Page 35 of The Humbug Holiday

“A very good one…so they say,” I added with a teasing wink.

“Maybe. But I get lost in the accolades. I have a message from Martin on my cell. He must have texted while we were sledding. He’s excited about a new contract. He wants me in LA to do a holiday promotion. He went on and on about how fucking excited everyone is, and he’s already working with art directors…and something about billboards and social media adverts, and—fuck, that’s not real to me. It’s noise. Being here with you…this is real.”

I rested my chin on his shoulder, then kissed his neck. “It’s real to me too.”

Cam’s lips quirked at the corners. “I even like that damn tree.”

“It’s a good one. A little plain, but good,” I agreed.

“You’re right. It’s too plain. Let’s fix that.”

“Huh?”

He sat up quickly and set his mug on the mantel. Without a word, he left the room and returned a moment later with the lone box of holiday decorations we’d left sitting in the hallway for weeks. He popped open the lid and sank to his knees to inspect the contents.

“Angels, stars, and red bulbs. I should have guessed,” he chuckled. “C’mon, my fellow Scrooge. Help me decorate this baby.”

My brows rose to my hairline. “Seriously?Youwant to decorate?”

“Yeah, I do. It’s a pretty tree, but it might be nicer with a bauble or two.”

I hopped to my feet, pasting a grumpy look on my face as I paced to the tree. “I haven’t decorated a tree since I was twelve years old, Cam. That’s twenty-five years.”

“It’s been forty years for me,” he said, hanging a gossamer angel with a silver halo on a high branch.

“Whoa. That’s a long time.” I picked up a red bulb and gingerly attached the hook to the tree. Okay, that wasn’t so bad. I reached for another one just as Cam plucked a golden star from the box.

He twisted his pinkie around mine with his eyes lowered. “Hmm. Yeah. I had too many bad memories associated with something that was supposed to be happy. You know what that feels like.”

I did. And three weeks ago, I would have been content to let the details go. I wouldn’t have wanted to know his pain in case it exacerbated mine. I didn’t feel that way now.

“What kind of memories?” I prodded gently.

“My family died in a car crash on Christmas Eve.”

I froze. “Fuck. I’m so sorry.”

Cam inclined his head. “It was a long time ago. A lifetime, really. My aunts stepped in, but my dad’s family didn’t approve of them raising me, so there was a court battle that lasted well into my teenage years.Fuck. I was always…afraid. Afraid to be abandoned or taken somewhere I didn’t want to go. And one Christmas, I was forced to go to Michigan to spend the holiday with family I didn’t know…and maybe live there for good. I was miserable. They were sporty lake people, and I just wanted to be in my room with a book. In the end, they let me go home early and didn’t call again. I failed the family test. They didn’t want me. I was relieved, of course, but it felt crappy too.”

“Their loss.”

“Hmm. I’ve always struggled with the holidays, no matter how hard my aunts tried to make it nice for me. You could argue that they went overboard, but you could also suggest that I’ve gotten in the habit of holding on to the blues.”

“How so?”

“I’ve manufactured reasons to check out or minimize my participation in the holidays for years. Solo ski trips, writing retreats in the tropics. And this year, I bought a run-down house in Vermont to research and write in peace.” He hung another ornament, turning to me with a self-deprecating smirk. “I thought that was what I wanted. Solitude, quiet. I thought I needed it, but now…”

Me. Say you need me. Say you want me.

I stared daggers at the fine pine needles, taking extra care to shimmy a beribboned ornament into place as I chided myself to pull it together. It wasn’t easy. My skin tingled at his nearness. It had to be a matter of anticipated contact ’cause I wasn’t the type to get butterflies over a lover’s touch. And I certainly wasn’t the type to hope he’d say corny shit about me changing his perspective. Or about wanting me as much as I wanted him. And not just in a sexual way.

He had to feel it too. Something was happening between us. Something new and unexpected. I didn’t talk about the past, but I’d rolled over like an eager Labrador hoping for belly rubs and spilled my life story. And every stupid detail I’d shared gave me perspective and made me feel…stronger, more aware of myself. I could let go of what I’d lost and be grateful for what I had. I hoped I gave him something like that.

So maybe that was why I held my breath.

I bumped his hip impatiently when precious seconds passed. “And now?”

Cam closed his eyes briefly and met my gaze. Everything I’d hoped for was there—and more.