his wife flies into the room. She launches herself at Simona. As the women hug it out, Danee says, “You made them!”

“You didn't think I'd leave you hanging.”

“My god. I love those things. What are they called again?”

In Czech, Simona says, “Jablecny Zavin.”

Danee purses her mouth and tries out the words.

“Close enough,” Scotch declares as he sits the casserole on the table. “Hey Marshall, I invited the new receptionist from the clinic. She doesn't have any family, and I knew there'd be a C-130 payload of food.”

“Sure thing.” Marshall grins as he swipes his wife around the waist and drags her into his chest. He plants a kiss on her temple. “Where have you been?”

“I was helping Sierra fix the clasp on her dress.”

“Say what?” the guy in the corner asks. “What happened?”

Danee gives him a little eye-roll. “Something about her husband trying to drag her back into the house as you guys were leaving.”

He snickers. “What can I say, can you blame me with that dress?”

Danee giggles, “Not really. She does look amazing. You're a lucky man, Cole.”

“Thanks,” says the redhead as she strides into the kitchen. Hell, I see what the guy's talking about now. The Agile S&R pilot is decked to the nines tonight. She's usually got on jeans and Agile logo shirts, but tonight she's obviously gone all out. Cole tags her wrist as she sways past him. “Need me to help with that dress?”

“No!” She swats him and ducks away. “Time for dinner.”

He's grinning like he's won the lottery. “Did you say dessert?”

The women groan and Marshall chuckles.

Simona tugs off the foil over the casserole. “Anyway, about Roxi, Scotch thought you might like to meet her as well, she's looking for a second job.”

“Don't pay her enough?” Marshall asks Scotch with a scowl.

“That's Liam's deal. I don't set the salaries. But I heard he pays damned well. I personally think she's looking for another job because she doesn't want to be home in the evenings.”

Simona elbows him. “Gossip much, hot stuff?”

“What?” Scotch look affronted. “Did I say something wrong?”

Danee clicks her tongue as she stirs some other dish on the table. “Maybe she'd like to keep that last bit private.”

Scotch scrunches his nose. “Sorry. Uh, how about no one says that in front of her then?”

A woman breezes into the room, she stops and kisses Mako on the cheek. The light glints off her wedding band as she pushes her long blond hair back over her shoulder. She grabs a cookie off the table, “What are we talking about?”

“Nothing,” Marshall, Danee, Simona, and Scotch say at the same time.

“Figures, bunch of fuddy-duds.” Her eyes land on me and she makes a small wave. “Don't you want to join the party?”

I hold up my drink and tip my chin. I'm just fine where I am. Out of the fray.

Soon the conversation devolves into jokes about Marshall's sweater, the one Danee made him wear, so he says. It's ugly as fuck—a green thing with white reindeer and puffy snowballs on the front. The man is going to catch hell over that outfit for years.

Yeah, I don't get the whole holiday thing.

“You must be Ghost. Heard you're a new guy with Agile.”

I glance up to find a guy taking a seat on the other end of the sofa, a few cushions away from me. He narrows his eyes as he examines me. “Dude, what color are your eyes?”

“Silver. Some say light gray, but that's subjective. And yes, I'm Ghost. You are correct, I work for Agile. You new with the team?”

The guy tips up a coffee cup and hisses when the hot liquid hits his throat. “Not yet. I'm in talks with Marshall. I'm Darian Slade. They call me Crash. Merry Christmas, man.”

I tip my chin. “Same. You a Team Guy?”

He nods once, “Heard you are as well.”

“Yep. I just started with Agile a few weeks ago. Finished up with my enlistment about three months ago.”

He reaches across and fist bumps me. “How's it treating you?”

I shrug and take a drink from my cup. “Easy. I haven't been on an assignment yet, unless you count picking up a couple clients at the airport in Salt Lake. I've been getting familiar with Agile's processes.”

“I'm sure you're itching to get back in the action,” he says with a grin.

He's right. I thought it would be easier to relax, but I was sorely wrong. “I am, I'll be working on their hostage rescue team.”

He leans back and crosses his leg over his thigh. “Right on. Any single women work for Agile?”

“Nope, but the wives are around quite a lot.”

He scans the crowd checking out all the couples. “How about hot clients?”

“Not so far.”

He frowns as his eyes flash with disappointment. This guy's been on too many deployments, I recognize the symptoms.

There's uncertainty in his voice when he speaks again. “Not sure what to expect with private security. Beast tells me it's good.”

Huh. “You know Beast?”

“Fuck yeah, that big bastard saved my life about five years ago. Carried me out of a shit show, got me to medical care.”

I chuckle as I shake my head. “Right. I've known Beast for a long time, he's good for that.”

He waves his coffee toward the gathering crowd in the kitchen end of the house. “Where is he?”

“Coming. Late, I guess. Which is weird.”

“Dinner time!” Marshall bellows from the kitchen.

I turn my attention to the front door, wondering what might be up. “I've never known Beast to be late for a meal.”

Crash stands up and stretches. “Me either. You coming?”

“If I have to.”

His head whips my direction, “What, you're not into Christmas dinner?”

“Dinner, sure. Christmas, not so much.”

“Dude, I love it. All that good food and cheery shit. The more the better. I've been fantasizing the fuck out of it for the last ten years. I want a woman that makes the house smell like Christmas dinner every day.”

My face scrunches automatically. “I'm not going to pretend to get that.”

He chuckles and smacks my back with a hard thud. “Man, I grew up with a bunch of cranky old cowboys on a dude ranch. I slept in a bunk house and ate food that was cooked by some guy they called Cleat. Christmas was something to be avoided at all costs. Not any more. I want some sweet lovin'. The kind a good little southern woman would dish up.”

I know I'm staring, but what Crash wants has zero relevance to me. “I can relate to about one quarter of that. I was raised on a fishing boat. Not a lot of room for holiday cheer.”

“Man, you and me could be brothers,” he says merrily.

Right. Not.

Unless we were night and day.

Crash has got one of those happy personalities that's like a rubber ball. You can't break that shit. You can smash it and crush it and it snaps back into shape.

Me?

Never been called friendly. Never been the jokester. Never ever, fucking ever thought about wanting a southern wife who bakes Christmas cookies. The idea makes me a shudder. I wouldn't know how to deal with that.