Chapter 11 Camden
CAMDEN
Thursday
Another day, another pair of knee-high socks.
This woman makes pale blue-and-white striped socks look incredible in a way I want to see wrapped around my hips while I fuck her senseless.
Not good thoughts to be having about my employee, but Christ, it’s been over a year since I’ve gotten laid.
Over a year since I cared. And suddenly, this tiny woman is in my house, invading my space, my thoughts, my everything, and it’s killing me.
Even if she is exactly what I needed for Sophie.
I’m going to have to keep reminding myself of that.
Just a few days into this arrangement, and she’d run screaming for the fucking hills if she could read my mind or see my dreams.
Today, she’s standing in front of the stove, pouring her morning hot chocolate into another Christmas-themed mug. This one light blue with green-and-pink mistletoe on it to match the damn weeds she’s got hanging all over my house, not to mention on the front of her white sweatshirt.
What is it with her and mistletoe? I’ve counted at least three.
She added thick strands of garland draped over my mantle to match the banister. Twinkle lights are mixed in. More deep red ribbons accent everything, and there’s a wreath hung in every window.
Every. Single. Window.
And I have a lot of windows.
I have throw pillows now, and they’re red and green and gold plaid. There’s even a matching blanket thrown over the edge of the couch. A soft one I actually like. Probably not going to admit that out loud either.
I think the Pottery Barn Christmas catalog came to live in my house.
I might not even hate it. It’s just a whole lot.
Holly shakes a can of whipped cream and sprays it on top of her hot chocolate, then adds a candy cane to the mug and smiles up at me. “You sure you don’t want any, big guy?”
I arch a brow, white knuckling another ridiculous mug. Today’s looks like Buddy the Elf. At least this one is from a good movie. “I’m good.”
“Suit yourself.” She sips the drink through a red-and-white cardboard straw and sighs happily.
Damn . . . that sound. Fuck me.
“So . . . that card you gave me.” She licks whipped cream from her straw, and come on—she’s got to know what she’s doing. “The one to decorate with . . . Does it have a limit?”
“It’s a black Amex, Holly,” I grind out through gritted teeth.
“So that’s a no?” she squeaks, and it’s fucking adorable.
When in the hell do I think things like adorable?
“That’s a no. Get whatever you want.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” Holly Chase could stop traffic with her smile.
It’s beautiful and natural. She doesn’t need makeup and barely wears any.
She doesn’t try to act coy. She just smiles, and it hits you in the center of your chest. “So . . . I have a favor to ask.” She suddenly looks less sure, and something about that bothers me.
“But it’s not really for me. It’s for you. Well . . . you and Sophie.”
“What?” I ask, already dreading what could have this whirlwind of a woman asking for a favor.
She turns and gives Sophie another one of the dissolvable puff cookies that my girl has been gumming since her first tooth started to break through last week. “Sophie and I want to get a Christmas tree from the tree farm at the vineyard.”
“Like a live tree?” Shit. I’ve never had a live tree. “Aren’t they messy?”
“A little.” She shrugs. “But they’re worth it, and I’ll take care of it. Christmas isn’t Christmas without a real tree.” Her voice is wistful and happy, and even my stone-cold heart can’t say no. “Please . . .”
I shake my head wondering when I became this man.
Looks like we’re getting a tree.
“Yeah, sure. But is that the last of the Christmas crap? I can’t imagine there’s much left to decorate.” I pour more coffee and groan. At least if she’s forcing me to drink out of a ridiculous mug, this one’s not too bad.
“Oh, ye of little faith. There’s always room for more decorations.”
That’s what I was afraid of.