Page 4 of The Humbug Holiday
Cameron winced. “The halls really don’t need to be decked, Aunt Mary.”
“Pshaw! Of course, they do. Only one month till Christmas, my dear. We have to put out the holly, nutcrackers, snow globes, and—"
“The holiday boxes are in the basement buried under—”
“No, they’re in the hallway, smarty pants,” she intercepted.
He frowned as he skirted the desk. “Please, don’t tell me you dragged those upstairs.”
“I didn’t lift a finger. Our new friend Joe here unearthed our treasures and was kind enough to bring everything upstairs.” She patted my arm before sailing through the open door.
Cameron shook his head and blew out an exasperated breath. “You have no idea how sad that makes me.”
“Sad?”
“Yeah…sad. It looks like I’ll be stuck living with some holiday fucking cheer for a month. Thanks, Joe.”
I snickered at his sardonic delivery and moved to the bay window to check the casing. “Bah humbug, eh?”
Cameron followed, folding his arms as he stared at the glittering white flakes falling outdoors. I didn’t think he was going to add anything more, so I bent to my task, using a mini flashlight to check for damage.
“I don’t love the holidays,” he said after a few moments.
“Me either,” I admitted.
That caught his attention. “Really? Why not?”
“It’s a season of commercial bullshit tied with a red bow.”
“Ha. My thoughts exactly,” he grumbled. “I love the cooler weather, but I could do without the Hallmark holiday happy peppy extras.”
I studied the warped paint on the window casing. “I take it your aunt doesn’t appreciate your viewpoint.”
“Obviously not. I thought for sure a temporary move to Vermont would give me a year off from trees, wreaths, and fucking carols, but no…my aunts packed it all up and shipped it to me. I put the bins in the basement, like any smart man who avoids the holidays like the plague would, but Aunt Mary is a crafty one. I should have known she’d con the handyman into bringing them upstairs.”
I raised a brow at his faux put-upon delivery. His aunts might drive him batty, but his adoring tone gave him away. I had a feeling he’d suffer through a house decked to the gills to make them happy. So, yeah…opinion amended. Cameron the mystery writer was probably a decent guy.
“Sorry about that. She made it difficult to refuse.”
“It’s her secret superpower.” He sighed good-naturedly. “She’s like Cindy Lou Who. If there’s a silver lining to be had, she’ll find it.”
“And you’re the Grinch,” I teased.
“Guilty.”
His rumble of laughter moved through me like warm molasses, eliciting another zing of déjà vu. I glanced over my shoulder, unthinking, and felt my face heat when he met my gaze. I cleared my throat and resumed studying the splintered wood.
“It could be worse,” I replied, running my thumb over the damp strip along the edge of the window. “My mom signs me up to play Santa at the yearly Bingo with Blitzen Bizarre. Every year, man. Every year.”
Cameron narrowed his eyes and gave me a head-to-toe once-over. “You? You’re too skinny to be Santa.”
I snorted as I straightened, finding him closer than expected. Damn, he was a big guy…maybe six foot three with thick arms and a massive chest. He had the aura of a city slicker, but the body of a seasoned lumberjack. And yeah, that kind of did something for me.
I mentally chided myself for perving over a client, stopping short when the scent of his cologne hit me like a bolt of lightning.
Yeah, I definitely knew this guy.
I furrowed my brow, clandestinely eyeing Cameron as I made a few notes on my clipboard. The deep timbre of his voice and the smell of earth and sunshine sparked a memory I couldn’t quite access. I knew it couldn’t have been through a book or a photo now. No. We’d met somewhere.