Santa Cam (MyHeartChannel Romance)

by Maria Hoagland

  “I thought we were listening to the same song until we put our windows down.” She laughed at the memory. Their songs couldn’t have been further apart. She extended her hand. “Talia Thomas.”

  “Yes, that was me.” He leaned forward and planted his elbows on the table before he shook her hand. “Camden Sharpe. Or Cam.” He took in what felt like every square centimeter of her hair to chin slowly, until his eyes flared. “And you’re the one who left cookies at my door,” he said with sudden certainty. “Thank you.” He patted his obviously pillow-covered stomach. “They came in handy for this gig. I needed to gain a few.”

  Doubtful.

  “The shortbread cookies …” His long eyelashes fluttered in ecstasy. “Exactly like home. My dad must use the same recipe.”

  Camden Sharpe. Why did that name sound familiar? Was it strange that the fading green and yellow around his eye brought out the hazel in his irises?

  Focus. Cookies. He’d thanked her for the cookies. Camden must be the neighbor who lived across the street from her parents. They liked him, had mentioned him more than once over the past few months. Said he was the perfect neighbor. They must have mentioned his name, which was why it was familiar.

  They sipped from their cups, the conversation lagging. What was it about this man that left her uncomfortable? Over the past few years in her career, she’d gotten to where she could hold a conversation with anyone, and yet with Camden, she felt like she was starting at a disadvantage—as if she’d already said something wrong, though that was impossible. Their interaction so far had been lighthearted and fun, but a spot of . . . guilt, was it? . . . plagued her.

  Probably his looks and charm. Some women had a weakness for this kind of man; she had developed an aversion. Ever since her too-good-looking ex-fiancé, Asher, she couldn’t trust anyone who oozed charisma further than she could throw a cheesecake underwater.

  Talia needed to stop right there. She wasn’t here to date the man—even if she had been attracted to him that day in their cars. She had two jobs here tonight, and neither involved him. Playing the part of Jingle the Elf had been her focus so far, but she was really here to investigate and get her next MyHeartChannel story.

  “Do you work for Hartford Hope, then?” She’d poke around a bit, making sure Camden had something to contribute to the story before she pulled out her phone to videotape it.

  He shook his head. “My friend Zeke’s wife runs the foundation.” His pause left room for something he wasn’t saying, but then he relaxed. “So, no. Just helping them out. You?”

  “My brother owns the center. So this—” She waved a hand in front of her rickrack-trimmed bodice. “—is my favor to him.” On the wall behind Camden, the huge analog clock caught her eye. “Speaking of Ed, he’s going to be looking for us.” She stood and finished the last swallow of her water.

  She balled up the cup and tossed it at the waste can, regretting the move as soon as she let it fly. She would either miss and look ridiculous, or she would make it and look like she’d been trying to impress him when honestly it was no more than instinct. Seeing that the trash ball would drop in effortlessly, she pushed her chair back under the table noisily to distract him.

  Cam also stood, turning to catch the time, and groaned. “The night is almost over, right?” He scrubbed a hand over his head, before strapping on the beard, wig, and hat. “This getup is clearly made for winter temps north of the Mason-Dixon Line.”

  Talia couldn’t stop the short laugh that bubbled from her. He sounded anything but Southern, so his choice of words felt funny. “Are you ready for this?”

  He inhaled, held it for a second, and then blew it out loudly. The light was back in his face. “Was Santa born for Christmas and kids? You bet!” He stepped forward and held open the door for her, so she slipped under his arm into the hallway.

  “I meant are you ready for the news cameras.” In Talia’s experience, bring out a camera, and everyday people became uncomfortable with the idea that thousands of people could be watching. “A necessary evil if we’re going to raise more awareness for Hartford Hope, but they’ll love you. You’ve been great all evening.” Cam hadn’t seemed the slightest bit nervous about being the center of attention so far, but it wouldn’t be the first time she’d seen someone freeze up. “Just be yourself.”

  The man bit his lower lip and smiled, reminding her of a movie-star heartthrob. “Thanks for the advice.”

  She’d meant it as encouragement, not advice, and apparently had come across as patronizing instead. Her face flamed with heat. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”

  He shook his head, a twinkle in his eye. “Not at all. I appreciate the tip.” There was humor in his tone.

  What had she missed? What was so funny? There was something mysterious about this Santa.

  7

  Awkward tension built between them, and Camden could have kicked himself. He hadn’t meant to embarrass Talia. “I was actually going to say something similar to you. I have a little experience with the press.” Probably more than she did.

  “Thanks.”

  She fell silent, but the stiffness eased, and the tension he hadn’t known had rested in his chest loosened with it. He could breathe again.

  “So obviously, you’re a professional elf. There’s no other explanation.”

  Cam looked over at the lovely Talia, and she reacted exactly as he’d hoped. She giggled and flushed, but her mischievous grin took over and she cocked an eyebrow.

  “Not gonna lie, I was thinking it would be a viable career path. So thank you for validating that choice.”

  There was that Talia he’d seen earlier in the evening. She was pretty and smart, kind and fun. Best of all, she was quick-witted. He liked that.

  He had hoped he hadn’t burned any bridges with his elfin assistant, though if things had gone south, he could endure anything for an evening. Especially since he was headed back home for a much-needed break. No crying kid or scowling elf was going to dampen his spirits. What he couldn’t take was a know-it-all, which was why he’d given in to his involuntary impulse. It was also partly why he’d jumped in front of Jake Brown’s fist. Now he wished he could erase both of those knee-jerk reactions. Jake was immature, and Talia was just trying to help. He just needed to exercise a little more patience.

  Surely, she wasn’t a professional elf, so what did she do for a living? “What is your pro—” They turned the corner and nearly ran into Ed, causing Cam to completely forget the rest of his question.

  The wiry bowling alley owner held several inches over Camden. Dressed in jeans and a sport coat, he gave him the unmistakable air of being in charge, while still looking casual and approachable.

  “Good.” Ed turned to face the same direction Cam and Talia were going and draped an arm around her. “I was coming to find you. We were lucky enough to snag one of the major networks to cover the event.” He seemed to be watching his sister’s reaction carefully.

  Maybe Ed was gauging her nervousness. Well, if she was uncomfortable with the cameras, Camden would do his best to minimize her on-air exposure—especially since he actually needed it. That was, after all, the reason he’d been sent here.

  “Thanks for volunteering tonight, Camden.” Ed gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “You have no idea how thrilled I was when Zeke told me you were the one coming.”

  Talia’s head snapped to Cam’s face, her eyebrows drawn together. Apparently, this was news to her—but which part of it?

  Ed ushered them through the crowd as they talked, and although Cam remained engaged in their conversation, he noticed a few kids’ faces light up. This wasn’t the first time he’d elicited this response, but this time, instead of having to do with the team jersey or the fact that he played, this had everything to do with the red suit.

  “My pleasure, Ed. Anything to help the community and our friend Zeke.” He surreptitiously offered knuckles and smiles to the children as they passed.

  Opening one of the stanchio
ns to let them through, Ed led Talia and Camden toward Santa’s couch and a small group of business professionals. If Cam had to guess, their attire and technical gear marked them as a reporter, a camera guy, and an assistant, or maybe a producer.

  “Santa.” The reporter’s voice was a mixture of sarcasm and distain. She apparently wasn’t a believer. “Nice to meet you.” She offered her hand but gave one of those pinching squeezes some women gave as if they were trying to prove how strong they were. “Jocelyn Bartholomew, Channel 2 News.”

  About his same age, this woman was all business—cold and uninterested in making any kind of connection. She must have something pressing on her time.

  “First, we’ll get some footage of you with a couple of kids. I handpicked two siblings—a boy and a girl.” Palm down, she flicked her fingers vaguely off to her side without looking that direction, as if trying to shoo the children away.

  Camden looked over to see an adorable girl with shiny black braids, probably preschool age, and her brother, slightly older, huddled uncomfortably together. Most likely chosen for their holiday-themed outfits, they would make a nice backdrop if they got over their shyness. Well, he’d do everything he could to help them out. He waved, and the little girl’s fingertips moved so slightly the ceiling fan could have caused it.

  “After you talk with the kiddos, Zeke Hartford will bring Hazel up to you. She’s basically the charity’s poster child this year.” As if the girl were a product, not a person. “You’ll engage Hazel in conversation, paying particular attention to the camera—we’d love to get this done in one shot—and then I’ll step in to ask you both a couple of questions. Then her parents will step forward to claim her, and I’ll ask them a couple of questions about her osteogenesis imperfecta. After that, I’ll chat with Zeke and Kendall Hartford about their charity. Any questions?”

  She’d run through the whole thing so quickly that all Cam gleaned from her instructions was that he was mostly a prop. It would probably work out, though. As long as she said his name and mentioned the team, the manager would have to approve.

  “Elf—” The reporter’s patronizing tone was undisguised, and for the first time since they’d stepped up to meet Jocelyn, the reporter looked at Talia. “I need you to stand on the other side of the arm of the couch. No need for you to comment.”

  Ouch. Seen and not heard. Poor Talia was even more of a prop than he was.

  Talia’s lack of a reaction said everything. When Jocelyn turned to position her crew, Camden rolled his eyes at Talia, and her face softened with relief. With her frozen smile now real again, he could picture her planning something Jocelyn wasn’t anticipating. That would spice things up. But she probably wouldn’t do anything to embarrass the reporter her brother had been so excited to have here.

  Camden settled himself back into the ugly gold couch, and when the cameras were rolling, Talia drew the kids to him, their feet shuffling in steps so incremental the ice caps were probably melting faster. The first notes of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” came over the speakers, and Cam had an idea.

  “Hey, I’ve got a question I think you two can help me with.” He pulled his eyebrows together in his best serious expression, as if this were the most important question in the world.

  Wary, the boy cut his eyes to Cam, but the girl trusted him enough to smile.

  “Do ‘reindeer games’ mean sports or party games?”

  “Bingo?” she asked.

  “It’s football,” the boy grumbled. “They say so in the song.”

  Cam’s plan was working. The kids’ pace had picked up until they were standing in front of him. Talia gave him a slight half smile and a squint so close to a wink, he questioned if he’d seen it or made it up. More wishful thinking. “Well, some people say so in the song, but I’ve also heard—”

  “Monopoly,” the little girl supplied.

  “Exactly!” He helped her sit on the couch next to him, and her brother wedged himself between the end of the couch and his sister, hanging on every word.

  “Except no one actually knows,” the boy insisted.

  “And if they say football, do you think that means American football with the pointy ball—” Did the kids have any clue what he was talking about? “—or soccer?” He plucked the front of his red suit as if it were his game jersey. “Personally, I think it’s soccer. Football is a deer-and-antelope kind of sport, but reindeer—they most definitely play soccer.”

  The boy relaxed into the conversation, any residual hesitancy melting away like yesterday’s snow in Texas.

  “But let’s say it’s a board game,” Cam continued, targeting the girl to bring her deeper into the conversation. “Does that mean it has to be Monopoly, or could it be something else?”

  “Candy Land!”

  Cam stroked his fake beard—a decent one as far as these things went, with silky fibers that curled nicely and smelled of cellophane wrapping, making him think it was clean, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t driving him batty. At last, he nodded. “I think you’re right. If it’s a board game to play when it’s cold outside, it’s definitely Candy Land.”

  Now that the kids were comfortable, no longer noticing the camera or nervous about him, he started into the whole “Have you been good this year?” and “What do you want for Christmas?” part of the interview.

  Before they knew it, they were skipping off to their mom. From the opposite side of the staged area, Zeke Hartford stepped forward with another man pushing a girl of about eight in a wheelchair. Family resemblance tagged him as the girl’s father.

  The men chatted with each other comfortably, and Camden took a moment to consider his friend. He’d seen him plenty on the soccer pitch and in the stands at matches. They’d yelled at the huge TV screen in Zeke’s living room, and Cam had even seen him ref at a children’s league game, but Cam had never thought of Zeke as CEO and builder of Hartford Homes, or founder of Hartford Hope, the charity the evening’s festivities were benefiting. It was comforting thinking that when Camden made the decision to leave soccer, he might find a normal career and have a family like Zeke did with his sweet wife Kendall, their adorable baby girl, and Kendall’s college-aged son.

  Across the girl’s lap lay a snowflake-patterned fleece blanket that covered the top of a bright purple cast that swallowed her entire left leg like a python. For a split second, Camden felt a twinge of pity that this was the reality of the girl’s life. Even with all the pain he’d had on the soccer pitch, Cam couldn’t fathom what this girl lived through every day. And yet, even with a quarter of her body in a cast, what drew his attention was the girl’s face. If resiliency was a facial feature, she wore it beautifully. With all she had to be miserable about, he saw no trace of it, and he owed it to her not to bring it up—or at least to acknowledge it wasn’t what defined her.

  When she got close enough for him to initiate conversation, Cam looked Hazel in the eye and shook his head as if offering pity at her plight. “Oh, no.”

  The girl’s smile started to fade, but he soldiered on with his thought.

  “You’re not here to see me. I can tell.” He stuck his lower lip out in a pout. “I bet you’re looking for my friend, the Tooth Fairy, instead.”

  Her smile widened across her face, and the shadowed gap he’d thought he’d seen showed up in full prominence. “No, I’m not!” She gave him a sneering look that barely covered her amusement. Apparently, she was too mature to laugh at his jokes. “I came to see you, Santa.”

  Camden threw a taunting glare at two older boys standing off to the side with their mother. One looked to be in college, the other maybe high school—definitely too old for Santa, but curious about the television crew.

  Continuing his conversation with Hazel, Cam let his eyes go wide in feigned shock. “Don’t tell me one of your brothers knocked out your teeth?” Though how someone would manage to knock out lateral incisors rather than the front teeth was beyond him. But he didn’t need to make sense—he was Santa. “Becau
se that would be an automatic Naughty List appointment.”

  She shook her head firmly but giggled so hard, he couldn’t tell if she was agreeing or disagreeing.

  “Then what you’re telling me is your brothers have been good this year?”

  She was laughing too hard to answer, but this time it was a definite nod.

  “Then they’d better come out here too.” He invited them over with a tip of his head.

  Talia walked over and collected them, bringing the mom along as well. With a pained look, the younger of the boys barely tolerated coming on the set, but the older one loped over and shook Cam’s hand, appreciation in his eyes.

  With the age of the kids, he’d skip the whole chat about Christmas and instead engaged them into small talk about soccer and Hartford Hope. The reporter took the opportunity to introduce Zeke Hartford and Hazel’s father in the foreground.

  Jocelyn Bartholomew outlined the basics of Hartford Hope, a charity that helped with home repairs to families in need. With Hazel’s illness, the Davis family home had needed wheelchair modifications, and it had been the charity recipient a few years back. Hartford Homes, in conjunction with other builders and design professionals in the area, had transformed their home to a place more tailored to Hazel’s needs and those of her family. Now they were doing a follow-up and spreading the word to find more worthwhile community projects. Warmth spread through Cam. Now this was a charity he could get behind. Maybe Zeke would let him volunteer—depending on his work and game schedule, of course.

  Hazel and her family exited, but Jocelyn didn’t miss a beat. “One of the major donors of tonight’s event for Hartford Homes is Zeke Hartford’s former professional soccer team, our very own DFW United Shooting Stars!”

  Jocelyn turned toward Cam, and a trickle of sweat ran down his lower back. He used to love being in front of the camera. It was part of the job to toot his own horn and to rally fans’ support behind his team. Other than when they lost a key match, press coverage was generally favorable, and it was easy enough to throw together a “we brought our A game” and a “the physicality of the game was rough, but we gave it 110%,” thank the reporter, and then jog off to the locker rooms and a shower.