Page 33 of Wishing for Christmas
She covered her face with her hands and tried to wrap her head around the complexities of her messy wish. She moved her hands to her temples and began to rub them in pure exhaustion.
Matthew gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Well, I’m going back to my hotel now. I’ve put out enough of your fires; now it’s time to take care of things on your own. Good luck.”
“Thanks, Matthew,” she replied, trying her best to sound appreciative while internally seething over his patronizing attitude.
Clara watched his back through narrowed eyes. He made his way through the lobby toward the door with that trademarkswagger, as if he owned the place. Her head pounded with anger, and her hands trembled with frustration.
“Oh, and Clara,” he added as he turned back to her. “How’s that boyfriend of yours?”
Her brow furrowed. “Brent? He’s fine, why?”
“Well, he’s been gone a long time now. I was wondering how you’re doing with all that. Seems like it may not be an ideal situation.”
She pressed her lips together. “It’s fine. He’s back now.”
Matthew raised his eyebrows, taking his time putting on his coat. “That’s great. It’s important people can be there for you, right? Glad I could help today.” He gave her a quick wink and walked out the door.
Clara fumed. How dare he cast judgment on Brent for not being around. He’d been off doing something far more important; he was serving their country. How could Matthew make it sound like such a selfish thing?
Rage filled the top of her head as she wondered how Matthew could make her feel so incompetent with just one look. It was no wonder the two of them had never worked out. He was always the one in the driver’s seat. Why had she given him so much control over their relationship? Over her happiness? She should have put Matthew in his place long ago. She couldn’t, for the life of her, remember why she’d been so enamored with him for so long. He was so arrogant, so condescending—so convinced that Clara needed him.
She shook her head in slow reflection, terrified by the idea that despite all those flaws, perhaps he was also right.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
BRENT
The annual squadron Christmas party was always held on a Saturday night in the middle of December. Brent was thrilled to be home for it this year.
He stood tall, ready to show the officer’s club to Clara, especially on a night like this. He knew the Christmas party would be the perfect way to show squadron life through a different lens. All she had experienced of the Air Force up to this point had been the sacrifices involved; the hardships of a long separation. Tonight, Brent was ready to introduce her to the other side. The fun side.
He turned to her with a beaming smile and placed a hand on her back as they walked up the stairs to the entrance of the club. She wore a red satin gown with a high jeweled collar. Her hair was pulled up in a loose twist, soft blonde curls framing her face.
Brent normally hated wearing his military mess dress, accented with the formalness of the bow tie. The pants were stiff, the jacket short, and the cummerbund ridiculous. But tonight, he felt good in it. Over his left breast sat a collection of his military accomplishments, including the most recent ribbon earned for his latest deployment.
As they entered, Brent looked up at the soaring cathedral ceiling. He’d never really noticed the architecture of the club before. Stately chandeliers descended from wooden beams; dozens of plaques hung in perfect formation with squadron logos and awards from years past; tables were sprinkled throughout the room, each one covered with a white tablecloth and an arrangement of roses. A Christmas tree towered in the corner, and a four-piece string band played an array of holiday favorites.
“Wow,” Clara said. “I had no idea the officer’s club would be so elegant.”
He nodded, agreeing completely. “Well, you can thank most of the spouses for that. They did all the hard work for this party.” He watched her, his chest swelling as she admired the surroundings. He offered her his arm.
Clara smiled as she took it. “An officeranda gentleman.”
Brent led her to the bar. It was true; he did seem to have an extra confidence about him tonight. Maybe it was the mess dress or the impressive state of the officer’s club. Really, he knew it was from having her there on his arm.
The bartender handed them each a glass of champagne. Brent gazed around and was struck with an appreciation to be there. Everything his eye landed on seemed to glow with perfection. The band started to play “There’s No Place Like Home for the Holidays.” He closed his eyes and pressed the champagne to his smiling lips. He couldn’t possibly agree with the sentiment more.
The squadron cleaned up nicely, he had to admit, and there was something special about the pomp of a formal military event. Brent could tell that Clara was impressed with it all, and that made him feel happier than he realized it would. He wanted her to like this part of his life. Once they were married, it would become her life too.
“Well, this must be Clara,” said that deep southern drawl Brent had grown so accustomed to over the past year.
He turned around. “Will! Merry Christmas.” He tapped his champagne glass against Will’s beer bottle in greeting and touched Clara on the elbow. “Clara, this is my buddy—and for the past year my roommate—Will.”
Clara shook Will’s hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, Will.”
“You as well. I’ve heard plenty about you already. Trust me.” He gave Brent a playful nudge. “And I’d like you to meet my wife.” Will waved over his wife, who had been talking to someone nearby.
Brent noticed Clara’s face form a tight frown as Will’s wife approached. Her black dress sparkled, and her lipstick was the brightest shade of red Brent had ever seen. She bounded over with an enthusiastic grin and introduced herself to Brent with a handshake and a drawl even more honeyed than her husband’s.
