Oh, God. He was going to end things now. She wasn’t ready. Maybe tomorrow she’d be ready. “No, that’s not necessary-”
“I know you thought this was just a fling. Hell,
Someone in the crowd “ahhed” at that.
Logan ignored it. “But there’s something about you, Sandy. Something that I just can’t get enough of. That was proven when I left here and thought of nothing but you.”
“You raced every weekend,” she murmured, trying not to think about their audience. “You were too busy to think of me.”
“Believe me, I had room to think of you no matter what I was doing. Just don’t tell my team. That sort of thing is frowned upon since it tends to get people killed.” He flashed a grin. “I would fly you out every weekend to ensure my safety, if you’d let me.”
Her heart felt instantly lightened, and now butterflies were bouncing off the walls of her stomach. The good kind of butterflies. “Oh my God.”
“Tell him you love him back!” someone yelled.
“Hurry, before he changes his mind!” someone else called out.
“How about hurry, my eggs are getting cold?” a third party griped.
Logan never took his eyes off Sandy. “I don’t want anyone’s eggs to get cold. Let’s speed this up.” He handed her the basket. “They’re peach muffins. Because apparently no one likes fruitcake.”
“What?”
He sighed and pulled out the muffins. Beneath, nestled in the bottom of the basket, was another Tiffany box, this one smaller than the first.
A ring box.
Her mouth fell open, and she slowly reached into the basket. Her fingers were shaking so badly that Logan took over and opened the box, revealing the diamond ring he’d picked out for her.
“There is no other woman for me,” he said. “You’re it, Sandy Jansen. You’re warm and sweet and kind and funny, and you make me feel like I’m more than just a good driver. You make me feel… everything.” He removed the ring from the box and slipped it on her finger. “I love you,” he told her. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything. I want you to marry me, even though you drive like a crazy person.”
There was a collective “ohmigod” around them, but Sandy paid them no mind. She stared at the ring, then up into his face, clearly stunned. “You do? Really?”
He was going to work on that, on making sure she never doubted or wondered how he felt. Ever. “I do.” He loved the dreamy look in her eyes, but she hadn’t said anything, and he was starting to feel a little bit like he was out in public without a stitch of clothing. He slid a look at their avid audience, then leaned in closer. “This is the part where maybe you could say you want me, too. I’ve kinda got my ass hanging out here. Say yes, and I’ll throw in the BMW. You know you love that thing as much as you love me.”
“Hey.” A little kid tapped Logan on the arm. “You look a lot like Santa.”
Sandy choked out a laugh and covered her mouth.
Logan looked down at the kid. “Santa already came this year. Did you get what you wanted?”
“Yeah,” the kid said, waving a handheld game. “Did you?”
“I don’t know.” Logan looked at Sandy. “Did I?”
“Yes,” she breathed, and threw herself at him. “You got everything you ever wanted. Forever.”
“Does this mean you love me, too?”
“It means I love you. With or without the BMW.” She waited a beat, grinning up at him mischievously. “But with is better.”
I’ll Be Home for Christmas by Hope Ramsay
Baby Jesus wailed loud enough to be heard in the next county. His floodlit manger rocked back and forth while a group of gaily painted plaster wisemen looked on. Staff Sergeant Matt Jasper took a few hesitant steps toward the creche and wondered if PTSD had finally found him. He peeked into the wobbling manger.
A pair of golden eyes stared back.
He let go of the breath he’d been holding. It was a cat, not a baby. Thank goodness. He knew how to handle a cat. A baby would have scared him silly.
“What’re you doing in there with Jesus?” he said as he scooped up the animal and cradled it against his chest. It sank its claws into the fabric of his combat uniform and ducked its head under his chin.
It started to purr, its body shaking with the effort.
He looked down at the animal. The markings on its face weren’t quite symmetrical-a little patch of brown fur by its white nose made its face look dirty. The cat stared back at him as if it could see things beyond Matt’s vision.
Then it let go of its claws and settled down into his big hands as if it believed it had found a permanent home.
Stupid cat. It should know better than to settle on him. He didn’t have a permanent home. He was as much a stray as the animal in his hands.
He didn’t need a cat right now.
He just needed to deliver Nick’s present-the last one he’d bought for his grandmother. And once Matt finished that errand, he could think about the future-preferably without any animals in it.
Annie Roberts sang the closing lyrics to “Watchman, Tell Us of the Night,” her solo scheduled for tomorrow night’s Christmas Eve service. Dale Pontius, the Christ Church choir director, sat in the back pew listening and nodding his head.
Pride rushed through her. She had a very good singing voice, and she loved this particular carol. She was looking forward to singing it for everyone at tomorrow night’s services. Singing on Christmas Eve was one of Annie’s greatest joys. She’d been singing in the Christ Church choir since she’d returned home from college, almost fifteen years before.
Just as the closing notes of the guitar accompaniment faded, a soldier in fatigues with a big pack on his back entered the sanctuary through the front doors. He strolled down the center aisle a few steps, the sound of his boot heels echoing. He stared up at the choir and Annie in particular.
He had forgotten to take off his dark beret, and a shadow of day-old beard colored his cheeks. He looked hard and worn around the edges.
“Who the dickens are you?” Dale said from his place in the back pew.
The soldier looked over one broad shoulder. “I’m Staff Sergeant Matt Jasper, sir,” he said in a deep voice. “I was wondering if anyone had lost a cat. And also I need some directions.”
It was only then that Annie noticed the ball of orange, white, and brown fur resting in Sergeant Jasper’s hands.
“Good heavens, get that mangy thing out of here. I’m allergic.” Dale stood up and gestured toward the door.
Millie Polk, standing behind Annie in the alto section whispered,
This elicited several chortles of laughter from the vicinity of the sopranos. Annie loved choir practice, but she had to admit that Dale was a real taskmaster this time of year. And, like Millie Polk, she had a long list of Christmas errands she needed to get done before tomorrow afternoon.
“You think a cat in this sanctuary is funny?” Dale said, turning toward the soprano section. “Did ya’ll have any idea how lacking your performance of the ‘Hallelujah Chorus’ was this evening? There is nothing funny about this situation.”
Dale turned toward the soldier. “I am very grateful for your service to the country, but this is a closed rehearsal. I would appreciate it if you would leave and take the cat with you.”
