Santa Cam

by Maria Hoagland

  But now . . . She stared up at the cloudless sky, focusing just off to the right of the afternoon sun, in an attempt to dry up the tears that had sprung to her eyes. He knew. She blew out a slow breath. He’d put two and two together. She should be happy she no longer had to wonder when he would figure it out, but she couldn’t feel relief until she knew what the cost would be.

  She started walking, and he fell into step beside her.

  “I hoped you wouldn’t remember that was me,” she admitted. She still couldn’t look at him.

  Her heart ached. Of all the things she wished she could go back and change in her life, this was the one she would give up her career for—and she’d spent the last four months doing almost that. And now, the one person she wanted most to impress was one of the people she’d hurt the most.

  They walked another half block in silence, Talia’s head bursting with all she wanted to say, but she couldn’t figure out a way to speak the words without sounding like she was excusing her behavior. She sincerely regretted her actions that day. She’d changed. He could trust her.

  But she couldn’t say any of that. He had to see that for himself.

  He cleared his throat. “It seems you left Seattle soon after that day we met.” He didn’t sound angry, which gave her hope.

  “I decided I wanted more autonomy.” She feared that if she went into her reasons behind her decision to leave, she would sound petty or insincere.

  He stopped at the window of a small sporting goods store. The window was stuffed with the local community college’s official merchandise, but she doubted he was actually considering a child’s hoodie.

  “Your stories have changed,” he said.

  When he turned unexpectedly so they could keep walking, his hand reached around her waist, settling on Talia’s lower back for a moment, protecting her from falling. Goose bumps of relief went straight to her belly.

  “I like #SeeTheGood. It’s a nice focus.” His voice was so soft, so forgiving, she almost teared up again. He was a step ahead now, but he paused for her to catch up. His body language, his voice, even his words indicated he wasn’t upset with her.

  Blowing out a breath, Talia released the worry she’d been holding. “Really?” She hurried forward to catch up. “You don’t think it’s a cop-out?”

  For the first time since the hobby shop, Camden’s eyes met hers. No disdain or contempt there; he just smiled. “Absolutely not. There’s nothing wrong with journalism. There’s a need for it, absolutely. But hard-hitting investigative journalism isn’t the only kind out there.”

  “But what if I’m wasting my time? What if my stories have no real value? All through school, I got the feeling that if it’s not investigative journalism, it’s not real journalism.”

  Camden paused, seeming to consider. Was her concern the kind of thing other people ever thought about?

  “Let me ask you a question,” he said. “You said something about taking a job at your friend’s jewelry store, which is great. You probably like working for your friend, you get some money, you might even be helping her out, but is that what you want to do with your life?”

  Talia shook her head, afraid that if she spoke out loud her voice would crack.

  “Do you enjoy your MyHeartChannel?”

  This time she nodded once, but slowly. She hadn’t been enjoying it much lately until the Santa Cam videos—and that seemed to be where he was going with this line of questioning. But how could she build a career off of Santa Cam videos when Christmas was over and Camden was off playing soccer again? Where would that leave her?

  “I’m not a marketing specialist by any means,” he said, “but I noticed a correlation. Those videos where you are happy and excited are the ones with the most views. Unless you’re faking it, they are the topics that bring you fulfillment. Why not pursue them? If you like it, take a chance and throw yourself into it. Embrace your #SeeTheGood campaign and see where it leads you.”

  “I’m not sure it’s sustainable.” Her chest tightened and she fought to breathe normally. The last thing she wanted to do was hyperventilate in the middle of Bluebonnet’s Dickens of a Christmas festival.

  Cam’s eyes searched hers as if he could gauge the strength of her hidden resolve. “Let me tell you something I’ve learned the past few years. I was struggling in soccer, pushing to be the best in my position, the best on my team, the best in my division. The problem is, there’s always someone else. There’s always the fear of getting hurt or not being good enough. Until I realized what I really needed to be worried about was missing an opportunity. If I went all in, there would be no room left for regret. Fight for what you want and where you want to be, and I promise you, you’ll make it.”

  She wanted to argue that it wasn’t that simple, but maybe it was. Things had been looking up this past week, and maybe it wasn’t a fluke or the Christmas spirit that would die out in a couple of weeks.

  She blinked, letting his words sink in. Too bad she hadn’t recorded that one. It was the kind of speech she could see needing to replay every morning before she checked her rankings.

  “Look,” he said, his joking tone back again. “Here we are at the best Texas Christmas festival so far, and we haven’t shot one Santa Cam video yet.” He stepped back to hold open a door for a woman pushing a stroller, and then joined her on the sidewalk again. “What do you say we get some video? Without the Santa hat this time.” He cocked his head to one side. He’d looked good in the Santa hat, but he was much more irresistible—at least to her—without it.

  She pursed her lips, pretending to mull it over, but it was a no-brainer. If Camden was willing to give her another shot, she was going to grab on with both hands. “Let’s do it.”

  Camden’s grin was the perfect answer. They stopped to allow the horse-drawn carriage to pass before they crossed the street. “We need to do that before we leave today,” he said, indicating the carriage ride. “Closer to dusk, though.”

  “Or just before,” she clarified. “The golden hour. Better lighting for the video.”

  He made a show of throwing his hands and his gaze up to the sky.

  “Drama queen,” she accused.

  He pinned her with a serious stare. “Don’t tick off the talent. You’ll be left high and dry.”

  “Oh, because I couldn’t possibly do this without you?” It was a teasing challenge, but she knew the truth was that, at the moment, he was her ticket.

  “I don’t think you could.” His tone belied his answer. “Oh. And what’s this about Christmas and tamales?” He made a yuck face.

  She shot him a questioning look.

  “On your post asking for Texas Christmas traditions, several comments mentioned tamales.”

  She stopped and stared at him. “Seriously?” There wasn’t an iota of mirth on his face. The man lived in Texas, played for a professional soccer team in Dallas, and didn’t know anything about the culture? “I’m going to have to track some down to show you.” It wouldn’t be today, but she would definitely add it to a quickly growing list of MyHeartChannel video ideas.

  At a corner boutique, she pulled on an old brass door handle, sending cinnamon- and pine-scented flutters around them. Cool air conditioning and every old-fashioned, traditional Christmas decoration filled the small space with joy. Handmade quilts were draped on a rustic wooden ladder against the wall. In the corner of the display window was the crowning jewel. Country ornaments with a plaid garland decorated the branches of a ponderosa pine.

  He stepped forward and cupped a cotton boll turned into a Christmas angel in his palm. “My mother would love this.” His eyes grazed the tree top to bottom, probably deciding if that was the one he wanted to buy her.

  Talia had an idea. “Do you think—? Could this be the inspiration for your auction tree?”

  Camden let the ornament go, and it swung back into place like a pendulum. “I don’t know.” He ran a hand across the back of his neck. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a tree that didn’
t include at least one Popsicle stick ornament or a pound of glitter.”

  His dry humor had fooled her once again, but at the mention of Popsicle sticks, she started to laugh.

  He smiled, but then turned to look over the rest of the showroom. Like he was going to find glittered Popsicle stick ornaments somewhere in the shop.

  In a beat, he turned back to her. “Yes. I like it. It feels like home.” He ran a hand over a cashmere throw blanket, his thoughts appearing far away. “Do you think there’s enough here?” He looked up, his gaze snagging hers. “You’ll help me, right?”

  Instead of answering, Talia pulled out her phone. “Why don’t you point out a few of the things that mean the most to you, and explain as you go along?”

  “What about I record you? While you’re making decisions, you can explain what you’re doing and why.” He’d flipped it back on her.

  That would come after, but yes. “You got it. Let’s do it together.” Talia turned so they stood shoulder to shoulder on the screen. “This is Talia Thomas with my good friend, DFW United player Camden Sharpe, better known as Santa Cam, and today we’re talking about how to trim your Texas Christmas tree.”

  15

  “What do you think, Derrick? Please tell me the community service and the MyHeartChannel videos are helping.” Camden doodled on the back of an envelope on his desk, the phone on speaker in front of him.

  It was late Monday evening. Cam’s neighborhood had long since gone to sleep, and Cam was going out of his mind with a combination of boredom and the torture of having watched his family trim the tree that night on FaceTime. They were kind enough to pass him from one family member to another so he could join in. He hadn’t been forgotten, but that didn’t mean missing being there hadn’t burned.

  “Numbers are looking real good, Cam,” Derrick said, “but I would keep going if I were you.”

  “Why’s that?” Maybe his agent had a strategic plan Cam could tap into if he understood it better.

  Derrick laughed. “Because I’ve watched the videos, and you look like you’re having fun. That’s what the public is responding to, and if you’re enjoying yourself, why not?”

  After he and Talia had had their serious conversation and had worked through their issues, they’d ended up closer than ever. The video footage shot at the holiday store and then on the carriage ride waving like royalty and laughing their heads off had been the most fun Cam had had in a long time. The memories sparked a fire within him, a burning need to see Talia again.

  “Did you get supplies from the grocery store?” Derrick asked, bringing Cam back to their conversation.

  This time Camden laughed long and hard. “Okay, I went because you insisted I needed to get there right away, but I was woefully unprepared for what I saw. Not one loaf of bread, one gallon of milk—even whole milk—and exactly zero flats of bottled water were left. What is it with these people? A couple of inches of snow are predicted and the whole world goes crazy? What are they expecting—the apocalypse?” Cam hadn’t needed the staples, but he’d gone instead for fresh produce and—to be honest—because he was curious why Derrick was freaking out.

  “The fear’s not unfounded,” Derrick said. “School has already been canceled for tomorrow—and that was decided as soon as flakes started to stick.”

  Mentally, Cam rolled his eyes. He supposed the roadways could become treacherous considering there wasn’t a snowplow in the state, but this reaction was almost laughable. To go from fifties all week to a predicted drop of temperatures and snow with accumulation had people worried. But if the meteorologist was to be trusted, it would melt off in a couple of days when it bounced back into the fifties again.

  “But you have what you need, right?” Derrick pressed.

  “Yes, Dad,” Cam said sarcastically to the agent, who was only five years older than him. “Even if I get snowed in, I’ll be good for several days. Don’t worry about me.” If Derrick needed to worry about Camden, it wouldn’t be that he would starve. Cabin fever was a more likely scenario. “Thanks, Derrick. Have a good evening.”

  At the close of the call, Cam scooped up his phone and carried it to the window. Pulling back the curtain, he watched thick flakes swirl through the light of the streetlamp in front of his house. At least a couple of inches had accumulated—not bad for a place where he hadn’t expected to ever see snow. He itched to go out in it, but it wouldn’t be fun alone.

  He found the number in his contacts and called, hoping Talia had her phone on do not disturb if it was too late for him to be calling. She answered on the second ring.

  “Are you afraid of the little storm, Cam?” she crooned before he could say hello.

  Point for her. Her spunkiness was exactly why he liked spending time with her. “Do you have an early morning?”

  “No . . .” She drew it out, slowly enunciating the word. “Why?” she followed up quickly.

  He ignored her question. “How adventurous are you feeling?”

  “Why?” This time she asked with more suspicion. While she didn’t exactly answer, at least this time she sounded a little more eager.

  “Put on your snow boots and parka. I’m coming over.” He was going to make an order, but decided he ought not to leave it there. “Okay?”

  “But it’s snowing . . .”

  The unspoken sentiment was that she was worried about him driving and getting in an accident. He’d grown up driving in this kind of weather. “That’s the whole point. And why I suggested boots and a coat.” If that was her only objection, he wasn’t going to let that keep him from coming. “I’ll see you in a few.”

  Getting out the door took more work than he’d planned. First, Cam had to dig through a few boxes to locate the appropriate winter attire. While looking, he ran back and forth to the stove, throwing together a thermos-ful of his mom’s hot chocolate. As long as he didn’t scald it while scrounging for matching gloves, it would be a nice addition to the evening he had planned.

  Dressed in normal winter clothes but with a Santa cap on his head, Cam knocked on Talia’s door just before midnight. She opened to him, pulling on her knit cap and stepping outside.

  She rushed to the balcony railing and put gloved hands in the puff of accumulated precipitation to look over it. “It’s so beauti—”

  He didn’t let her finish her statement before he blasted her in the back with a snowball he’d had behind his back. It exploded like a bombshell, the white of the snow stark against her black coat, and she laughed, scooping snow from the railing for a retaliatory snowball. She wound up and let loose, and the ball hit him square in the chest, tiny ice shards ricocheting onto his face.

  “I was going to thank you for driving over here in this.” Her tone teasingly insinuated she no longer felt that way. She scooted farther down the landing, capturing more snow but never taking her eyes off Camden. “But I know why you came now.”

  “Is that right?” He tossed a handful of snow in her general direction, but it didn’t go higher than their waists and then floated like pixie dust onto her boots.

  They sparred down three flights of stairs, and only once did he need to reach out to keep her from slipping down several steps. They made their way across the first-floor walkway, tossing half-formed snowballs at each other and trying to keep quiet so they wouldn’t wake anyone in the apartments. When they made it into the open lawn, however, she slammed him with a good one at the base of his neck, and snow fell down the back of his coat.

  “Just for that . . .” He lunged at her, grabbing her around the waist and swinging her around. If there’d been more than the inch or two, he would have dragged her to the ground, but as it was, everywhere they scraped snow away left soggy mud.

  She strained against him for half a second, but when he loosened his grasp, she grabbed him around the arms, pinning them to his sides, and jostled him back and forth as he had her. Her mischievous smile was inches from his, and without thinking, he leaned forward until her lips were under his.
<
br />   He hadn’t actually planned this, had not come with this intent in mind, but there she was, laughing and happy and oh so beautiful in the moonlight.

  Her lips were cold at first, but her breath deliciously warm. He brushed his lips across hers softly, asking permission without words, exploring the feelings that had been growing between them over the past week and a half. She loosened her grip around his arms but didn’t step back, instead running her hand up his shoulders and to the back of his neck while she pressed her lips harder against his. He closed his eyes, savoring the feeling, and responding to her movement until he had to pull back to catch his breath.

  “That wasn’t exactly why I came over, but I can adapt.” He leaned back enough to search her expression and then bent forward to claim another kiss. This was way better than he’d planned.

  She was the one to pull back this time, breathless, and he was pleased at the effect he had on her. “If this wasn’t what you planned, I’m curious to know what you did.”

  He studied her face for a minute, and then grinned. “I came to see if you wanted to build a snowman. I happen to be a master snowperson sculptor.”

  “Is that right?”

  He loved that she challenged him on everything. “Well, now, you can’t judge me on Texas snow. I’m not sure it’s up to snowperson-crafting quality.” During their snowball fight, he had noticed it was more slushy than sticky.

  “I doubt it will make for a good tall snowman, but those are boring anyway.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “I have another idea.”

  If she wanted to go back to the kissing, he was her guy. But when she stepped back and jogged toward the street, he was intrigued enough not to be too disappointed. There would be time for more kissing later.