My Favorite Holidate

by Lauren Blakely

Everly grabs a bar from the coffee table where I’ve placed the tray and breaks off a corner, popping it in her mouth, then moans like a cooking show star. “Do not let go of him when the holidays are over.” That’s not really an option though. I sigh. “...

Josie pats the couch in front of the Christmas tree. “Sit,” she orders and I comply. She gives me the Very Serious Look. “Can we discuss the elephant in the room?” “I thought we were discussing the elephant in the room,” I say, glancing at the tray of baked goods. “That the billionaire could actually bake? Incidentally, he baked those as punishment for squeezing my ass. It’s a game we play,” I say, and I’m giddy as I tell them about our list. “It was his idea to keep us on the up and up with this romance. If we do anything that’s over the top and might make it ob...

Maeve blinks several times. “Ma’am, excuse me. We need all the details. We should all do this list. But first I have to know—did you purposely do something over the top so that he would bake for you?” “No, he did something over the top,” I explain. “He sque...

Josie clears her throat to get our attention again. “Which only bolsters my point. The real elephant in the room is tha...

I twist my fingers together and acknowledge Josie’s elephant. “It doesn’t feel fake anymore either,” I admit. That’s the first time I’ve voiced it out loud. “And I don’t know what to do about it.”

Maeve seems to give my dilemma some thought before she says, “You have feelings for him. Big, mushy real ones that make you feel like anything is possible?”

“I do. But we work together. I don’t know what it would be like when we return to the office in the new year.” “You already cleared it with HR,” Everly points out. “That’s a big hurdle you don’t have to worry about. The whole office believes you’re together, so you’re off to a great start.” She flicks some errant blonde strands of hair off her cheek, then adds, “And I work with Max and it’s a lot of fun.”

“Yes, and that’s good. And I’m so glad you and Max figured everything out. But what if we tried something for real and it all went wrong?”

“He’s still the boss. I’d still have to see him.” “But why can’t it last?” Everly challenges me.

“Because this isn’t real. Right now is the honeymoon phase. It’s Christmastime. Everything is wonderful. Wilder and I are throwing snowballs and singing, and we have a Christmas-tree-decorating competition in a few hours, and I’m eating seven-layer bars with my best friends, and last night I was tied up with red satin, and I don’t give a fuck about Brady anymore. But I’m not a fool. I know what this is—I’m playing pretend with my boss.” My throat catches, and I take a moment before I fight off a frown and add, “What happens when it’s real life?”

That’s what worries me. Even if this fake romance is starting to feel real, even if I couldn’t give a flying figgy pudding about my ex, what happens when Wilder and I take this romance out of Evergreen Falls? What happens when there is no more Christmas magic?

“Also, I don’t think he wants it to work out,” I add, thinking back to our conversation early yesterday morning. It’s not that I don’t want it. It’s that I don’t know if I can trust. I don’t want to break his private confidences, so I won’t share what he said...

“Fable, the only question that matters is…do you want it to work out?” I’ve been mulling that over a lot more lately. “Part of me does. But that seems foolish. Eventually you have to throw out the Christmas tree, and it dies on the side of the road.”

“If you get a fake tree you don’t have to throw it out. They last.”

As I watch the two couples, I think about the ways they’ve let each other in, the changes people make for each other, the ways we bend and grow, and the things we’re willing to do to get out of our comfort zones when we fall in love. But is that what’s happening to me? And if it is, would Wilder be willing to meet me on the other side of Christmas?

I’m not the most competitive person in general, but when it comes to my home turf—design—I don’t come to play. I come to win.

Wilder turns to me, approval in his eyes. “You’re like a quarterback.” “I like football, and I like strategy,” I say, owning it. “Hot,” he whispers.

“Are visions of Christmas trees dancing in your head?” he asks her. “I’m just trying to psych out the competition,” she says, then nods subtly to Brady and Iris in the corner who are jogging in place by a Douglas fir, like jogging will help them decorate faster. “Especially that guy. He’s kind of a jerk.”

“Because he doesn’t like cats. He said so at the shower when he ran into Penguin in the hallway after he used the bathroom.” Wilder scoffs. “That settles it. Reason enough to beat him.” “I don’t trust people who don’t like animals,” Mac adds, crossing her arms. “One hundred percent reasonable approach to life,”

I don’t care about Brady anymore, but I do care about Wilder’s aunt so this one is for Bibi. I want to win for her. Because the Evergreen Falls Annual Best in Snow Winter Games Competition matters to her. They’re her Olympics. They’re her big game. I’m going to do my best for her since she’s been so good to me.

But the clock is ticking and this girl wants to win. For others.

This feels all too real too. All too possible. And entirely too wonderful. It can’t last. It just can’t. Except, what if it can?

“She’s pretty much perfect in every other way.” “It’s her only flaw.”

“Merry fucking Christmas to me,” I say awed at the sight. She smiles, the kind that says she’s pulled this off. She fucking did. “I thought we could have our own Christmas-tree-decorating contest. Do I look like a tree?” “The sexiest tree I’ve ever seen,”

“Your mind is a beautifully filthy and creative place, and I fucking love it,”

For a long time. For well past the holidays. Do you want that too?

“The first time we went to dinner, I’m betting you were already imagining fucking me while it snowed.” A laugh bursts from me. “Am I that transparent?” She bobs a naked shoulder, a pleased smile curving her lips. “Maybe.” “Guilty as charged then,”

What did I ever do to deserve even a brief romance with this naughty angel? She ignites something carnal in me. Something greedy.

My voice comes out in a low rumble as I rise up and reach for the end of the strand of lights resting on her hips. “Fable, I need to take these lights off you. I need to kiss every inch of your skin. I need to make you come countless times. Because this”—I nod toward the window and ...

“I meant everything I said last night right here in this bed. I have wanted you for so long. For more than a year. You’ve been front and center in my mind. I’ve been thinking of you, and craving you, and wanting you. You’ve been like a dream I didn’t think I could ever catch.”

“You’re not dreaming,” she says, her fingers playing with the ends of my hair. “You’re awake and I’m all real. All yours, Wilder.”

My chest is so hot. My skin is like the surface of Mercury, but it’s because my heart is on fire. 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, bu...

“Do you know what good girls get for Christmas?” “What do they get?” “They get fucked under the tree.”

I take a beat to stare at the beauty in front of me, here for me, opening up for me in every way. I want to deserve her. I want to earn her. Most of all, I don’t want to hurt her by saying something too soon that I can’t back up. But I think I can try with her. I think I can toss out all my old beliefs and embrace new ones. But I need to be sure I won’t fail.

She’s tight and hot and all mine. And when she whispers my name in a shuddery breath, I nearly say fuck I love you. I grit my teeth and swallow down the dangerous words.

“Wrap your legs tight around me. I need to fuck you deep. Need to take you hard. Need to show you how much you mean to me.”

I fuck her slow, and deep, and passionately. I kiss her as I swivel my hips. I whisper sweet everythings as I thrust. I tell her she’s beautiful, incredible, absolutely amazing as I touch her. I’m almost saying it. Almost, but not quite.

Still, I want her to feel it—the strength of this connection between us. I want her to believe it can last well beyond the holidays.

My heart is beating so fast, so loud. She has to hear it. “I feel it,” she adds in a bare whisper. My brave woman takes the first step. I cup her cheek, look her in the eyes, and say, “There’s nothing fake about us.”

“If you wanted to date a girl, would you take her to see the new horror retrospective at the local movie house or invite her over to listen to a true crime podcast about unsolved murders?”

“Is this hypothetical or about someone in particular?” “No. I met a girl at the tree thing yesterday. She told me she has a black tree with ornaments of fictional serial killers on it, so naturally, I want to ask her out.” “Naturally,” I say.

“Mac, I need to do something.” Her eyes are inquisitive. “Is it…ask out Fable on a real date? Because I’d highly recommend taking her to the pottery-making workshop at the Art Center For You in the city and then dinner at her favorite restaurant, which incidentally is Happy Cow in Hayes Valley. I’d be happy to arrange a res. Or if you want to go for the extravagant thing, you could suggest a private rooftop dinner, then a helicopter tour of the city. That would be fab for your first real date.”

“I take back what I said about you going to law school. You clearly need to go into theater and become a director. Or go into sports and become a head coach. Or enter politics and become a chief strategist.” “Those are all excellent ideas, Dad. But for now, I’ll be the chief strategist for you,” she says, then stage whispers, “Now go. Make your fake romance real!”

“The answer,” Fable says, “is that on New Year’s Eve I’m going to be in bed at ten-thirty, reading and then falling asleep.” And I fall even harder. She’s so delightfully blunt. But I can be direct too. “Then when I take you out that night, I better get you home before ten-thirty.” She arches a brow. “Presumptuous.” “Yes,”

Mac pumps a fist. “Did it!” “It seems we have a little matchmaker,” I murmur. “We do, and I choose…both dates,” Fable says, then lifts her coffee and downs some. “I’ll give you both,” I say.

“He seems quite taken with you.” Fable meets my gaze with a hopeful one of her own. “The feeling is mutual. In fact, we’re having a real date in San Francisco after Christmas.” “And I set it up,” Mac puts in. Mom ruffles Mac’s hair. “Of course you did.” She looks at Fable, then me, then smiles smugly. “I hate to say I told you so, Wilder. But I told you so.” “And you were right,” I say. “Yes, I was.”

Anything is foreplay for this man.

“That was hot.” I stretch across the table and throw my arms around him, whispering in his ear, “You are going to get fucked so good tonight.” “No, Fable. You are.”

It’s not that I don’t trust Fable. I don’t trust myself with her heart. Because trust is as real as Santa Claus.

What happened at the gazebo an hour ago is proof that I’m terrible at choosing. Not that Wilder is a bad choice. I’m the bad choice. Me. I’m the problem.