Chapter 6 Holly
HOLLY
I don’t need mistletoe to kiss someone.
Alcohol, lower standards, and a bad-decision playlist should do just fine.
—Holly’s Secret Thoughts
The lakefront drive the sexy British man from my maps app tells me leads to Camden’s house has the prettiest view, and that’s saying something because I’m a view snob.
Sorry, but it’s true. What else would you expect, considering I grew up with an entire vineyard as my backyard?
But as I pull into Camden’s driveway, I can’t help but stare at the beautiful, old farmhouse and the gorgeous view of Sweetwater Creek frozen behind it.
One, because it’s seriously stunning, but more importantly, two .
. . because it’s the only house on the street not decorated for Christmas.
Well this simply will not do.
“What was that sigh for?” Hadley asks through the Bluetooth.
“His house is the only one on the street not decorated,” I grumble as I roll to a stop at the base of the long, tree-lined driveway. “Do you think maybe he’s not a Christmas guy?”
“He might be more of a Hanukkah guy, Holls,” Hadley tsks. “Or you’re stuck working for the Grinch but with better cheekbones.”
“Very funny.” I roll my eyes and grab my bag while I continue to stare at the house for another hot minute, envisioning just how pretty it would look decked out.
Joanna Gaines has nothing on this well-kept farmhouse with its crisp white siding and stately black shutters trimming floor-to-ceiling windows.
A porch wraps around the entire first story of the three-story house, and I’m positive white Christmas lights and red ribbons trimming green garland would look fantastic hanging from the eaves.
Add a sprig of mistletoe and a festive door mat and voilà, cozy Christmas perfection.
Come on, Monroe. You’re killing me.
“I’ll call you later, Hadley.”
“Be nice to him, Holls. He’s your new boss. Not everyone can be Santa’s favorite elf,” she reminds me before I end the call.
Be nice . . . Like I’m not always nice.
The front door pushes open as I rap my knuckles against it, and I stand and stare.
Well crap. Am I supposed to just go in?
“Camden,” I call out and give the door a tentative shove.
“Come on in, Holly,” he calls out from somewhere that sounds at least a flight of stairs above me. “I’ll be right down.”
I tentatively step inside, half expecting him to yell at me for letting myself in because this man doesn’t seem like the let-yourself-in kind, but let’s see how this goes.
Warm wood floors, high ceilings, and a lived-in, quiet, non-showy kind of comfort that doesn’t scream pro athlete at all surrounds me.
This house is made for two point five kids and a white picket fence.
Not a single-dad, broody, pro footballer, who doesn’t even have a single Christmas decoration up.
At least not one I see. And I might be looking a little harder than necessary.
At least I am until I hear Sophie softly babbling to herself and turn the corner into a family room to find her contentedly swaying in her oversized swing.
Chubby cheeks, wispy dark hair sticking up in a million directions, and wide green eyes crinkling with excitement from across the room, while a bulldog with a face only a mother could love stands guard at her feet.
Sophie pumps her tiny legs, fists opening and closing as if she already knows exactly how to play me to get what she wants. And there’s no mistaking this little lady wants to be picked up.
“Hi, sugar plum,” I whisper as I squat down slowly in front of her, making sure Cujo with the giant pink tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth doesn’t attack me for talking to her baby.
The tan and white bulldog moves in front of Sophie but doesn’t growl, she simply places her head in the baby’s lap like Go ahead, try to steal her now, lady. I dare you.
Thankfully, Camden appears in the doorway a moment later, big and broad and still just as broody as earlier, his arms crossed like he’s unimpressed with me being here, even though he knew I was coming.
His eyes flick from Sophie to me, skipping right over the dog currently stopping me from picking up the baby.
“She just woke up,” he says with a beautifully gravelly voice, one that may have graced one or two of my dreams since the first time I heard it. “She’ll need a bottle soon.”
“I think her bodyguard might have other plans.” I smile at the dog, whose big old head is still in Sophie’s little lap. “Does Cujo have a name?”
Camden grips the back of his neck as he looks at the dog with a look somewhere between love and frustration in his eyes. I’m already noticing it’s a familiar look for this man. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“And . . . do you think you might want to share it with me?” I push, still waiting for the pup to growl or snap or do something to scare me away from her baby.
“Madden—come.” Camden’s words are clipped, and Madden immediately lifts her head and trots over to her owner.
“He’s the biggest softy you’ll ever meet.
Don’t worry about him. Not much of a watchdog unless you get too close to Sophie.
The fact he let you this close says you must have passed his test.”
Okay . . . not a girl dog. Got it. I smile, wondering if he was grading on a curve. I mean, I passed a test I didn’t know I was taking, so I guess I shouldn’t be picky.
Slowly, so Madden sees it coming, I scoop Sophie out of her chair, happy when he doesn’t growl, and nuzzle her head as she tucks herself against my shoulder like she belongs there, right before she drools down the front of my shirt without a single ounce of apology.
I have a feeling I’m going to fall in love with this little girl before her daddy can even throw a touchdown.
When all my friends were playing teacher or doctor, I was playing mommy with my dolls.
I didn’t want students back then. I wanted babies.
Something I still want, desperately. But to have a baby, you need to have a man or a bank account big enough to pay to get you what you need from a man to get pregnant.
I have neither. And while I wouldn’t say I’m exactly in a big rush for either, I also wouldn’t say that it’s not something I’ve thought about.
I breathe in Sophie’s baby-soft scent and melt. Okay . . . time to get to work. “Any chance you have a schedule for me to follow?”
Camden guides me into the kitchen and pushes a notebook across the counter with black handwriting scribbled across the pages. “My brother-in-law told me to write everything down.” He runs his hand through his hair and stairs down at the paper. “I may have gone a little overboard.”
I open it and flip through the pages, smiling. “Not overboard. Just thorough.”
“She’s the most important thing in my world, Holly.” Damn. There goes the first crack in my heart. Forget good dad. I’m betting he’s a great dad. “Hell, she’s my world.”
Yup. There go the ovaries.
Down girl.
Do not drool over your new boss.
I drag my eyes away from the incredibly sexy man in front of me, back down to the notebook on the counter and skim through the pages.
Sophie’s entire routine seems to be written down, from feeding times and amounts to naptimes, bathtime, and where he keeps all the supplies.
There’s a list of names and numbers to call in case of emergency, as well as the addresses for the doctor’s office and the hospital.
He’s thought of everything. “This is great. Thank you.”
Camden shrugs, uncomfortable with the praise.
“Listen, I appreciate you doing this. You’re really helping me out.
I’ve never left her with anyone besides my old nanny or my sister and can’t say I love the idea of doing it now.
” He drags the pad of a big finger down the slope of her little nose, smiling, and wow, this man should smile more often.
“Hopefully, she won’t give you too much trouble. ”
Pretty sure she’s not going to be the trouble . . .
Nope. Not going there.
“We’ll be fine,” I promise Camden before shifting Sophie between us. “Isn’t that right, sugar plum?” I sway the two of us from side to side, enjoying the way her eyes focus on mine. “We’re going to eat a little something and spend the afternoon getting to know each other.”
“Sugar plum?” he asks with an arched brow.
Oh come on . . .
He can’t possibly—
“Like the Nutcracker,” I tell him, expecting some flicker of recognition. What I get is a blank face instead. “Really? Nothing?”
He shakes his head.
“Seriously, do you hate Christmas?”
“No,” Camden bites back defensively, but it’s my turn to arch a brow.
I’m not buying it.
“That’s it? No? That’s all you’ve got?” I drag my teeth over my bottom lip, certain Mr. Monroe would not appreciate it if I laughed at him and unwilling to get fired on the first day.
“I never saw the big deal in it. All these people spend all this time running around, driving themselves crazy for this one day. I never understood why,” he grumbles, and I think I might see a spark of embarrassment there.
“First of all, it’s not one day.” He opens his mouth, but I keep going.
“It’s an entire month if you do it right.
And you need to do it right. You’ve got a baby now, buddy.
You need to make it special for her.” Day one, hour one, and I’m pretty sure I just leaped across a line like the actual Sugar Plum Fairy and told my new boss he’s failing his baby’s first Christmas responsibilities.
Maybe I’m subconsciously trying to get fired.
Camden shakes his head while he looks at Sophie. “She’s five months old. She doesn’t even know what any of that stuff is. You’re the one with the fancy degree in babies.” He grins. “Tell me I’m wrong and that she’ll remember any of it.”
“She doesn’t now, but she will, and you need the pictures of her first Christmas to show her later,” I all but plead, because no matter how silly it might sound, the little things are important.
We all crave traditions, not just because they’re fun, but because they’re constants in our crazy lives.
Something we know to expect and something we can treasure when the people we love the most are no longer with us.
“She needs memories to look back on in a photo album one day, so she can smile at pictures of the two of you in matching pajamas on her first Christmas.”
Oh yeah. I’m definitely getting fired.
The lines in Camden’s face tighten as he looks away, and when he brings those mossy-green eyes back to me, they’re resigned. “Fine,” he huffs, pulling a credit card from his wallet. “Has anyone ever told you you’re pushy?”
“Says the man who bought my tampons,” I bite back as he holds the card out for me to take. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Get whatever Christmas crap you think I need,” the hot grinch basically growls back, and I smile triumphantly at Sophie.
“Oh, sugar plum,” I whisper, kissing the top of her downy soft head. “We’re going to have so much fun.”