My Favorite Holidate: A Standalone Holiday Romance

Wilder

Make no mistake, I can bluff. Have done it plenty of times in business, in countless negotiations.

The second those nasty words fly from Brady’s mouth, I’m ready to deny them and armed with the truth. The evidence too. Fable’s hand in mine, our upcoming date, our very real and very true romance.

But there’s my friend’s wedding, and I don’t want to pull attention from the bride and groom, so I call out in a calm, clear voice, “Enough, Brady. Your cousin’s getting married tomorrow. Let’s talk privately.”

Brady’s fired up and he points like an accuser in a kangaroo court. “You are not a man of your word,” he shouts into his megaphone, letting the whole damn town know.

The mayor clears his throat and climbs the steps, his hands splayed in front of him as if he’s trying to cool this hothead down. “Now, this is best handled privately, young man.”

The sheriff’s heading up the stairs too. “We don’t air our problems in the town square,” Hardick admonishes.

“But maybe you should,” Brady says to him, holding the megaphone above his head, playing keep-away as he moves farther from the pair and speaks into the megaphone again. “Because I competed here in these games in this beloved town. Because I was invited. By that man.” He points at me. “At Thanksgiving. He offered me a chance to pitch him on my business as a stockbroker, my small business, if I won the caroling competition in this lovely town. And I worked hard. So hard. I sang. I practiced. I worked, like all of you hard-working people.” The lies roll off his tongue. Next to me, Fable covers her mouth, clearly mortified at the traffic wreck of her ex on stage. Brady addresses the gathered crowd again, who can’t stop rubbernecking. Why would they? It’s a show, and half the crowd has their phones out, recording it.

“But it was all a trick. Because he said today, he wouldn’t give me that chance I fought for. Why? Because Wilder Blaine likes to trick people. All of us regular people. And ask yourself—if he’d lie to me, if he’d invent a girlfriend during Christmastime, for Rudolph’s sake, how might he be tricking all of you?”

I’d like to rush the stage and tackle the fucker. But that won’t get me anywhere but thrown into jail. I squeeze Fable’s hand tighter. “I’m sorry,” I whisper to her. Then louder, to everyone, I say, “Nothing is fake. I assure you. It’s all real with Fable.” Then to Brady, I try once more. “Let’s discuss this like gentlemen in⁠—”

“No. We’ll discuss it here. How about we have a competition? A new contest in the Evergreen Falls games. We can let everyone decide if you’re a liar!”

Holy shit. Someone is unhinged.

Nearby, Aurora stares at the stage, like she’s unable to look away. The man who runs the North Pole Nook is caught in the tractor beam of Brady’s rant. The three lumberjacks wince, their collective expressions saying better you than me. A few feet away, my best friend stands next his bride-to-be, studying me like he hardly knows me.

Aww shit. Did I mess up by not telling him, after all? Should I have shared the truth about the fake romance and his cousin?

Meanwhile, Fable’s dad is munching on a box of popcorn, popping kernels in his mouth and muttering delightedly, “This day just got better.”

Fable’s eyes flood with regret. She looks so miserable, and this is my fault. But I can’t let Brady ruin this day, this season, this wedding tomorrow. So I won’t stoop to his level. I won’t tell the town he had his dick sucked at my aunt’s house on Thanksgiving. I won’t ruin Leo’s relationship with a family member, even a jackass.

I try again with reason. “Brady, I appreciate that you’re frustrated, but Fable and I are together.” I lift our joined hands like that proves a point. “We’re here together. We’ve been together for a while, and we’ll be together after this.”

Fable shouts angrily at her ex, “We have a date for New Year’s Eve, and he has more manners in his right toe than you will ever have, and he treats me like I matter and like he cares, and he doesn’t⁠—”

“That date?” Brady’s eyes flicker with vengeful delight as he cuts her off with his megaphone. “Let’s talk about that date.”

My hackles rise. What the hell? “I don’t think that’s necessary. Let’s stop this now and discuss it privately.”

“Nope,” he says, popping the word. “Let’s discuss your dates here. Why are you faking it? Because I won the singing competition fair and square?”

My god, he’s as myopic as he is detestable. “This is not a public matter.”

“Brady, that’s enough,” Leo calls out, his tone crisp and firm. He’s clearly done with these shenanigans.

The sheriff looks ready to drag Brady off stage. “Put down your megaphone. No weapons in the town square.”

“Fine,” Brady says, like a petulant little child. “I’ll put it down because I have this.”

From his back pocket, he grabs his phone and what looks like a mini speaker, and dramatically swipes a finger across the screen. “I had a feeling about you two. I took an educated guess. Just like I do with stocks every day. And I was right.” He hits play and my daughter’s voice booms through the speaker. “Is it…ask out Fable on a real date?”

I go cold. That’s what Mac said to me earlier when we were making snow angels. In a second, the ice in me changes to fire. Red clouds billow from my eyes. This asshole was snooping on us? He lurked behind my cabins and recorded my private conversation with my daughter?

He skips the part where Mac suggests the various options for dates then cuts to Mac saying, “That would be fab for your first real date.” Then, to Mac saying, “Now go. Make your fake romance real!”

That’s enough. With a wildfire in my veins, I march to the stage and rip his phone out of his hand then hit stop. “She’s a child,” I bite out. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

I take his phone and walk off the stage, swiping fast and methodically, deleting his files, his recordings, and then uninstalling every single app and sending them to the trash. I don’t have his password, so I can’t do a factory reset. But this is enough. He loves his phone, and I hate him.

In the minute or so that took, the town square has exploded into chaos. Charlotte wraps an arm around a worried Fable. Leo marches toward me like he can’t believe I’ve hid this from him. He asks me point blank, “Is this true?”

Before I can answer no, not really, maybe a little, Aunt Bibi beelines for me, cuts off Leo, and asks in a terribly hurt voice, “Did you really do that?”

But I can’t lie anymore. I nod, I did do it. I did it simply to make my very easy life easier. What a weak reason. What a terrible plan. What a horrible idea.

Fable’s mother and Julio scurry over to Charlotte. Leo doesn’t bother waiting for me. He spins to face his bride and shoots her an accusing stare.

Charlotte winces and says, “I swore I wouldn’t tell.”

Leo drags a hand through his hair angrily. Townspeople are whispering, with Aurora saying, “Is the wedding still on?” And Lennox asking, “What happens next?” And the North Pole Nook bartender saying, “Do they still need all the champagne?”

This is all my fault. But I ignore them all. Fable has peeled away from her sister and is rushing over to me, setting a hand on my arm—a hand I hardly deserve. “Go to your daughter,” she urges, and my heart pounds in fear.

I really fucked up by bringing my daughter into this.

At the edge of the square Mac’s standing with my mother, who’s holding her close in her arms. My tough daughter. My chief strategist. A lawyer in the making. But not tonight. When I reach her, a lone tear has slipped down one cheek. “I’m so sorry, Dad.”

My heart sinks to the ground. I’ve hurt…everyone.

I pull her into my arms, comforting her, saying, “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

As I hold her close, I spot Bibi across the square. Her arms are crossed, her gaze is fierce, and she’s staring at Fable. I can make out the shape of the words coming out of her mouth, “I’m awfully disappointed.”

Of course she is.

This was bound to happen.

It started with a lie. It can’t end in true love.