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)
She waved dismissively. “Don’t worry about an estimate. Cameron will pay for whatever you need, and there’s so much to do here…as you can see. With the holidays upon us, a little cheer will go a long way.”
I sauntered away from the bins, hoping to literally move away from holiday topics. “Right, but I need to assess the damage. I don’t want to overcharge your nephew.”
“By all means, overcharge him. He’s loaded.” She snickered, setting another nutcracker on the table.
“Ma’am…”
“All right, honey. Let’s poke the bear, shall we?” Mary gave a mischievous wink, motioning for me to follow her down the hall.
Okay, I had to admit I was curious about our reclusive mini celebrity. Only a couple of folks had caught a glimpse of him. Alma at the diner said he was a big man, and in her words…George Clooney swoony. And Finola at the bakery, who had to be my mom’s age, just fanned her face and fluttered her eyelashes.
Movie star? Musician? I forgot. But I wondered what he was doing in a small town in Vermont in a drafty old house at this time of year.
I gave in and asked, “What does your nephew do for a living?”
“Cameron is an author. He writes mysteries, and he’s gosh darn good at it. They’ve made five of his books into films. And one of those cable stations wants to make his recent bestseller into a miniseries. Oh, we’re so proud of him.”
Now I was more curious than ever. My mind started spinning as if I could somehow piece together the author’s identity with just a few measly clues. Books, movies, and a series on a cable network…geez, I thought I was doing all right, but a workshop in Fallbrook with a sideline handyman business didn’t compare to bestseller lists and Hollywood-caliber success.
The dull stab of pain for the life I’d walked away from in New York City caught me off guard. I furrowed my brow, feeling irritated with myself.
Or with Cameron. I couldn’t decide.
Didn’t matter. He was still a dick for letting his elderly aunts lift heavy shit and manage his life. Or…maybe he physically wasn’t able to do those things and I was being weird for no reason in particular. It had to be the nutcrackers. I was allergic to too much holiday shit.
My smile felt forced now, but my tone was unfailingly polite. “What’s his last name?”
Mary paused in front of the door just off the hall, tapped lightly, and shot a playful grin my way. “Warren. Cameron Warren.”
No idea.
Zilch.
But the way she swung that door open with one arm extended and her toe pointed like an ancient ballerina indicated that I should have been impressed…and honored ’cause I was about to meet the Cameron Warren. I wished I’d asked more questions and thought of googling him before coming by. Someone in town must have done some research. Maybe Mom told me and I’d tuned her out. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
I stepped into the office and zeroed in on the shadowy figure tapping away on his keyboard behind the massive desk. His silhouette didn’t offer any clues to his identity, other than dark hair liberally salted with silver and a well-trimmed beard. And he was obviously engrossed in his work.
I scanned the room, noting the intricate carvings on the ceiling. They matched the ones on the mantel above the fireplace where embers glowed and crackled. I wandered toward the heat instinctively, then turned to study the tall bookshelves with a movable ladder lining two walls. They were filled to capacity with an eclectic collection of classic tomes, well-loved paperbacks, and knickknacks, like collections of miniature soldiers and snow globes.
A thick red Persian rug anchored the space under the desk and floated to the lip of the fireplace under two worn leather club chairs draped with wool plaid blankets. The only things missing were a dog, a bar cart, and a box of cigars.
The office was warm and cozy…and very inviting. I had no doubt it was the nicest room in the drafty old house.
I glanced over to the huge bay window opposite the desk with a view of the snow-blanketed garden as Mary announced our presence.
“Hi, there. Give me two…” Tap, tap, tap. “…seconds.”
“No hurry, honey. Joe the carpenter is here to check your crack,” Mary declared.
The typing stopped, followed by a slight choking sound.
I bit the inside of my cheek and turned as the silver fox with twinkling blue eyes, broad shoulders, and a fit bod stood.
So this was the infamous Cameron Warren?
Christ, he was hot. And big.
I’d bet he was in his midforties, possibly pushing fifty. A very well-preserved fifty. Other than a few smile lines around his eyes, he didn’t have any wrinkles. Or maybe they were hidden under that perfectly trimmed beard or—