My Favorite Holidate

by Lauren Blakely

She’s helpfully wrapping Brady’s package though. With her mouth. Brady’s hand curls around her sleek blonde hair, tangling his fingers in the strands as he pumps with his eyes closed. “Mmm. Yes. That’s right. Take that eggnog, baby. Take it all.”

LOL GROSS

She looks far prettier than is good for me, and this isn’t the first time I’ve thought that about my employee.

Romance and I aren’t vodka and tonic. We’re orange juice and toothpaste.

I know what it’s like to be raised by a father who doesn’t show up. I won’t be that kind of dad. Mac deserves all my spare time, even if my life is a little lonely when Mac goes to bed and the house is quiet. Or when she’s with her mom.

If I were to imagine a romance—down the road, of course—none of Bibi’s prospects are women I could picture myself with. I’d want someone funny and kind who wasn’t afraid to keep me on my toes.

This is my best suit, and I like to look nice. The fact that the meeting is with Fable has nothing to do with my selection. Fine. Maybe it has a little something to do with it. But it’s nothing I can’t handle. Or hide. Just like I’ve been doing for the last year or so.

“You want Brady to be jealous?” Wilder asks, and his hands have knuckled into fists against his thighs. The muscles carving his forearms flex, and I try not to notice because don’t think inappropriate thoughts about your boss. Correction: don’t think any more inappropriate thoughts about your boss.

My gorgeous designer, with waves of shiny auburn hair, a constellation of freckles across her nose, and honey-hazel eyes that radiate warmth and humor. Fable, who opened her heart to me and whose outrage couldn’t disguise the hurt I spotted underneath.

Her obsession with the game I love is hot. There’s not an opposing defense in the league that she hasn’t studied, a starting lineup that she doesn’t know, or a player on which she doesn’t have an opinion. Come to think of it, I’d better revise that hot to a white-hot.

If I tell her we’re fake dating, I’ll need to tell her why—that the caterer she recommended for Thanksgiving was enjoying Brady’s eggnog special—then Leo would insist on kicking Brady, his own cousin, out of the wedding party. That’s not fair to them. It’s not their circus or their monkeys. Brady’s my monkey and Wilder’s the new ringmaster. Or something like that.

I’ve always wanted a big love—even in spite of what I saw in front of me growing up. Each time I went on a date with someone from an app, from a setup, from anywhere, I believed in the possibility of big love. Hoped for it.

Five minutes after telling myself to follow some rules for self-protection, I already know that I won’t stop sending her gifts. I won’t stop texting. This has been the most fun I’ve had in a while and I’m…addicted—and I’m allowed to be. Nothing can come of this ruse, of course. How could anything come of a romance that started as a lie? But I’ll enjoy it while I can.

Wilder? He shows up every single time for every single thing. It’s admirable. It’s attractive.

It’s so much easier to focus on other people. Then I don’t need to crack open my heart or my feelings.

I love that he gets along with his ex. That they co-parent so well. I’ve never heard a bad word about Felicity from him, and it’s refreshing.

Maybe I understand obsession a little these days. But I’ll do my damnedest to leave it behind in San Francisco.

Sure. That seems likely

“Wilder Blaine. Someday you’re going to fall head over heels for a woman and I’m going to write a song about the unbreakable man breaking.” I roll my eyes. That will never happen, but still I say, “I’ll consider myself warned.”

For the four months we dated, I believed we were going somewhere. I genuinely liked him. He seemed fun, friendly, eager to please. And, he was eager to please—another woman. That massive fail in my romance picker is Reminder Number One why I need to be careful with my heart. Why my caution with emotions is a damn good idea. The more I let people in, the more they can hurt me.

“What do you think?” I don’t think. I do. I slide my thumb along her pretty chin. God, it feels so good to touch her again. “That you like to give me hell. That you like to keep me on my toes. And that you love to give me a hard time.”

Sometimes we aren’t always ready to do the hard thing. So we have to do something easier first.”

“You do belong on the naughty list, Fable Calloway.” I stalk closer. With a filthy grin, she says, “Why don’t you make sure of that?”

If Wilder and I keep lunging at each other, we run the risk of becoming…real. Even on a temporary basis. And real couples hurt each other. With words, with deeds, with disappointment.

What are we doing? We smash into each other and then we rip apart. We come together and we back all the way off. It’s whiplash. Sexy whiplash, but whiplash nonetheless.

She doesn’t need to worry about this side of me—the one that’s terrible at love. So terrible she needs to fake it.

“Then why fake it? Why not date for real?” I wince. “The billionaire and the jewelry designer?” She shakes her head. “The woman and the man who’d both do anything for those they love—including fake a relationship.”

I hate Brady with the fire of a thousand, million suns burning up his underwear so he has to run down the mountain streets naked in a hailstorm.”

What a visual

I’m the weak link in this situationship, the hot mess, the girl who couldn’t keep a guy. And Wilder? He’s so good at everything that he’d never blab about a fake romance, like I’m doing.

“Are the pirates here for the cans of soup? I don’t want any hemp. Close the curtains. I can’t take any more flowers after midnight.” I stifle a laugh. Correction: I stifle a laugh badly. Her eyes widen more, and she blinks off the sleep.

“If you were mine, you’d be with me every night. If you were mine, I’d tell you how much I want you to stay over.” And fuck it. The sheet stealing is adorable after all because…of course it is. “If you were mine, I’d never care that you’re a bed hog.” She swallows, parts her lips, then says, “I’d try not to be a bed hog for you.”

“Then show me, honey. Show me how you say thank you.”

Damn 🫠

Every time I’m with Fable, I fail miserably to get over her. I fail horribly at moving on. I fail awfully at forgetting how much I adore her. And I don’t know what to do with failure.

“I don’t trust people who don’t like animals,” Mac adds, crossing her arms. “One hundred percent reasonable approach to life,”

I can’t take it anymore. I claim her mouth in a deep and passionate kiss. I pour all my feelings into it—all the emotions that I’m terrified to say, but I’m even more terrified of not saying them soon. And soon I will.

Romance has never worked out for me. Whenever you let someone see who you really are, they can walk all over you.

life is sweeter when you can move past your fears.”

“Love hurts, but so does letting it go.”

“If you’re not ready to do the hard thing, have a piece of cheese until you are,” Josie offers. That’s not a bad idea. “Okay,” I say as I sit up to take a bite of a smoky Gouda. As I eat, Josie adds, “It’s like you sometimes say to us—sometimes we aren’t ready to do the hard thing, so we have to do something easier first.” I side-eye her. “You tricked me. You’re quoting me back to me.”

“Yes, but we need a plan.” Leo strokes his chin in the universal signal for I’m devising a brilliant scheme.

Stop turning the other way. Stop avoiding the hard thing. Stop pretending.

That’s what’s held me back. Not the belief that love is a lie, but the fear that love might be true. If it is, someone can hurt me.

He’s alive. It’s a fear that has never stopped chasing me. But I suppose that’s part of loving an addict—worry is never truly far away.

I don’t want to be loveless. I don’t want to be tough all the time. I don’t want to be the guy who believes love is a lie. I want a family. I want togetherness. I want to come back here year after year with the love of my life.

Sometimes you have to do the easier thing first, but eventually you have to do the hard thing.

That was terrifying but it was wonderful too. I suppose both things can be true at once. Love can hurt you, and love can heal you.

You are extraordinary, and I want to love you that way too. I want you to be mine for real, for today, for tomorrow, for New Year’s Eve, for all the days.”

He is too much. But he is my too much.

“You’re my favorite holidate.” “I’ll be your favorite date every day of the year.”