Jeff stood and watched the gathering gray clouds outside his office window. Around the Pentagon Christmas preparations were in full swing, stores had lights strung, carolers had appeared on every street corner, there were Christmas trees everywhere. And then there were the receptions. Every Congressional office, federal agency, and lobbyist in DC was hosting a holiday reception. If Jeff so desired he could avoid paying for dinner for the next four weeks easily.

The snowfall predicted for later that evening would likely be only a dusting, but Jeff knew it would only add to the holiday frenzy. His mind wandered to the idea of a Christmas tree, snow outside, a fire in the hearth. Jeff hadn’t had a real Christmas since his mother left the family when he was still in elementary school. His old man had been a bastard and holidays were usually just an excuse for more drinking. Sometimes one of Jeff’s two aunts would remember he was alive and pick him up to have Christmas dinner at their homes, but there were also a few years when he’d sat home alone while his father was out on a bender.

In college he’d been invited to some roommates’ homes for Christmas. Those had been his f32 experiences with real holiday celebrations. In the military he’d been deployed or on duty nearly every Christmas for years. When he was finally assigned to the Pentagon and met the Powerplay members he’d always had a standing invitation to Christmas at the Egyptian Embassy where Kamal had been Ambassador before his marriage, or the White House once they all became entangled with the President in one way or another.

Jeff rarely spoke about his childhood, and didn’t spend a lot of time lamenting what he hadn’t been given, but in the midst of DC’s first impending snowfall of the season, with the entire city in a rush of Christmas preparations, only hours before he was supposed to pick up Lisa for dinner, he couldn’t stop the whispers. Whispers of what it would be like to have a real wife, a family, an actual Christmas. Not an institutional one, not one that was predicated on ceremony and diplomacy. A simple, genuine family Christmas. Presents under a tree, turkey on the table, children playing with new toys, a glass of spiced cider in front of the fire.

Lisa Scotch was the kind of woman who put images like that in a man’s head. Maybe it was the school teacher vibe, but she made him think of home-cooked meals, warm fires, people who loved you. Jefferson Thibedeux hadn’t had anyone love him since he was seven years old, and considering she up and left never looking back, maybe not even before then either.

He shivered, pulling himself out of the self-pitying thoughts. Shrug it off, soldier. You have it better than the majority of people in this world. He knew that was true because he’d seen most of the world over the last fifteen years. He knew a few hundred thousand dollars in the bank, excellent health, and a solid career were more than the poor suffering humans in the world’s many war zones would ever have.

He startled when his desk phone rang.

“Yeah, Trish,” he said, addressing his secretary on the other end.

“You have a call, but it was routed through the main desk and she won’t say what she wants.”

“Did you get a name?”

“Lisa Scotch,” she answered.

“Put her through,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “And you can put her through anytime no matter what.”

Jeff would have paid to see the look on Trish’s face when she heard him. He’d never had a relationship serious enough for girlfriends to call him at the office. As far as his staff knew he didn’t have a personal life. But if he was going to marry Lisa, which he fully intended to do, he needed to lay the groundwork, get them used to him having her around.

“Yes, sir,” Trish said dutifully. “Just one moment.”

He waited for a few seconds, and then heard Trish say, “Colonel Thibedeux is on the line now.”

Trish clicked off and Lisa’s voice came on. Jeff felt something inside him tighten and unbidden images of that home with her waiting popped back into his mind. He shook it off as she said, “Hello, Colonel? This is Lisa…Scotch. From Arlington Elementary?”

“Of course,” he answered. “I just saw you yesterday—and asked you to marry me, I might add, I’m not likely to have forgotten you in twenty-four hours. Let me guess, you’re calling to tell me you can’t have dinner tonight.”

There was a sound of breath from the other end, a whisper of a sigh.

“Colonel, I can’t—"

“Actually, you can.” He looked at the ceiling for inspiration. He’d been in some pretty tough negotiations over the years. Negotiations with superiors, negotiations with foreign military partners and with enemies on the losing end of war. He wasn’t a novice at finding ways to convince recalcitrant groups and individuals to do what he wanted them to. “Look, let’s take marriage off the table, and just go with dinner. That’s all this needs to be. Two people eating some food together.”

“What, like a date?” she squeaked.

“Exactly like one.” He grinned even though she couldn’t see him.

“I don’t date soldiers,” she said abruptly.

“Because of your ex?” he asked.

“How astute of you.”

He rotated his chair so he could look out at the snowfall again. “And if I said that I had a brunette ex who was evil so I no longer date brunettes?”

She sighed. “Touché, Colonel.”

"Jeff,” he corrected.

“This isn’t a good idea—”

“Lisa?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll pick you up at six.”

“Fine.”

He smiled as he replaced the receiver on the cradle. Yes, he was going to marry Lisa Scotch. Then he was going to get his promotion. He might not have a real Christmas, but he had real aspirations and he was going to ensure he achieved them. Every one.

* * *

Lisa looked at herself in the mirror, tugging on the hem of the black wool skirt. “Why do you even care?” she muttered. “He’s crazy, and you’re crazier for getting anywhere near him, much less in a car just the two of you.”

She twisted, inspecting the back of the outfit. The red sweater was form fitting, and the skirt was straight, falling midway down her thighs. Her tall black suede boots hugged her calves and had a wedge heel on them. The Colonel was tall, she thought, she could wear heels as high as she wanted if she were out with him.

“Stop it, you crazy woman!” she chided. “You are not going to date this man. And you especially aren’t going to marry him.”

She fluffed her hair. Like only a woman going on a real date would. “Arrgh!” she growled just as the front doorbell rang. She huffed out a frustrated breath, then stomped out of the bedroom, grabbing her purse from the foyer table as she approached the door. She flung it open, and stopped, the breath catching in her throat.

“Hi,” he said, giving her a warm smile.

She gaped for a moment before she answered. He wasn’t in uniform. She’d never seen him out of uniform. He was wearing a pair of dark wash jeans that hung from his narrow hips ending at a pair of black lace up boots, topped by a long-sleeved knit shirt that hugged the contours of his muscular chest to perfection. His hair looked somehow longer, slightly tousled, as if a woman had just run her fingers through it, and at that thought a pang of envy shot through Lisa’s chest. It was ridiculous, but if any fingers were going to run through that hair, it ought to be her fingers.

“I still think this is a bad idea,” she grumbled as she shoved past him, shutting the door behind her.

He watched her quietly, smile firmly in place.

“If my mother knew I was getting into a car with you she’d probably have me committed.”

He reached into his back pocket and extracted his wallet as she locked the door. When she turned to look at him he handed her a business card.

“This is the name and private number for General Walter Armstrong, my superior officer. Feel free to keep that. Take a picture of it and send it to your mom, your best friend, whomever. You are absolutely safe with me, Lisa. No matter what you decide about my proposed arrangement, I will never do anything you don’t agree to. If you truly don’t want to go to dinner with me, please say so now. I’ve pushed a bit because it seemed like you were considering it, but if I’ve misinterpreted, just tell me. I’ll go away. And I won’t come back.”

At the words, “I won’t come back,” she shivered. Something didn’t sit right with that. At the heart of it all, Colonel Thibedeux had been nothing but polite, gentlemanly, and well, in some ways it was flattering someone wanted to marry her again, even if it was only to get a promotion. After all, he could have asked a thousand other women.

“I’ll go,” she muttered.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“I’ll go to dinner. It’s fine.” She reached over to snatch the business card from his fingers. “But I’m keeping this.”

He smirked. “Please do,” he said before putting his hand at the small of her back and walking her to the car. Her skin could feel his imprint all the way to dinner.