Page 41 of The Humbug Holiday
“It is. My fiancé happens to be a very talented contractor,” I boasted, flashing a wide smile.
He waggled his brows comically. “Mine isn’t so bad either.”
“Right? I shoveled the driveway like a pro this afternoon,” I bragged.
Joe narrowed his eyes. “Snowblowers don’t count.”
“Sure, they do. Economy of motion, my love.”
“Oh, brother.” He poured a teensy bit of eggnog into a glass and handed it to me to try.
I took a sip and shook my head. “A little more brandy. How do you want to tell them?”
Joe scrunched his nose thoughtfully as he added more booze to the punch bowl. “How about: Guess what, folks? We got engaged in Elmwood in the very spot where we first—”
“Nope.” I made a buzzer noise and tossed in an eye roll.
Joe chuckled. “The details are for us. They’ll be more interested in where and when the wedding will be anyway.”
True. And none of our guests tonight would be particularly surprised. Our relationship had never been a secret. Word had spread last year from the moment I’d talked Joe into jumping on the helicopter to New York City, still wearing his rumpled Santa suit. A funny photo of us walking hand in hand through the Four Seasons hotel circulated on social media and eventually went viral. Joe pretended to be miffed that they didn’t get his good side, but the spark of happiness in his eyes gave him away.
Everyone in town was thrilled—especially Joe’s mom. And my aunts were over the moon and not entirely surprised. “Oh, honey, we knew he was the one the day you said you bought a Christmas tree.” Fair enough.
A whole year later, I think we’d agree our lives had changed irrevocably. For starters, I’d moved from LA to Fallbrook. Yes, I kept my condo in LA and my house in La Jolla so we’d have places to go when we visited my family, but Fallbrook felt like home.
Correction. Joe was home.
For a guy who’d lost his family in one fell swoop, home was a precious concept. It was more than a place to belong where I could be myself and feel utterly safe; it was a person. Joe was solid and strong. He was my confidant, my conscience…the man who reminded me that real life was worth setting my book aside and diving into.
I’d insisted on hiring him to renovate the house, but he wouldn’t let me pay him. I believe his exact words were, “That’s creepy, babe. I’m not taking your money…but I will accept payment in BJs.” I happily provided that service and then some. I convinced him to move in with me last June, soon after most of the big renovations were complete.
The old Victorian house now had a new roof, a refinished porch, a contemporary kitchen, modern lighting, and all refurbished bathrooms. And though we had plenty of rooms, Joe still owned his house on Spruce, which was ideal for hosting elderly out-of-town guests who didn’t like dealing with stairs.
My aunts had happily accepted our invitation to join us in Fallbrook for the holidays…as long as we promised to deck our halls properly.
No problem.
We hung a wreath on the front door, wrapped garland around every banister, strung lights outside, and yes…we had Christmas trees. For the record, we bought two this year. One for the living area and one for my office…because we decided there should always be one in my office.
“Where and when,” I repeated with a sappy smile. “Here and soon. What do you say?”
Joe grinned. “Here? As in this house?”
“Sure. The yard is gorgeous in springtime. Or we can wait till autumn when the leaves turn orange and yellow. Or next Christmas.”
Ding dong.
He motioned for me to take his hand and led the way into the holly-bedecked entrance, stopping abruptly under the mistletoe.
“I love you, Cam. In every season. Say the word and I’m there.”
“I love you, too. Merry Christmas, love.”
Joe smiled and kissed the gold band on my left hand, then fused his lips to mine.
With every passing day, I set aside my humbug holiday misgivings and replaced them with gratitude. I believed in the spirit of Christmas. I believed in the power of love and the magic of new beginnings.
I believed in us.
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