Chapter 4 #2
The genuine regret in his tone made me glance up, and he looked so stricken that I could feel my anger slipping away. Of course he didn’t think I was a cheat. If he had, I got the impression he simply would have beaten me about the head with the rulebook until I admitted it.
And the contest wasn’t even that big a deal.
Except apparently it was, to him. And judging from what I’d seen so far, to everyone else in town as well.
Maybe Cameron wasn’t the only jerk sitting at this table.
“And I overreacted.” I gave a rueful sigh.
“Who knew that the perfect way to wind me up is to imply I’d cheat at a gingerbread house competition? I’m sorry too.”
Cameron’s face did something complicated. “I’ve seen your Insta. If anyone needs to cheat this year, it’s me. I’ll probably have to kneecap you if I’m gonna have any chance at winning.”
I snorted, and the tension that had been simmering under my skin eased. “You’ll never make a criminal mastermind. Now everyone here knows your plan!”
Cameron gave me a reluctant smile. “True. I’ll just have to come up with something else. And I really am sorry. Only I’ve been kind of rude to you up until now and couldn’t think of another reason you’d want to talk to me.”
Because you’re cute and I like you, and I’d hoped this could be something.
I didn’t say that, though. It was hardly the time with things still awkward between us. Cameron let go of my wrist but the echo of his touch burned against my skin, and I wondered if he’d ever hold my hand for real.
The waitress came by and scooped up the check, and I said, “I’ll see you around, Cameron. Thanks for sharing the table.” I stood and pulled my beanie on, then paused. “I’m going to check out the markets if you’re interested?”
For a split second he looked like he was considering it, but then he stood and shook his head. “I can’t. I have to get home and make some more cookies for the bake sale on Saturday. And I need to work on my contest entry. I heard there’s some stiff competition this year.”
I laughed, relieved that the awkwardness between us seemed to be gone. We ended up walking out shoulder to shoulder onto the main street. He nodded at a blue Toyota RAV4 that was parked out front. “This is me.”
“I’ll watch out for it in case you decide to run me down,” I said.
Cameron actually laughed at that, and as I was walking away I heard him say, “Trust me, you’ll never see me coming.”
So he did have a sense of humor.
Colorful lights gleamed through the darkness from up at the community center and I walked the three blocks there quickly, my boots crunching on a thin layer of snow as the cold air bit at my lungs with every breath and an icy wind whipped around my ears, making them sting.
By the time I reached the center, they were numb and my eyes were watering, and I decided I needed to invest in those hand-knitted beanies and scarves Cameron had mentioned, if they were any warmer than the ones I was currently wearing.
I made my way inside, following the families and clusters of people into a large open space that reminded me of a high school gym—if that high school gym had been vomited on by a tinsel monster.
Glittering decorations hung from every available surface, and Christmas music played in the background, a soft undercurrent to the murmur of voices and the squeak of boot soles on the wood floor.
There was row upon row of folding tables with fairy lights strung along the front, all covered in a variety of craft items, baked goods, and Christmas kitsch.
I was meandering up the first row of tables, taking everything in, when a voice called, “Finn! Finn Kelly!” When I looked up, Sherri was waving frantically from behind a table loaded up with quilted pot holders and embroidered dish towels.
I went over and she beamed at me. “I laid everything down and nothing dripped!”
There was no world in which that sentence made any kind of sense, but now I had the added bonus of Sherri and the word dripped tangled up together in my brain—and I could have done without that mental image, thank you very much. “Uh… what are we talking about exactly?”
“My gingerbread house!” she said, shoving at my arm. “I cut my panels and iced them while they were lying down, and it’s perfect!” She wrinkled her nose. “Well, perfect for me, anyway.”
“Oh, that’s great!” I said, relieved that I had some context. “If you want any more help, just let me know. I’d be happy to share some tips.”
“Really?” she said, gazing at me with something akin to worship. “Won’t that lessen your winning advantage?”
I shrugged. “It’s just a friendly contest. It’s not that big a deal, right?” I said, still holding on to the faint hope that it was only Cameron who thought so.
But Sherri let out a disbelieving laugh. “Oh, you are new to the Hollow aren’t you? The competition is high stakes!”
“Yeah, I’m starting to get that,” I said. “I was just talking with Cameron, and when I asked what he was making, he kind of lost his mind. Accused me of trying to steal his ideas.”
Sherri bit her lip. “Cameron really is nice when you get to know him. It’s just that the competition makes him a little… unhinged.”
“Yeah, I got that,” I said dryly.
“No, really, he’s a sweetheart. Most of the time he’s quiet as a church mouse, but when the holidays roll around he really leans into his title as the gingerbread king, you know? It’s the high point of his year.”
“Are his designs really that good?” I asked, curious.
“Oh, yes,” Sherri said, nodding vigorously. “Last year he did that tower from that movie, you know, the one with Bruce Willis?”
“Nakatomi Plaza,” I said faintly.
“That’s it! He even had a little helicopter!” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s not what I’d call a Christmas movie.”
Welp. It looked like I was coming up with a new plan for my competition entry. Still, I was impressed that Cameron had the skill to execute that level of build. Maybe he’d give me a run for my money after all.
“You know,” Sherri said, a gleam in her eye, “I’m not saying my pot holders are lucky, but Cameron’s bought a new set every year that he’s won the contest.”
I bought two pot holders and a set of dish towels, just in case she was right.
After I left Sherri’s stall, I spent some time browsing the tables, stopping to make small talk with the few people I knew as I looked at all the various crafts on sale.
I had to hide my laughter when I saw that there really were cookie plates made from hubcaps for sale, as well as some eye-wateringly ugly ceramics, and enough knitted goods to build an entire sheep out of.
I bought myself a pure wool handmade scarf and beanie, and when I slipped them on I could feel the difference immediately, so I got the matching gloves as well.
It was warm enough in the hall, but I had no doubt I’d need them once I got outside.
I got myself a hot chocolate and a package of maple and walnut cookies—purely for professional reasons and not because I had a sweet tooth the size of Texas—and then, loaded up with my purchases, I made my way back to where I’d parked, sipping my hot chocolate as I walked.
It had started snowing more heavily, and snowflakes rested on my clothing and my cheeks.
By the time I reached my car, I looked like I’d been dusted with powdered sugar.
As I drove slowly home, watching out for meandering pedestrians, I thought about my evening. I’d gone to the diner on a whim, but I was glad that I had. I’d had a good time apart from my argument with Cameron, and I was willing to admit that I was at least partly responsible for that.
Yeah, his reaction to my question had been over the top, but now that I thought about it, it tracked with what Sherri had said and what I’d seen of him—Cameron was shy, kind of awkward, and kept mostly to himself.
So of course me inviting myself to sit at his table for dinner and asking about his plans for the contest would make him suspicious, even though I’d been flirting with him every chance I got.
Wait.
Cameron did know I’d been flirting, right?
I parked in front of my apartment and sat there, unmoving as it hit me.
The way he’d reacted when I’d teased him about being a lumberjack, it had seemed like he thought I was joking.
Which to be clear, I had been, but it had been in a laughing-with-you kind of way, not a laughing-at-you way, and there was a big difference.
Surely he knew that.
Shit. Was it possible that Cameron thought I’d been making fun of him this whole time?
Maybe I hadn’t made it all that clear, but I was definitely attracted to him.
With his slim frame and dark, scruffy hair, I thought he was cute as hell, and I wanted to kiss him until the slightly worried expression he always wore melted away.
And more than that, he was good company.
He was obviously smart, and he was fun to talk to—when I wasn’t accidentally pissing him off, that was.
But it seemed like at least until after the competition, my chances of kissing Cameron were about as good as the chances of a Hallmark heroine going back to her big city job and deciding she preferred the single life.
But maybe after the contest was over, I could try again.
Thinking about the competition reminded me that now I had to think up a new design for my entry.
Which sucked, but I wasn’t worried. I was a Kardashian-adjacent professional.
I was more than capable of coming up with something that would impress both the judges and Cameron—unless some unforeseen disaster struck.
And in a town as peaceful as Sugar Hollow, what were the chances of that?