Santa Cam (MyHeartChannel Romance)

by Maria Hoagland

  Not everything in Bluebonnet was wildflowers and nostalgic vintage-toned Polaroids, though. Not now, anyway. Over the last day or two, the mayor had been the subject of quite the scandal, and Talia had a unique twist on the story—perhaps even a scoop—but thinking about reporting it had her heart skidding in her chest.

  She dialed her roommate’s phone number. She needed another take on the situation—an untrained opinion. In Talia’s mind, it was her job as a reporter to expose the truth, but her heart knew in a very personal way the pain it would cause the mayor’s family and friends if she pursued this particular story.

  “Molinero’s Jewelry and Accessories.”

  “Autumn?” Talia recognized her friend’s voice immediately. “Do you have a second to be a sounding board?” She shouldn’t bother Autumn with this now, not after she’d returned home from yesterday’s Black Friday sales more exhausted than a snowblower in Antarctica. She was short-staffed, probably struggling to keep up today as it was.

  “As long as you don’t mind when I talk to customers while you do.”

  “Fair enough.” Talia completely understood. “I just spent the last hour recording a story at city hall about Mayor Bruner’s whistleblower—positive for her, but not so much for the mayor—but . . .” She paused as guilt crashed over her. How could she consider posting this story with the collateral damage sure to follow? “I can’t do, can I?” She bit down on her lip, but then spoke again. “I can’t do that to the family.”

  “Not after Asher. Is that what you’re thinking?”

  “Yes.” Memories of events she’d fought to bury came clawing back. Three years ago, the local news had shattered Talia’s personal life. With no heads-up, no warning, she’d discovered along with everyone else in the metroplex that her fiancé hadn’t been the man he claimed to be. Seeing it played out on TV had been more than painful; it had been excruciating. The only positive was that she hadn’t married the man yet. Distancing herself had been as easy as canceling the few wedding plans they’d made and then taking the first broadcast reporting job she could out of state—even though it that had meant moving to Seattle.

  Easy. She scoffed. And the three years she’d spent recovering.

  It wouldn’t be so easy for this mayor’s wife and children.

  “Tell me it’s okay not to post it,” Talia begged.

  “It’s okay not to post it.”

  Although Talia could hear the clicks of hangers and her comments as she directed customers, Autumn sounded sincere. She wasn’t just parroting what Talia had asked her to say.

  “Without the story, though, I have no content. And without the content, I’ll lose more advertisers. And without advertisers …”

  Talia’s throat went dry. She had safety nets, for sure. A roommate who would help, parents in town if nothing else . . . but she paled at the thought of losing what she’d been working so hard to achieve. Of losing her dream.

  “You know I could use the seasonal help,” Autumn said. “Just until you find your niche.”

  Talia had thought she’d already found it, but her channel was losing steam every day. “You know, gathering the news used to be my favorite part of reporting—the thrill of the hunt. This type of story was exactly what I went to journalism school for.” Her quests for truth had brought satisfaction and an adrenaline rush akin to an athlete winning a game. But that was before. Before she’d found herself bewildered in front of the firing squad of public opinion.

  She’d fled to the new job in Seattle then, only to be pushed to do the same to others. That was the news, though, wasn’t it? Getting the truth out there? Truth was more important than people’s feelings—or so her brain told her. If only she could convince her heart. The awful revelation about her fiancé, Asher, was in the past, and the wound had scarred over, yet every time she attempted a story like this, she opened herself to renewed nightmares and anxiety.

  Talia dismantled her tripod and shoved it into her canvas bag, and then looked around, double-checking to make sure she’d packed everything she’d brought. Decided, she settled her equipment into her trunk. She wasn’t going to post the story. She couldn’t do that to the mayor’s family. She couldn’t keep doing it to herself. If her work wasn’t bringing her joy—or at the very least, satisfaction—why was she even doing it?

  Why? Because she still had rent to pay. “If you’re serious about the job . . .” Talia struggled to swallow her fear and indecision. She’d worked so hard to find her audience after leaving the safety of network news, all for the autonomy of deciding the kind of story she wanted to run, and this wasn’t it.

  “Of course I am. I could really use you,” Autumn said. “You know I’m drowning here.”

  Talia breathed out, focusing on not wallowing in defeat. Autumn could use the extra help, and Talia, it seemed, could use the extra money. She’d take the job, but she wasn’t ready to give up on her channel. It was time, however, to make some serious changes.

  Unfortunately, she had no idea what those changes should be. If she left reporting the news in her rearview mirror, she needed to be headed toward something. She’d tried switching gears once, when she’d left her position at KNWS in Seattle and returned to her hometown.

  “I just can’t allow myself to fall back into the misery I felt in Seattle.” She’d told Autumn all about the incident four months ago that had changed the entire trajectory of her career. “Ambushing someone for a story that ended up being a lie had just been wrong.” And she would never forgive the network for pushing her to do it. After that, she’d resigned, guilt-ridden. Because of that story, travelers across the nation had been stranded far from home, afraid to fly. In the months since, the airports had filled back up and the news had moved on to other subjects.

  “Don’t beat yourself up so much. You know because of your work, Dihedral Aeronautics takes public safety more seriously. Because of stories like yours, big businesses know they’re being watched. Competent, fair journalism is critical for a well-functioning society.”

  There might be positives, but the experience had jaded Talia to being America’s watchdog, a feeling she’d promised herself she would never forget.

  “But we’re not talking about you returning to network news, are we?” Autumn asked.

  Talia couldn’t blame her friend for being confused with this conversation. She was too. That was why she’d called in the first place. “No. I don’t regret concentrating on my channel.”

  When Talia had made the decision to leave network news and Seattle, she’d been lucky enough that a major uptick in views on her MyHeartChannel had made the move possible. One of her clips had even gone viral. The success had given her the courage and visibility to return home and start reporting on Talia’s Truth Cam exclusively, and for a while, the channel had been successful enough that sponsors’ ads more than paid her rent. But her flash-in-the-pan fame had been over before she was willing to admit, and now, here she was, doing the same kind of reporting all over again to keep her channel alive—and this time she couldn’t even blame a pushy boss or a greedy network.

  For months she’d been on a downturn, not only mentally in job satisfaction but in her views and comments. Viewers weren’t loving what she was producing, and neither was she. She needed to resuscitate her channel before her career died, but if she knew how to do that, she would have done so by now.

  “It’ll get there.” Autumn’s voice suddenly got farther away as she offered advice to a customer about some earrings. Talia needed to let her friend go.

  “Okay, I’m back,” Autumn said. “Where were we?”

  “You were going to put me on the schedule for a few shifts. I’m not posting the story.” Talia felt at peace with her decision.

  “Good for you.” Autumn sounded proud of Talia, and while it killed her that she’d needed the extra reassurance, it had helped.

  The two friends said their goodbyes, and Talia pointed her car toward her apartment, not sure what she’d do there now that she
had no content to edit and post. When she stopped for the red light at the intersection where she should turn left, at the last minute, she continued on straight. Heading instead toward the comfort and familiarity of her childhood home was as automatic as putting whipped cream on her hot chocolate. She could do without it, but almost without fail, seeing her parents made her day just a little bit better.

  With her decision for the quick detour, Talia flicked on the radio and tuned in to the soft rock station that played Christmas music 24/7 since Thanksgiving. All it took was a couple of notes of “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree,” and it was as if the music had grabbed both her hands, dragged her out of her chair, and had her swinging around a dance floor. A beat like this lifted her sagging spirits in seconds.

  In the other lane, a flashy pickup slowly pulled forward in traffic, the driver catching her attention. He was gorgeous with his thick, dark hair, tanned skin—in late November?!—and strong stubbled jaw, but she loved that he was in his own little world, car dancing in his lane, shoulders relaxed, obviously responding to his own music.

  In competition, she bopped along to her radio more animatedly, the beat coinciding with that of the driver to her left. Could they be listening to the same song?

  Her movement must have caught his eye, and he started moving his shoulders, pulling his steering wheel back and forth as if swing dancing with a partner. Though he kept his head held perfectly forward, presumably keeping an eye on the traffic light, she caught his quick glance. He seemed to fight back a smile.

  Amused, she let the music flow through her, and when the chorus came, she belted out the words, only slightly caring if she looked ridiculous—it wasn’t like she was going to see this dreamy guy again. He joined in, his jaw moving in time. She dropped her window and he responded in kind, but the music waves didn’t mesh. Her Christmas tune clashed with the latest Brooke Holt country song, and they both laughed, even while Talia flipped on her turn signal and took a right, away from him, leaving him with a big wave and a smile she hadn’t felt minutes before.

  A car dance and an encounter with a gorgeous stranger wouldn’t solve her worries, but it sure had given her a boost.

  3

  A few minutes later, Talia pulled up in front of her parents’ house to find her father in the front yard, raking leaves from under the hedges that lined the porch.

  She stopped the car and climbed out. “What, no mountain biking today?” she called across the hood of her car.

  He looked up from his task and leaned against the rake handle with an indulgent smile that made her feel like a kid again. Although in his early sixties, her father was as fit and active as she’d always remembered. If he hadn’t been in the middle of yard work, he would have been doing something else as physically taxing. That was the way he was.

  Talia bounded across the crunchy, hibernating grass to accept one of her dad’s bear hugs. “Hey, Daddy!”

  He smelled of fresh air and fallen leaves. She breathed in, allowing the peace of home to soothe her before she stepped back. Only then did she notice the beautifully messy stack of red and green plastic tubs and miscellaneous garbage-sack-encased lawn art.

  “Christmas lights?” The serendipity of catching their annual decoration day, despite the fact that she hadn’t even thought about it this year, made her as giddy as a thirteen-year-old with her first crush. “You weren’t going to do this without me, were you?”

  Her father stared at her for a moment. “How do you do that?” Wayne joked, his pretended innocence making her laugh. “You must hear the sleigh bells or something.” He kicked a plastic bin good-naturedly, and muffled jingles answered. “Of course,” he continued. “I wouldn’t have done it without you. I was going to call, but I knew you’d show up. I’d swear you can smell Christmas when your mother and I dig out the decorations, even if you’re halfway across town.” He placed a warm hand on her back. “You’ve always been my jingle belle.” The twinkle in his eyes showed amusement.

  “How could I be otherwise?” Talia shrugged her shoulders. “I grew up thinking the lights were just for me, that you were decorating for my birthday every year.” Talia looked at her watch, though she already knew the date, and threw him an accusing glare. “You’re a day early.”

  Talia’s father chuckled and leaned in conspiratorially. “Between you, me, and Rudolph here—” He patted the wicker statue with the light-up nose standing sentry over the decorations. “Your mother gets crazy if the lights go up late, and since tomorrow is Sunday and we have church responsibilities, I figured a day early is better than a day late. Learned that the year you were born. From the first year of our marriage, your mother was adamant that Christmas decorations go up the first weekend in December, no excuses. Even through illness, travel, or calamity, it was a given. The year you were joining our family, your mom woke up on December first, insisting I get everything done even though you weren’t due for another week and a half.”

  Maybe Rudolph wasn’t blabbing, but Talia had heard all this before—once a year, in fact. Even after this many years, she didn’t mind hearing the story one more time. “So you put up the decorations, and I was born the next day,” Talia said, urging the story forward.

  “Somehow your mother just knew.”

  “She just knew.” Was their family folklore simply a funny family anecdote, or was there truth to a mother’s intuition? At the mention of Patricia, Talia looked around.

  “She’s inside.” Of course her father knew Talia was looking for her. “Baking.”

  His tone indicated Talia should know what her mom was baking, but her first thought was that it was too early to start the Christmas baking. Her birthday cake? Disappointment dropped over her. If the family had forgotten about the day, she might have been able to convince herself the milestone wasn’t coming up.

  “We’re hoping to celebrate with Ed and Connor over Sunday dinner since they have something Monday night.”

  Talia blew out a long breath. Another birthday, another reminder that she’d probably peaked in her mid-twenties. Everything else was downhill, and thirty was an unsightly boulder in her road. Her once-thriving MyHeartChannel was falling faster than sleet on an icy overpass, and she was pretty sure it was going to end in a horrible, bone-crunching crash. She had no boyfriend, shared a roommate’s apartment, had to take a minimum-wage seasonal job because her own career was dying, and hung out with her family to celebrate her birthday. How pathetic was that—even if they were some of her favorite people in the world? The worst was that she was leaving her twenties behind with very little of lasting value to show for it. When had she gone from being the kid so excited to be older that she counted her age by halves to this person who wanted to roll back the clock?

  Her father leaned the rake against the house. “What’s on your mind?” He bent to scoop the leaf pile into the large trash can.

  “Christmas, I guess.” With two hands, Talia captured a fragrant pile, though most of the tiny live oak leaves flitted through and spiraled back to the ground as she attempted to transfer them to the trash can. Keeping her hands busy might help keep her mind occupied as well. When she was growing up, she and her father had always had their best conversations when they were working, and though she was far from being a teenager, falling into old work routines was comforting.

  “Christmas is bothering you?” To his credit, Wayne barely reacted and waited for her to continue. “That doesn’t sound like my little girl.”

  He lay the trash can on its side, and the two pushed the leaves in rather than bending, lifting, and dropping over and over again.

  When she didn’t say anything, he looked at her, the two of them on their knees across the leaf pile from each other. The way he looked into her eyes, he might have been reading her thoughts.

  After a moment, he stood and pulled the trash can upright. He kicked at the little that was left of the leaf pile, dispersing it in the grass so it was no longer noticeable. “Forget that. Let’s do the porch lights
first.” He headed to a tub, somehow knowing that this bin marked in Sharpie with the generic abbreviation “CD” for Christmas decorations held the tangled strands of white lights. He handed her a bundle of lighted evergreen garland.

  Her father may not be pushing her to speak, but he would listen if she wanted to confide in him. “You’re right. Not Christmas.” To someone his age, it would sound petty to complain about turning thirty. Didn’t most people enjoy their thirties more than their twenties? She had no right to be depressed by that. “It’s my channel. It’s tanking.”

  Talia watched the worry lines on her father’s forehead smooth. This, apparently, was a concern he felt he could help with. “Forget about numbers and money for a minute and answer one question: Does your work make you happy, sugar?”

  The nickname, like a hug, was short for sugar cookie. Her father had a plethora of Christmas nicknames for her growing up, but some form of sugar cookie or jingle bell usually won out. “Not when it isn’t going well.” Talia wound her lighted garland around the column to the left of the front door, starting at the bottom so she could make sure there was just the right amount of cord.

  “I mean more than that.” Wayne worked on his own strand to the right of the entrance and mirrored her motions. Their routine hardly ever varied. “I mean all the time. If your MyHeartChannel doesn’t make you happy, people will pick up on that. Your channel has been great. It’s professional and informative, but . . .”

  He was obviously searching for a tactful way of saying something that might sting, and Talia braced herself.

  “We have different phases of life, different passions at different times. Once in a while, it’s good to reevaluate.” He secured his strand of garland to the base of the post so it wouldn’t unravel. “Your heart was in news for the first few years after you graduated. What about now?”