Free Christmas Dinner (Crimson Romance) by Robyn Neeley

she was still in it. What was wrong with her? This was Tate. He annoyed her on most days.
    The warm aromas of coffee and maple syrup swirled in the air, causing her stomach to growl. Breakfast must be ready. It was nice to be home and in the room she spent so much of her time in growing up. Although, glancing around, she noticed her mother was now using the space primarily for holiday decoration storage.
    To the left of her bed was a short alcove. It once held her desk and chair and was where she’d spent hours upon hours writing stories for her high school newspaper, dreaming of the day she would leave this town and become a Pulitzer Prize winning journalist.
    Now, hundreds of square papier mâché boxes covered her beloved desk and the floor around it. The boxes were meticulously labeled and organized by “lights,” “tinsel,” “ornaments,” “bows and ribbons” and “angel tree toppers.” She got up and brought a box over to the bed then jumped back underneath the warm blankets. Opening it, she delicately pushed aside the red glittery tissue paper, revealing a beautiful angel in a glistening white satin dress.
    She imagined a child gleefully placing the doll on the top of one of her father’s beautiful Christmas trees. She playfully touched the angel to Jingles’s wet nose before wrapping it back in the tissue paper and returning it to its box. With all the anxiety that this time of year gave her, she had to admit that this week always delivered magic and joy to many in this community, and her family played a big role in creating that magic.
    Leaving her warm bed, she pushed back the red velvet drapes and peered through the glass. She could see her father on the south side of the front lawn inspecting the trees. He was, no doubt, preparing them for transport later this morning.
    She grabbed a long pine green sweater that made her green eyes pop, along with black yoga pants and brown Ugg boots. She’d showered last night but could get changed and freshen up in an empty guest bathroom. She looked back at the dog, burried underneath a blanket, who was fast asleep on the bed. “Oh, no you don’t. We’re in this together.” She nudged him off the bed.
    “Oh, wait.” She reached down and picked up the papier mâché box from the bed, gently returning it to where she had gotten it. “Heaven forbid Mom discovers a tampered box. I then would have no choice but to blame you, wouldn’t I?”
    Jingles answered back with a highpitched bark.
    “Let’s go.” She wanted to give Tate some privacy to finish in the shower. Leaning against the door, her thoughts went back to last night. After she’d kissed him silly, they’d fallen asleep. He’d been true to his word and slept above the covers.
    Now hot water was drenching his naked body.
Really, Amanda. What’s wrong with you?
She couldn’t explain these new fantasies involving Tate that had hijacked her thoughts, but one thing was for sure: her weekend seemed to be looking up.
    She dressed and brushed her teeth hurriedly in another upstairs bathroom and headed back to her room. The door was still closed, but she could hear Tate’s voice. He must be talking on the phone. Perhaps wishing his family a Merry Christmas. She smiled. Maybe he wasn’t the jerk she thought he was after all.
    “Hey, Amanda.”
    The smile on her face turned upside down. She turned around.
    “Morning, Brad.” She forced the smile back.
    He stood next to her. Gone was his police uniform. In its place, jeans and a dark blue flannel shirt that covered his broad shoulders. He was just as handsome as ever, wearing his Yankees baseball cap.
    “Hi.”
    “Did you sleep well last night? I, um . . .” she stammered. “I mean, we did.” She pointed to the bedroom door. “We were out like a light.”
    “Listen, I know this is really awkward.”
    “What? You and me?” She waved her hand. “That’s history. Water under the bridge. I’m really happy for you.”
    “Thank you. That means