My Favorite Holidate: A Standalone Holiday Romance

Wilder

Fable’s likely asleep. My woman loves her shut-eye.

My woman.

She still feels like mine even though she’s not. Even though I let her go—another foolish move.

As I return to the main cabin, my heart pounds mercilessly in her direction and my attention strays down the hall to the suite we shared. Two hours ago, she said she wanted to stop this thing between us. Just because I’m madly, deeply, painfully, terribly, incredibly in love with her doesn’t mean that’s going to change.

Unless you tell her you love her.

Does she even want to hear it, though? Do I trust myself to get it right? Those questions chase me.

When I left the suite, I started out with the aim of fixing the mess I made of Christmas. I’ve left something unfinished, and I need to set that right.

Bibi.

She’s a night owl, usually. I reach her cabin and tap gently on the door to her sitting room. I barely touch the wood, and the door falls open.

“And then he said, I’ll be there right away,” Bibi is telling my mom as the two of them relax on the couch. I’ve come in mid-conversation and they haven’t heard me yet.

“I wish I could have seen the looks on all their faces,” Mom says warmly.

“Me too. But he’ll tell me tomorrow, I’m sure. Or…maybe late tonight.”

Well, Bibi seems in a better mood. Maybe I should leave. Talking to me is likely to ruin it.

I don’t want to ruin this nice moment between sisters who haven’t seen each other in a while. I came this close to ruining things for Charlotte.

Or did I? Leo and Charlotte made up nearly immediately.

And that’s exactly what I need to do with my aunt.

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

I clear my throat. “Hello, Mom. Hello, Bibi. Do you have a minute, Bibi?”

My aunt turns her face an inch, her expression hardening. Gone is the sweet Bibi who was chatting with her sister. “Of course,” she says, giving me a chance because she’s gracious.

I head over to her, taking a seat on the couch.

“I’m going to excuse myself for a moment,” Mom says.

Once she’s gone, I attempt a better apology than the one I offered earlier tonight. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I should have said something to you in the first place.”

“You should have,” she says stiffly. “I would have understood. I’m a Pisces, after all. Don’t forget we’re understanding and compassionate.”

“You are.”

But I also know she’s not going to forgive me that quickly through signs of the Zodiac.

Her smile disappears. “What you did was hurtful. You put on a show for me. You pretended for me simply because I was trying to set you up. That hurt my feelings. Also, it kind of seems like it was a bad plan, wild child.”

“Well, yeah.” I gesture in the general direction of the town square. “It didn’t really work out.”

“That’s not what I mean. It was a bad plan because you’ve always said you didn’t believe in love.” She pauses, then adds, “But look what you did.”

“What did I do?”

She thumps me on the side of the head. “You went out and fell in love.”

That four-letter word terrifies me still, but less than it did earlier tonight. “Was it that obvious?”

“As obvious as the hideous gingerbread house that fool made. I don’t know how they missed that it was pre-bought, but I’m glad they’ve found out. But enough about the Christmas competition. At first, I had my doubts about you and Fable, but the second you arrived here, it was clear that you were mad about the woman. And honestly, I suppose it’s okay you faked it because I got to watch a very, very fun show for the last few days.” Her stony face disappears, and a devilish, up-to-no-good smile arrives in its place. “I got to see you fall in love for the first time.” She pats my knee. “Whatever are we going to do about your little love situationship?”

I laugh. “Never change, Bibi.”

She leans back and calls to my mother, “Elizabeth, you don’t want to miss this.”

When my mother returns, Bibi pats a couch cushion for her sister. “We need to help him get his woman back.”

“We sure do,” Mom agrees. But then she shoots me a serious stare and says, “Are you ready?”

I arch a brow. “What do you mean?”

Mom lets out a big breath. “What I mean is your whole life you’ve been so afraid of turning out like your father. You fear you’ll be the same, so you work hard to be different,” she says, nailing my daily motivations for, oh, say, all my adult life. “You’ve remade yourself as his opposite in every way. You think if you do that, you can avoid hurting, but you forgot one important detail.”

I take that on the chin because I deserve it. I need it. And because it’s true. But I need to do something about it, so I ask without guile, “What’s that?”

She holds my gaze with warm eyes that know me. “You think you can’t trust love, but really, all you need is to trust yourself and believe you can handle love.” She takes the beat. “I believe in you. You’re not him.”

I let those words soak in. Maybe they’re the words I’ve always needed to hear.

Still, there’s that little problem of what to say to Fable. Fear is the issue there too. 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.

“You might be right,” I tell Mom. “But a little while ago she said she thought we should stop dating. And isn’t tonight evidence that I would just make a big mess of it if we continue?”

Bibi tuts. “Wilder, Wilder, Wilder. Love is messy. Deal with it. Now, set an alarm and be ready to tell her when she wakes up that you were a dumbass tonight.”

I sit with her comment for a while, and soon, I’m nodding. “I think you’re both right.”

“We are,” they say in unison.

I thank them and head to the couch with my name on it tonight, strip out of my jeans and shirt, and pull the fleece blanket over me, ready to fix one more thing in the morning.

When I wake with the sun shining on Christmas Eve morning, I fold up the blanket, brush my teeth in the guest bathroom, and change into fresh clothes.

I return to the main living room, ready to check on Fable. But out front, a cab pulls up to the cabin, and a familiar figure steps out onto the snowy sidewalk.

My father.