My Favorite Holidate: A Standalone Holiday Romance
My Favorite Holidate: Chapter 2

Wilder

Leo’s been planning this moment for months. He even learned to bake a pecan pie in preparation. Hell, he’s been vision-boarding this proposal for the last year. My best friend is as romantic as they come.

He met Charlotte when he hired her as an interior designer for his penthouse in Cow Hollow and then his corner office in the Financial District—I’ve been expecting this moment ever since. Doesn’t make me a fortune teller though. Leo called me that fateful day and said, “I’ve met my future wife.”

Now, I’m ready to help the guy I grew up with in Las Vegas, far, far from the glitz and glamor of the Strip.

Once Charlotte sets the table with red and green dessert plates—where the hell did Iris go?—I tug Leo aside into the kitchen. “All set?”

He pats his pocket, then nods to the pecan pie he baked for the proposal setup. Talk about commitment. “I am.”

“As soon as I say the pecan pie is a cherished family recipe, you’ll cut me off.” I’m echoing his instructions, not wanting him to worry about a thing.

Leo breathes out, and I get a rare glimpse of nerves in his eyes. “And then I’ll say…” He recites his speech, volume low. When he’s done, I clap his shoulder and reassure him, “You’ve got this.”

“I do.” He nods a few times and then flashes an excited grin. “And I kind of can’t wait.”

Briefly, a wistful pang lodges in my chest. What would that be like? How would it feel to have that intense enthusiasm about a woman? A romance? A future?

But I don’t linger on those thoughts too long. I’ve got my daughter, and she deserves all my attention. I’m just glad my friend is so enchanted.

The kids rush back from playing video games a few minutes later, including my eleven-year-old, who marches over to me.

“Is it time for that pecan pie, Dad?” Mac gives an exaggerated wink.

I wink right back. “Sure is. And why don’t you take the whipped cream to the table?”

She delivers a crisp nod. “Diversion tactic. No one will know why I’m claiming the best seat in the house.”

Leo shakes his head in amusement. “Chip off the old block.”

“She sure is.” I squeeze Mac’s shoulder rather than patting her head. She’d be annoyed—rightfully so—if I messed up her perfect French braid.

I open Bibi’s fridge and hand her a can of whipped cream. “Here you go.”

“This is the best,” Mac says, then whispers, “my camera’s in my back pocket.”

“Good job,” Leo whispers back.

“You can thank me when you see the pics,” Mac warns and then spins around, her long braid swinging as she goes. She sets the can on the table, then claims the chair closest to Leo’s, and calls out, “Who wants pecan pie?”

Time to assemble the stragglers.

Like Brady and Fable, who’s missing now as well.

Brady is not only Fable’s boyfriend but also Leo’s cousin. I hardly knew Brady growing up. He’s several years younger than Leo and me, and I know my friend will want him here for the big moment. Leo’s always looked out for his family. He’ll also want Fable at the table since she’s Charlotte’s older sister.

And what Leo wants, Leo gets.

I turn to head down the hall in search of them, only to replace Brady walking toward me, head down like a naughty dog retreating to his crate.

Right behind him is…the caterer? She’s wiping the back of her hand across her mouth.

My brow creases. Where did these two go? “Did you replace the wrapping room?” I ask Brady skeptically.

Something about this guy rubs me the wrong way. Hell, something about him has bugged me each time I’ve seen him. I can’t say that to Leo, of course. I haven’t said that to anyone. Not even Bibi.

Brady jerks his gaze up, his expression chastened. But he quickly rearranges his features. “Yup. Wrapped the gift too. It’s here in my pocket.” He pats his pocket, which looks suspiciously empty.

Iris says nothing, she just purses her lips as she passes me, a guilty look in her eyes.

Something is definitely up. But before I can do more than frown, the guest bathroom swings open, and Fable emerges. Her auburn hair is damp by her ears like she just splashed water on her pale, freckled face.

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