Chapter 7
Back in LA, there were myriad reasons why Graham chose leasing a condo over homeownership—not the least of which being the lack of manual labor it entailed. So it was no small wonder, then, why climbing up a three-story-tall extension ladder did not rank high on his list of preferred activities.
That being said, standing at the base of just about the tallest spruce in New England, it was with increasing sincerity that he was now evaluating the merits of muttering a few Hail Marys for good measure.
Before he could contemplate further, though, a firm pat on the back pulled him from his thoughts. “Hey, thanks again for offering to help. I don’t know how I’d get this done before dark without you.”
Graham turned to face Brent beside him. Up close, it was clear—time had certainly not been cruel to this one. He swallowed down a gulp. “Don’t mention it.” Focus, Graham, he reminded himself. You’re here to do a job, not go catching feelings. “Can’t have you popping another boner, now can we?”
Brent did a double take. “Excuse me?”
Crimson flashed on Graham’s cheeks then as he realized his faux pas. “Pulling another boner. You know, like an accident.”
Brent narrowed his eyes, skeptical. “I see.”
Resetting, Graham cleared his throat, businesslike. “Where do you want me?”
A sly grin appeared on Brent’s face. “Really, Graham? Out here?”
The remark drew an eye roll from Graham. “Very funny. You know what I mean.”
Brent responded with a good-natured shrug. “I do. Here, you steady the ladder. I’ll climb up. I don’t mind being on top.”
Something about the way he punctuated that last part made Graham, if only for a split second, go weak in the knees. He decided not to read anything into it.
And thus, without further ado, the pair of men set to task.
Brent worked competently, Graham observed, his skilled hands seeming to sense by instinct where each length of the lights should be hung. It was almost as if the guy knew firsthand about length and being hung, Graham mused.
He shook the thought away. Graham, what are you thinking, you blockhead? This is your old high school classmate, man.
Your classmate who was also a varsity athlete and the sole reason you ever even thought about attending a high school sporting event, added a little voice inside his head.
Again, he suppressed the thought. So what if Brent had been major heartthrob material back in high school? Clearly, that had been his peak. The guy was still living in their hometown, for Christ’s sake.
Then again, that was only half-true, Graham realized. Sure, Brent may not have ever left Mistletoe Grove, but he certainly was not past his peak. Frankly, the guy was looking better than ever.
He still wore the same, wavy chestnut hair Graham remembered, but today, he accompanied it with a thick, well-trimmed beard that somehow managed only to accentuate his square, razor-sharp jawline.
And clearly, despite no longer reigning as the star of the high school basketball team, he certainly hadn’t slacked on his gym routine.
Beneath his fleece-lined flannel, the contours of thick arm and chest muscles flexing showed through, evidence of a toned, powerful physique underneath.
But the part about Brent that captivated Graham the most, the thing he’d always remembered vividly, were the pools of deep, dark mahogany that sparkled in his eyes. Eyes like those could make Graham get lost and never want to be found.
“Hey, do I look straight to you?”
The sound of Brent’s voice pulled Graham back to the present. “Uh, what?”
“I said, do I look straight to you?”
The hue that had begun to color Graham’s cheeks subsided as he realized his companion, up on the ladder above, was pointing to a swag of lights he’d just hung. “Oh, yeah. All straight here.”
Now there was something he never thought he’d say.
A hint of a smirk appeared then on Brent’s lips. “Noted.”
Graham felt his cheeks flush. If it hadn’t been clear from the start, it certainly was now. This tree-trimming nonsense was bound to end in disaster.
Why had he let his mother steamroll him into this? He was a grown man now, wasn’t he, not some pushover high schooler still stuck taking orders.
On second thought, he realized, maybe not as much had changed as he thought. Maybe it wasn’t his mother in charge any more, but when he paused to think about it, he did often feel stuck taking orders still.
The only difference was that now they came from a washed-up movie star with a knack for creating chaos.
He wondered what those two were up to now.
Had it been up to him, Coco wouldn’t have been let out of his sight during their stay, but clearly, she and his mother had other plans in store.
He felt his stomach squirm. The trouble those two could get into unsupervised, he shuddered to think.
Coco on her own was capable of turning this into a mess, but joining forces with his mother—an agent provocateur in her own right—Graham knew it could spell disaster.