My Favorite Holidate: A Standalone Holiday Romance

Wilder

I’m no pro athlete.

I’m the man with the bankroll and the brilliant ideas. The guy who moves chess pieces around. The one who checkmates someone else.

But when it comes to snowballs?

I’m James Bond. I have a license to kill. As a kid I mastered how to peg a friend with a snowball. On winter days, I didn’t stay inside and play with spreadsheets or stock sites. I flew outdoors whenever I could and learned how the real world worked.

And here’s how it works in a snowball fight—you battle to the death.

It’s what we did in the winters when we visited my father’s relatives in Reno, one of the snowiest cities in Nevada. That’s where I learned to slay the competition. I guess that’s the best thing to have come out of my relationship with him.

We’re deep into the fight as the sun dips low on the horizon, the streetlamps of the town park flickering on.

Fable and I have outlasted a lot of the other teams so far, including Caroline and her wife, Fable’s mom and her husband, Fable’s Uncle Rick and his girlfriend, Maeve and Cousin Troy—since she picked him as her teammate saying he seemed like a fierce competitor and he was—as well as plenty of townspeople, like the couple who owns the Mistletoe Emporium and the managers of Play All Day. We even bested Max and Everly, and Josie and Wesley, and those guys are pro athletes. I work with athletes all day long, and they’re shockingly competitive. But then, so am I.

Bibi paired up with the town’s sheriff, and there’s never been a more Bibi moment than that—pure strategy.

But she’s out of the running now, and I’ve got a job to do—finish this off. As I duck behind our snow fort—a picnic table flipped up—I steal a quick glance at my teammate. Her cheeks are the sexiest shade of winter pink from racing around and killing others too. Fable is fantastically ruthless as she packs a snowball nice and tight, then hands it to me, coolly whispering, “Leo’s on the move. Kill him dead.”

She’s vicious, and it’s such a turn-on. I pop out from behind the fortress, find the target, and cock my arm, take aim and fire at my best friend.

Bam!

Nailed him right in the shoulder.

Leo groans in defeat. “Are you kidding me, Blaine?”

I fire off a victory grin his way. “I am not. See you later, Whitlock.”

I wave him goodbye, and he hangs his head, but he’s not a sore loser. He’s just having fun as he and Charlotte fold, heading off the field but still watching from the outskirts. Charlotte peers around, looking at Fable, I suspect. Come to think of it, she’s been studying her sister more than usual since we arrived, but now’s not the time to think on why. Now’s the time to attack without mercy.

We’re down to the final few players. Fable’s father arrived in the nick of time for the competition and announced he was here with a booming, “The father of the bride has arrived! The fun can begin.”

Asshole.

He’s got a barrel chest and big arms. He has the strength you’d expect of a man with a sturdy build. But he’s mostly landed lucky shots so far. He ducks back behind his fortress next to his fourth wife while a woman emerges from behind another one at two o’clock. Blonde hair, pale skin, and a smile I’ve seen from behind the counter as she peddled sweets, but that customer service grin is notably absent now from Aurora, the owner of the Sugar Plum Bakery. Her dark eyes scan the field like a robot, narrowing in on a man across the park, who’s running over the snowy white grounds. She fires ruthlessly, slamming a snowball right into his…ass.

“Got you, Lennox,” she taunts, which sounds funnier in her French accent.

“No! Say it isn’t so.” Dramatically the man crumples to the ground, and she races over and stands above him smiling, a hunter with her kill. I recognize him as a veterinarian from the city with an online series called The Hot Vet, but he’s originally from this town.

My focus returns to Aurora briefly and then to my teammate who’s just packed another snowball.

“Her left side is her weak one. She doesn’t cover it,” I whisper to Fable, who nods crisply, then sprints toward the baker, ready to act. With a quick and precise aim, she lets loose a beautiful shot straight to Aurora’s left shoulder.

And damn…Fable shoots as well as she lays fake rhinestones on shirts. She knocks Aurora to the ground, but then her father pops up like he’s in Whac-A-Mole.

That won’t do.

I aim, tossing a snowball right into his leg. He tries to dodge it but he’s not fast enough. I take him out cleanly, and he groans loudly, “Are you kidding me? No way. How could you do that to the father of the bride?”

Yup, he steals the limelight. But I got him good, and it serves him right for hurting his wife when they were together. And for hurting Fable and her sister too.

I check to the side, then dart out, grab Fable’s arm, and haul her back behind the fort, providing protection from anyone left—two people specifically. Brady and Iris.

Fable’s breathing hard, her cheeks pink from the cold and the exertion, and she looks stunning. I swipe some of her hair from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. Snowflakes cling to her dark lashes and her cheeks are flushed with the thrill of the snowball fight. Her competitive spirit is my kryptonite. No, that’s not true. She’s my kryptonite.

But there’s no time to linger on my thoughts—not when Brady sneaks out from behind his fort with mischief glinting in his eyes. Iris advances the other way. A surge of protectiveness rushes through me, and my focus sharpens. Without hesitation, I grab a handful of snow and pack it tightly into a snowball. “You get her. I’ll get him,” I tell Fable.

“On it.”

I am not letting him win. No way. Not now.

She darts around the side, and pummels Iris with a snowball. Yes! Now it’s my shot. With a swift motion, I rise up, run around the fort, and cock my arm back. I let the snowball fly toward Brady. It sails through the air with precision, hitting him square in the chest. He stumbles backward, shock etched across his face, and then he topples to the ground, whining like the icy missile hurt him.

“Ouch. That was foul play!”

“Was not,” Fable shouts, popping up, clearly ready to give him a piece of her mind.

I grab her arm, hold her back. “Let him whine.”

“A shot that close has got to be against the rules,” Brady moans from the ground as Iris rushes over to tend to his non-wounds while Sheriff Alejandro Hardick trundles across the snowy park, approaching the whiny brat. The sheriff’s a sturdy man, with a touch of Texan in his voice and a no-bullshit attitude.

“Hate to break it to you, tough guy, but that was well within the rules. Better luck next time,” says Hardick, who’s never suffered fools.

“Not fair,” Brady pouts.

“All’s fair in games and Christmas. Try to be a good sport,” the sheriff admonishes then heads over to join the man who’s presiding over the Evergreen Falls Annual Best in Snow Winter Games Competition. That’s Dan Bumblefritz, the town’s mayor who owns the North Pole Nook and Tavern on Main Street with his wife and who loves all things Christmas and competition. He has thick black hair poking out of a Santa baseball cap. They confer quickly, then Mayor Bumblefritz nods and marches across the snowy park toward us with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “The winners of the first event in the Evergreen Falls competition are…” He stops and asks our team name. We tell him and he grabs my wrist in one hand, Fable’s in the other, then thrusts our arms in the air. “The Reindeer Gamers.”

From the edge of the field, Leo and Charlotte cheer. So do Doctor Lennox and Aurora, Caroline and the others too, including Bibi and Sheriff Hardick.

Brady just pouts.

Serves him right.

When Mayor Bumblefritz lets go of our wrists, Fable and I exchange victorious grins as we turn toward each other.

Fable’s triumphant laughter fills the air around us, a sound that I like far too much. And I feel a little victorious, too, in a whole new way. Making her come was one thing. Winning for her is entirely another, and I want to keep doing both. But the more I bend, the more I’ll break, and then what will be left of me come January? When I return to my regular life? To my business and my daughter?

For a long time, I only ever believed there was one important reason to avoid romance—it’s nearly impossible to trust. But I never considered how many more reasons there are to swear off relationships. Till now. Because how does anyone live with this uncertainty? With the awfulness of wondering what’s next? With these ups and downs?

If I let my heart get involved over the holidays, I’m afraid there won’t be much left in the new year. Trouble is, for the first time in ages, I don’t know what chess piece to move in this fake romance game.

So I simply hug her, savoring the scent of snow in her hair before I think too hard on what will happen back at the cabins once we leave.

And before I know it, it’s time to go.