Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 38149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
And yes, that scared the fuck out of me.
8
Cameron
The point of relocating to Fallbrook was to get away from professional and familial distractions and get some actual work done. I’d been reasonably productive for a while, but lately…not so much. The lure of being with Joe was too tempting to pass up. And no, we didn’t spend all our time in bed.
I helped him with a few projects around the house. We stripped wallpaper in the living room and hallway, sanded the floorboards he recommended replacing, or I just kept him company while he painted. We talked nonstop, sharing secrets and minor events in our lives—as if it really mattered that he knew about the time I accidentally kicked a soccer ball through a classroom window in high school or that I could still remember where I was when I received the offer to publish my first novel.
And Joe reciprocated by showing me his town. We strolled Main Street, peeked into stores selling maple syrup and holiday ornaments, and hung out at the coffee shop, where he introduced me to practically every single person who walked through the door. Old classmates, teachers, his mother’s friends, the local priest, the florist…you name him or her, there was a good chance Joe knew them.
The writer in me couldn’t help but observe that he fit here. The townsfolk might be in awe of my celebrity, but after telling me they liked my book or loved the television series, they didn’t have much to say. But they could talk to Joe all day, reminiscing about old friends or new happenings in town.
Just being with him gave me insider status, though. I felt like I was part of something for the first time in ages. Not an observer, a true participant in my life. And I liked it.
No, I reveled in it. I sent my aunts photos of the tree we’d decorated, and followed it up with a FaceTime call so I could walk them through the improvements Joe had made on the house. When they squealed at the wreath and garland on the front door, I grinned and told them it was all Joe while he rolled his eyes.
Our impossibly wide smiles told a story, but I couldn’t seem to control mine. It spread without my permission in the oddest places.
Like now…we stood under a lamplight decorated with red ribbon, cradling to-go cups outside of Rise and Grind while Joe’s mom toddled toward us, yelling, “Yoo-hoo! Wait right there, Joseph Linton.”
He lifted his coffee cup in acquiescence and gave me a look I couldn’t read. “I have a feeling I know what this is about. No wisecracks from you, author man.”
I chuckled softly as his mom barreled forward.
“Good morning, Mrs. Linton,” I said.
She wheezed slightly and patted my arm. “Hi there, dear. I’m glad I ran into you two.”
“You ran after us, Ma. Not into us,” Joe corrected, pretending to wince when his mom swatted his elbow.
“Hmph. I put the Santa suit in your closet, along with extra padding. You need to be at the hall at two p.m. sharp.” She pointed a warning finger at him and turned to me. “Make sure he’s not late, please.”
I nodded. “You got it.”
“Good man. Oh, and I saved a seat for you at my table, Mr. Warren. Number three, just left of the stage. See you in a few hours, boys. Love you, Joey.”
She shuffled along the snowy sidewalk, fading to a pink blur in the distance.
“The bingo party is today?” I asked, sipping my coffee.
Joe sighed heavily. “Fuck me.”
I teased him all the way home. I couldn’t help it.
“Sexy Santa. Now that’s a new one for me. Santa doesn’t hit my fantasy top ten, usually. I generally have a thing for firefighters, lifeguards, or—”
He swiped my keys from me as we approached the house. “Yeah, yeah.”
“Lately, I’m all about construction workers,” I continued, stealing the keys back and jingling them out of reach. “But Santa? I don’t know if—”
“Cam! There you are!”
I stopped in my tracks at the sight of Martin rubbing his hands for warmth on the sidewalk in front of my house. Was I expecting him? I didn’t think so. It was the holidays, for fuck’s sake. Why was he here?
“Martin. Uh…Joe, this is my manager, Martin Schuler.”
The two men shook hands politely, while I mulled over the incongruity of my worlds colliding. Martin was a lanky fortysomething with thinning blond hair who somehow pulled off a cosmopolitan hipster vibe. It had to be the designer boots and herringbone coat. Joe’s basic Levi’s and puffy black North Face jacket were the epitome of utilitarian chic. He looked sexy and confident in his own skin.
And he looked confused.
That made two of us.
“Pleased to meet you, Joe.” Martin released Joe’s hand and shoved his own into his pocket. “I’ve been waiting for an hour and damn, it’s cold.”