“Yes?” Talia was all ears. She hadn’t done every suggestion offered—far from it, really. Even if she and Cam worked on the list every night, they would never come close to experiencing every Dallas–Fort Worth Christmas tradition before the holidays were up.
Marisol shoved a clipboard into Talia’s hands. “The hospital is sponsoring a Jingle Bell Fun Run this Saturday morning to benefit the children’s hospital. We would be honored if you chose to participate—or even just covered the event.” For a grown woman, she had emotion-filled puppy-dog eyes every bit as much as the sick kids they’d visited with so far. “It’s only 5K.”
Cam reached for the clipboard. “I’ll do it.” He nodded at Talia. “And she will too.”
She scowled at him. “She will not. She has to record it for her channel—conduct interviews, capture some of the background.” Everything it took to flesh out a story—and keep her from having to run.
Cam shook his head and then signed his John Hancock to the form before he flipped through the papers behind the Jingle Bell Run sign-up. “What’s this?” He turned the clipboard so Talia could see. “An order form for tamales?” He looked at Marisol for confirmation. “Now that’s something my friend Talia has been looking forward to all Christmas season.”
“And then some.” Talia gladly took the sign-up form from Cam. She tapped the pen to her chin. “I just have to figure out how many dozen to order.”
17
“Whoo!” Cam fanned at his mouth. His eyes were probably bugging out too, trying to cool his internal temperature by any means, even if it wasn’t physically possible. It might make him look weak, but he couldn’t help himself. “Are you trying to kill me?” he finally managed.
He sniffed. At least the spice would clear out his sinuses. He took a big swig of his Dr. Pepper, but that only seemed to fuel the flames in his mouth.
A snort escaped Talia, her eyes quickly filling with tears as she struggled to hold in her laughter. If he’d been sitting next to her instead of across the table, he would have poked her in the ribs so she would let it out. Instead, he just started laughing—she didn’t need to know it was at the snort—and she joined in.
“Here.” She pushed the bowl of mashed potatoes toward him. “Eat some of the potato casserole. It’ll help.”
Oh, yeah. He knew that. He dug his fork in and gulped a bite. Before he swallowed, he pushed it around with his tongue, coating anywhere the fire had started. When the chemical reaction had neutralized, he swallowed and breathed out with relief. “I don’t think I’ll try bottle #7 again.”
Talia giggled. She’d probably figured that out as soon as he did—maybe even before, since she was the one who had suggested this particular barbecue joint. “It does say ‘HOT!’ in bold letters.” She pointed with her fork.
Camden didn’t feel the least bit embarrassed. “It’s not my fault. How was I supposed to know there was such a big jump between #5 and #7?” He speared another bit of brisket, but this time dipped it in his favorite—the one marked #4 Texas.
The two of them had ordered three meats: shredded pork, German sausage, and smoked brisket—as well as the typical barbecue sides of smashed potato casserole and baked beans. Not the healthiest of meals considering there wasn’t a vegetable on the table, but he’d make up for that later. “What do you think is in #7?”
Between them was a rustic wooden box, made to hold a six-pack of glass pop bottles at some point, which now held six squeeze bottles, each with a handwritten masking tape label.
“I bet it’s a ghost pepper,” Talia said. She drizzled some of the barbecue beans over her helping of potato casserole and mixed them together. “Didn’t you wonder why, if there are six bottles, the last one says #7 instead of #6?” She raised an eyebrow at him.
Now he felt kind of dumb. “I didn’t think about it.” Obviously, he’d seen there was no #6, but he hadn’t really put any effort into figuring out why.
“Other than that, what do you think?” Talia leaned back in her chair, sipping her lemonade.
At the motion, he stopped eating and stared. She was just so pretty. He’d dated pretty before. He’d even dated gorgeous, but Talia was different in so many ways. She was the entire package, the one he wanted to be with.
The problem was that after their moonlight kisses and slushy snowmen, she’d mysteriously acted as if it had never happened. The next day when they’d been driving around in the snow, he’d tried to hold her hand only for her to immediately use that hand to point at something. It felt deliberate, especially when she didn’t give him any other opportunities to hold her hand. He was disappointed, yes, but something in his gut told him to be patient. To wait and give her a chance. Anything worth having was worth working for—a motto he lived every single day as he pushed himself physically to perform. Why not show a little emotional fortitude as well?
“It’s great,” he said, distracted. Until he realized that was as lame a comment as any. He rushed to amend it. He’d been caught thinking about something different—concerns he couldn’t share with her. “It’s perfect. Goes with the whole Texas Christmas theme we have going on tonight.” He took another bite, savoring the taste of the mesquite laced with cayenne and black peppers, the garlic. “I’m glad you had time to come to dinner first.”
Talia nodded in acknowledgment. “I almost wasn’t able to. For some reason, everyone wants to shop Friday after work, and Autumn’s boutique was swamped. But she insisted I come. She’s so good to keep me employed when she’s giving me so much time off.”
Wasn’t Talia seasonal help? When she took off during work hours, it had to do with furthering her MyHeartChannel career. It wasn’t like she was Christmas shopping or something even less constructive.
“Are you ready?” He popped the last bit of roll into his mouth, savoring it like it was dessert and appreciating how it took the edge off the burn that lingered on his tongue. Bottle #7 should be outlawed—at least for people who grew up with ranch as the spice of choice.
While dinner had turned out pretty good overall, something about food served on wax paper and sauce in squeeze bottles didn’t lend itself to the romance he’d envisioned for tonight. Their conversation, though, had been light and flirty, so he put it in the win column.
When they arrived at the convention center, they carried shopping bags full of decorations from the back of Talia’s car into the ballroom. A clump of trees sat off the side of the dance floor like a Christmas tree lot, though with fewer to choose from. Spread out so buyers could walk around and closely inspect each decorating theme, the trees took up one corner of the room and swept down each of the adjacent walls. Each tree had a gold ornament engraved with the donor’s name hanging in a prominent position at about eye level. Gleaming wood floors reflected the lights and would make for smooth dancing, but at the moment, the overhead lights were on bright. So much for the ambiance he’d hoped for, though this was way more practical.
He and Talia were greeted by more than one of Cam’s teammates as they trekked through, searching for the ornament with his name. When they located it, he set his bags down, pointedly restraining his frustration. Of all people to have his tree next to, Jake Brown’s was the only one he’d hoped to avoid.
“Who’s your friend?” Jake asked, wiggling his stupid eyebrows in a stupid Groucho Marx way. Now Camden wanted to slug him.
Talia walked up to him and stuck out her hand. “Talia Thomas, reporter for the MyHeartChannel, Talia’s Truth Cam. I recognize you from your video.”
If Cam and Brad didn’t think Jake already had had a big head, it went up two hat sizes in that moment. Gaining the attention of Camden Sharpe’s beautiful woman was a coup for a seventeen-year-old. “The nutmeg challenge?”
Talia blinked, her facial expression blank. To be fair, she had told Camden she was pretty clueless when it came to soccer. “I meant the Buster’s brawl. Not sure I’d want to be known for such a cheap shot.”
“I—he—stepped in front of the punch
,” Jake stammered. “It wasn’t my fault!”
“All I know is I wouldn’t want people thinking that of me.” Talia’s words floated there, but anyone could see them sink into Jake. “Perhaps I can help.” She nodded at Camden. “I helped restore his image.”
She’d done way more than that, and the vindictive part of him didn’t want the same for Jake. What was she up to?
“Maybe I could help improve yours,” she said.
Was she changing professions? She’d never mentioned that she was interested in becoming a personal public relations coach.
Jake looked between Camden and Talia. “You would do that for me? Why?”
Cam would take that one. “There’s something you need to learn pretty quick, kid. We put it all out there on the field. Sometimes emotions run high on the pitch, and we yell at a team member when maybe we shouldn’t. Sometimes we get benched when we think we shouldn’t. Sometimes we need to be humble enough to learn from the more experienced players.”
He hoped Jake was getting at least something out of this, but even as Cam said the words, he realized there was something he needed to remind himself.
“And sometimes we can even learn from rookies.” He paused to emphasize what he still had yet to say. “When we’re off the pitch, we have to dial back the emotion. In the locker room, in the conference room, watching tapes, we need to be constructive. Build each other up. Encouragement goes a long way. In interviews, we need to be positive. Always. And when we’re away from work, we need to be away from work. We’re professionals. We need to let all that go and remember we have a common goal—at least, I think we do. What do you think?”
Throughout Cam’s monologue, Jake looked like he might actually be listening with an open mind. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You and Brad are like brain twins, aren’t you?”
So the kid had heard it before.
“Just so you know, I asked them to put my tree next to yours.” Jake gulped. The kid was nervous. “I wanted to apologize. I’ve been a jerk, I know. I was so excited to be on the same team with you and Brad Kelmer, and then, when we didn’t make the finals . . .” He dropped his gaze, no longer looking Cam in the eyes. “I felt like it was my fault. If I hadn’t been here . . .”
“Nope.” Camden crossed his arms over his chest and waited until Jake looked up at him. “That’s called imposter syndrome, kid. Thing is, if you weren’t good enough to be on the team, you wouldn’t. There’s nothing more simple than that. Fame and success can mess with your head, but if you ever start to wonder, come find me.”
Silence stretched between the two men for a while before Jake stuck his hand out. “Thanks, Mister—”
“Thank you, mate,” Cam corrected. He wanted the kid to feel a part of the team, but he equally didn’t want to be called mister anything.
With that stress off his chest, Camden felt free. Free to enjoy his evening with a beautiful woman. Even if they weren’t going to be alone, he would make the best of things—and maybe even sneak in a kiss or two, if he was lucky.
Camden turned to Talia. “Got your camera?”
“Do I have my camera?” Talia’s snarky sarcasm told him he needn’t have asked. She pulled it from her bag to prove that she did.
“It’s time for us to do some decorating.”
Talia set up her tripod and got her camera started. Then she set to organizing the boxes and bags of decorations. Cam stood around, feeling like he should be helping but having no clue what needed done until she pulled out the garland, indicating that would be their starting point.
“Now that you’ve had a couple weeks of content going on #SeeTheGood, how are your viewers responding?” he asked.
Talia’s smile was his best answer.
“I love how happy it makes you,” he said. “Makes it all worth it, doesn’t it?”
The garland was made of strips of plaid fabric tied to a soft cotton rope and looked like something he and his mom would have made when he was a kid. Smiling at the thought, he stretched it across his side of the tree and then handed the ball of garland off to Talia to do her side.
She shrugged. “I mean, I guess. The high page views, the advertisers coming to me—they’re ways of judging success. And the paycheck is nice.”
One big nod. “You’re right. There’s nothing wrong with making money. You kind of have to, you know, if you want to eat.”
“And have a roof over my head.”
“So are you happy with it, then? Is Talia’s Truth Cam transitioning to #SeeTheGood full time?” He hoped she could hear the excitement in his voice.
The hesitancy she’d had a week ago still seemed to be there. “I’m concerned that #SeeTheGood is as not important as the truth cam was.”
“What is ‘not important’ about it? You’re showing couples and families things they can do at little or no cost to get into the Christmas spirit. Because of your ideas, they are spending time together, having fun, and forgetting about the stresses in their lives—at least for a little while. Since when did passing out sunshine and joy to people become less important than weighing them down with more cares and the heavy drudgery of life?”
With her silence, he felt he’d won a point. “Do you think there is value in what I do?” he asked.
She opened her mouth, ready to give a quick answer, but then stopped and crossed her arms. After a moment, she sighed. “I see what you mean. Why should I question the value of choosing this as my work when I don’t question the value of any other entertainer in the world? Novelists, musicians, actors, directors, even jewelers . . .” She blew out a breath. “Too many to list,” she mumbled.
At least she got his point, and maybe more, by the sounds of it.
Camden had a few ideas of his own to add to the list. “—theme parks, cruises, the ballet . . .” That was one he would happily do without.
“Whole industries would be gone. The world would look like a dystopian novel—except we wouldn’t know what one was if we didn’t have novelists.”
“Exactly.” Relief buoyed him up. She was getting it. She needed to believe in what she was doing, because he did, and so many others did as well. She stepped, which he took as a sign they were ready for the next stage of decorating. “Is it time for ornaments yet?”
“Yes, you can start placing the ornaments.” She gave him an indulgent smile and opened the box for him to grab a couple. “I won’t be able to use a tripod tomorrow night, not with all the people. And we’ll be moving around so much. Should I invite Autumn to come record us while we dance, or do you think we can find someone here with a steady hand?”
Camden chuckled. “You’re assuming an awful lot there, girl. You might want to back up.”
“Assuming?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you saying you won’t dance with me?”
“I haven’t asked yet.”
“Oooh!” she huffed. “Well, you’d just better make sure that you ask before my dance card is full with your teammates. Jake would dance with me if I asked him.” She grabbed a couple of cinnamon-scented pinecones, and for a moment, she looked like she might start to juggle. “I’m actually wondering if we need to branch out on my MyHeartChannel.”
His mind snagged on the pronoun including him, though this venture was definitely hers. It would be validating if she thought of him as important, and hopefully as more than just Santa Cam, but he needed to keep up with what she was still saying.
“If I only have you on my channel, my viewers will start accusing me of favoritism. Maybe I should consider including a few of your teammates. Well, except then viewers might think of me as working for the Shooting Stars.” She stopped and glared at him. “Why don’t they help sponsor the channel again? I mean, I’m doing all their dirty work for them.”
“Impartiality, remember?”
“Oh, yeah.” She looked disappointed. “I was picturing a nice, fat paycheck.”
“Maybe you should remind me why being my groupie would be bad.” He sidled up to her, t
aking a chance that she wouldn’t back away from him.
She didn’t, and he stepped in closer again, reaching out to touch a lock of her platinum hair, watching how the wave moved as he let go. “I want to be your favorite Shooting Star.” He allowed his fingertips to trail along her cheek, barely making contact.
She swallowed, her eyes intent on his. The emotion he saw on her—a mixture of desire and intrigue and mischievousness—sent a swirl of motion through his stomach as if he’d just done a bicycle kick and scored.
Cam could no longer hold himself back. He had to feel her lips against his again, even if it was just the slightest of brushes. Jake could come around his tree at any moment and catch them, and while he might be trying to convince himself he could put up with the kid, he didn’t want to embarrass Talia.
Taking a chance, he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers before leaning back to whisper in her ear. “Thank you for being here with me.”
She smelled of vanilla and a hint of cinnamon—Christmas itself—and he wanted to dive in and never come out, but he couldn’t. He stepped back, sliding his hands down both of her forearms to her hands. He pushed the ribbon from her fingertips so he could interlace their fingers, and the spool she’d been holding bounced across the floor, but she didn’t even look.
“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” she whispered back, squeezing his hands slightly.
She could have no idea what that meant to him. How he felt better than when he’d scored his first goal on a professional pitch.
“Hey, Cam, I’ve got to ask . . .” Jake was back. It was a good thing they’d wrapped up that kiss. “What’s with the cowboy ornaments?” He motioned to Cam’s tree.
“It’s an intro to Texas culture,” Talia explained, “since he’s new here.”
Cam smirked at her. “You know that’s not why.”
She ignored Cam and focused on the camera, angling it so all three of them would be in the shot that was already recording. “It’s the connection between Camden’s childhood hometown in Wyoming and his new home in Texas. These ornaments symbolize what being home for Christmas means to him, that maybe it’s okay to have two homes, and it’s okay for both to have his heart.”
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