Page 33 of The Humbug Holiday

I moved into his space and nuzzled his neck. “Bonsai Hill? Is that where you went sledding without a shirt?”

“Geez, you have a good memory. Yeah, that’s the place. And in my defense, I was a stupid teenager.”

“And now look at you.” I cupped his ass and licked his earlobe. Joe countered by slobbering my cheek, laughing like a loon when I glared at him. “What was that for?”

“Just wanted to stop you before you made any smartass Santa comments.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Right.” He picked a random tool from his apron and pointed it toward my office. “I should get to work. Unless…you feel like doing something else?”

I nodded automatically and tugged my sweater over my head. “Definitely.”

“Hold up. I think you’re going to want more clothes, not less, for this one. Want to go sledding?”

“Sledding?” I repeated.

Joe gave a shy half smile. “Yeah. You’ve never been and the hill is kind of pretty. It sits above the town next to the cemetery. If you’re feeling extra creepy, we can hunt for Margaret O’Toole’s grave too. What d’ya say?”

Did I want to go sledding? No. Did I want to traipse around a cemetery on a cold December afternoon? Also no. I wanted to lock the door and race upstairs to do naughty things with him.

But that smile got me. It was teasing yet earnest. Something told me it was a big deal for him to open up and show me something on his own. I was touched.

I mean, it sounded cold and decidedly unsexy, but sweet too.

“Let’s go.”

7

Joe

Bonsai Hill wasn’t a steep hill by most standards, but it had a nice drop at the top and if you gathered enough speed, you’d have to navigate through a copse of evergreens at the bottom. Slower sledders had the option of stopping beforehand, but I couldn’t remember a time when I hadn’t barreled down the slope, screaming “Banzai!” at the top of my lungs.

“I thought that was where the hill got its name when I was a kid,” I explained as I tugged my gloves on. “I didn’t realize a bonsai, spelled with an s instead of a z, was an actual tree until someone gave my fourth-grade teacher one for Christmas. She said it wasn’t doing well at home and she thought our cheerful voices would bring it joy…or something corny like that.”

Cam chuckled, wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck. He might look like a bear, but his California was showing, big time. He’d thank me later for insisting on stopping by my house to grab him a warmer jacket and some gloves worth a damn. I’d had to stop for the sled anyway, and I had a feeling he was probably curious about where I lived. I spent so much time over the past couple of weeks at his house that he probably wondered if there was something wrong with my place…like bad heating or broken windows or something.

He hadn’t bothered keeping his surprise in check when I pulled in front of the one-story brick bungalow hidden from the street behind a giant elm. It was small for sure, but I was rather proud of it. I’d painstakingly brought it back from near ruin through a series of renovations over the past four years. I’d pointed out the refinished flooring, the cabinetry in my kitchen, and the mantel over the fireplace.

I’d dug into my drawers for extra warm weather gear, letting Cam poke around my things. Of course, he’d had a million questions. He’d wanted to know if I did all the work myself. Mostly, but no…Tony and Billy helped too. Who decorated? He liked the blue-and-beige palette. I’d rolled my eyes at the word “palette” and told him that was all me.

Then he’d wanted to know about the people in the photos my mom had framed and propped on the built-in shelves flanking the fireplace. He’d astutely observed that they seemed to all be of my friends from home. I liked them best, I’d explained with an absent shrug before ushering him out the door.

The questions hadn’t stopped until we started to climb the perimeter of Monaghan’s to reach the top of the hill. Less personal, though. If trees were the going theme, why did the founders name the town Fallbrook? When was the cemetery established, and who the fuck thought it was a good idea to plant pines at the bottom of the hill? You know…shit I couldn’t answer. So I kept quiet and set a grueling pace.

Cam was in great shape, but he was panting when we reached the top.

“Wow, this is…beautiful.” He set his hand over his eyes like an explorer and pulled out his phone to snap a few pictures. “I feel like I’ve stepped into a Currier and Ives painting of an idyllic New England village in winter. Amazing.”

I scanned the impressive panorama. Itwasbeautiful.

“For as much as I’d dreamed of getting the fuck out when I was a teenager, I have to admit, this was a great place to grow up.”

I didn’t realize I’d spoken aloud till Cam slipped his cell into his pocket and turned to me. “You’re lucky.”

“Maybe I am,” I admitted with a smile. “I felt like an utter failure when I returned five years ago, but that was me beating myself up. Everyone was happy to see me. My friends saved me a seat at the bar, invited me to barbecues, and volunteered to help me get my house in order. All the while, I’d been planning my next escape, wondering where to go. And you know…as of this very second, I’m happy where I am.”

Cam’s solemn nod indicated he understood the enormity of the sentiment. He threaded his gloved fingers through mine and squeezed. “The ultimate happiness is to live in the moment. Stop thinking about what’s next and just…enjoy what’s here.”