Chapter 12 Holly
HOLLY
I’ve decided Christmas calories don’t count.
It’s my present to myself.
—Holly’s Secret Thoughts
Isink into the pale-pink glider rocker in Sophie’s room with my new best friend tucked into my arms. A bottle in one hand and her ever present, faithful guardian at my feet.
I’ve learned quickly where Sophie goes, Madden goes too, and I kind of love him for that.
I mean he’s a drooly, snoring, goofy-looking dog, but man, he’s loyal and lovable.
Now if he’d realize he’s a sixty-pound bowling ball and not a lapdog, we’ll be good.
For as gentle as Madden is with Sophie, it’s like he doesn’t know the meaning of the word with me.
Sophie’s mossy-green eyes grow heavy as she fights off sleep. She’s not much of a late-night baby to start with, but she refused to nap today, so we’ll see how this goes. “Come on, sugar plum. You need your sleep tonight. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
I can’t wait to take her to the vineyard to see all the lights and trees and to maybe see her daddy smile when I force him to get a giant tree to fill the space in the family room that’s screaming for one at least ten feet tall.
I’m not sure why I like antagonizing Camden so much, but it’s more fun than I anticipated.
Sophie’s big eyes blink slowly as she takes slow pulls from her bottle until she’s finally full and sleeping soundly, but even then, I don’t put her down.
I know I should. Everything I’ve ever learned between school and life experience has told me routine is important, and our routine is this little girl sleeps in her own crib, not on me. But just a few more minutes won’t hurt.
A week ago, I didn’t even know her, and now my life revolves around this tiny human.
It’s the strangest thing because it feels so natural.
Like she was supposed to be in my life, filling a hole I didn’t realize was there.
I already can’t imagine not seeing her every day.
Not holding her. How do nannies do it? Switch families?
Leave kids behind? I don’t think I have the heart for it, and the idea of doing it in a few months hurts my heart.
Here’s hoping the Kings make it to the Superbowl and I’m here until February.
A throat clears across the room, and I look up to find Camden leaning against the doorframe.
Gray sweats hang low on his hips, and a tight, white long-sleeved thermal clings to his broad, muscular chest and biceps, and wow, what a sight.
I’ve never been into athletes before, but for this man—I think I could be swayed.
I mean . . . what’s not to like? “I just got her down. Give me a few more minutes, and I’ll have her in the crib.
She’s been cranky today and didn’t nap. I think that tooth is about to break through. ”
He nods slowly, staring at his baby with a familiar look of awe on his face.
One I’m not sure I’ll ever tire of seeing there.
I’ve picked up on a few things this week.
Camden Monroe is a man of few words, but what he lacks in words, he makes up for with intentions and actions. He’s purposeful with both of those.
His smiles are saved for his daughter and his sister, who I’ve still yet to meet, even though she lives next door. He doesn’t share easily, not that I’ve asked much, but he’s offered even less, basically keeping his personal life and his past on lockdown.
I know very little past the bare minimum.
Should that bother me? Maybe.
Could I search his Wikipedia page and find out everything there is to know? Absolutely.
But here’s the thing . . . I want to learn it all from him, and I’m not sure why.
“I can put her down,” he offers as he steps softly into the room, careful not to wake the sleeping baby, and maneuvers around Madden, who doesn’t bother to lift his heavy head.
Camden waits as I kiss Sophie’s head and transfer her into his strong arms. Arms that would never let anything happen to that little girl.
And there’s something incredibly attractive about that.
I watch as he cradles her to him for a long moment before gently laying her in her crib.
A small smile tugs at his lips, and my insides melt.
Oh yeah . . . this isn’t good.
This is basically my version of porn.
But do I leave?
No, I do not.
Instead, I stand, waiting to follow him and the drooling dog out of Sophie’s room, and I’m suddenly wondering if the drooling dog is Madden or me.
Once the door closes behind me, Camden stops and stares for an incredibly tense minute. His eyes search mine, but I have no clue what he’s searching for until he finally speaks. “Did you eat dinner, vixen?”
And with that one question, all the tension I imagined hanging between us breaks, and I silently laugh at the question and at myself. “Vixen? Really? We’re sticking with that?”
“You nicknamed me after a hairy green animal. I can nickname you after a sexy reindeer.”
“Sexy?” I squeak and immediately feel like a fool. “You think a reindeer is sexy? I’m pretty sure there’s a term for that. Beastiality?” I joke.
Please say no, I think you’re sexy.
But he doesn’t say that.
Camden doesn’t say anything.
He just shakes his head, laughing as he turns away and walks down the stairs. “Come on, Holly. I picked up dinner on the way home.”
On the way home . . . Why do those words do warm and fuzzy things to me?
Holy hell, it’s been too long since I’ve been on a date if my boss being nice is all it takes for me to start picking up weird vibes. School and the vineyard didn’t leave much time for dating, and I’m starting to think that may have been a mistake because apparently, I’m incredibly out of practice.
When I step into the kitchen, Camden is pulling black to-go boxes out of a West End bag, and my mouth waters as he hands me one. “Luke said you liked BBQ bacon burgers.”
My stomach growls as I open the box and sigh dramatically at the yummy smell. “Looks like Luke was right for once in his life.”
Camden grabs two bottles of water and his box and joins me at the kitchen table, staring. “You gonna make me eat alone?”
“No.” I shake my head as if to force home my answer before pulling a fry out of the box.
“So . . . your brother’s not usually right?” he asks as he picks up a grilled chicken sandwich that doesn’t look half as good as my burger.
I pop a fry in my mouth and fight the urge to actually moan. He didn’t just get plain fries. These are truffle fries, and they’re my favorite. “He’s the oldest of six kids. He always thinks he’s right, but he rarely is.”
“Six . . . Damn, that’s a lot of kids.”
“Yup. Six. Luke is the oldest. Briggs is the youngest. And the four of us girls are sandwiched between them.” I stand to get the ketchup out of the fridge and grab a handful of napkins too. “Let’s just say that between my sisters and me, he never stood much of a chance.”
Camden thinks about that for a second. “It seemed like you and Luke are pretty close.”
“We are,” I admit as I drag a fry through my puddle of ketchup.
“We’re all pretty close in our own way now, but it wasn’t always that way.
Growing up, it was six kids doing their own thing, with their own friends and own interests.
We loved each other, but we also kind of just tolerated each other.
” I feel the weight of his stare deepen and squirm under it.
“What changed?” Camden asks, and there’s something about the tone of his voice that stops me from giving some bullshit, generic answer. Something that makes me want to open up in a way I typically wouldn’t.
“My mom died. After that, we came together for Dad. He needed all the help we had to give with the winery and the business and just life in general. Mom did everything for him. More than any of us even realized. She was great. I think losing her brought us all back together in a way nothing else ever could have.” Serious green eyes are locked so tightly on mine, it’s almost unnerving.
“She probably loves knowing that, if she can see it now.”
“Do you think she can?” he asks with all seriousness.
“I like to think she can, but who knows . . . What about you? Are you and Emmie close?”