My Favorite Holidate: A Standalone Holiday Romance
My Favorite Holidate: Chapter 23

Wilder

That can’t happen again.

A mistake like that will expose our game to my shrewd aunt. I can’t risk Bibi’s disappointment and that’s reason enough to work on a new fake romance plan to ensure zero mistakes. The next morning, as I take an early phone call for a year-end meeting with the renewable energy division an idea hits me. A list for Fable and me to keep us on track during the Christmas week. And we can discuss it on the drive to Evergreen Falls later this morning.

An hour later, before I leave my home, I set out some kibble for Penguin in the kitchen and give her a scratch on the head. “The cat sitter will come by and bring you more food.”

She rubs up against my leg, purring loudly. I take some photos of her, like I usually do. Since she always likes seeing the cat, I send a couple to Mac who’s in school today, then at her mom’s till tomorrow morning. I pet the feline some more, Fable’s words echoing in my mind. Your cat is obsessed with you.

Maybe I understand obsession a little these days.

But I’ll do my damnedest to leave it behind in San Francisco. Bringing it with me to Evergreen Falls is entirely too risky—for my head and my heart. I head to the garage, calling Felicity on the way. We chat as I toss my suitcase in the trunk of my car—a matte black electric vehicle built from the ground up by a renowned pair of car builders in New York, Max Summers and his wife, Henley Rose.

As I close it, I answer Felicity’s question about when Mac will join me. “I’ll send Bibi’s driver to pick up Mac and her cousins, along with her friends, tomorrow.”

Felicity laughs softly. “Or should I just put her on a private jet?”

I laugh too. “Yes, it is ridiculous I suppose that a driver will escort our daughter and company. But she did request it. They like to watch movies in the limo.”

“Of course Mac requested it. I would have requested limo rides when I was eleven too, if given the choice.”

“Same here.” I shift gears to Felicity. “Good luck at your New Year’s Day show. Mac and I are excited to see it,” I say, then wince at the reminder of the calendar. Fable and I will likely be “broken up” by then. I don’t want to think about New Year’s Day or breakups.

“Will you bring your new woman?” Felicity asks, her voice teasing and playful. “Mac’s told me all about her.”

I wish I could say yes. “We haven’t talked about it,” I say decisively, hoping that ends the conversation I don’t want to have.

“Let me know so I can get you extra VIP tickets. It would be lovely to meet her. Did you replace the right sparring partner at last?”

Frankly, I’m not sure I’d be able to fit romance in my life if it came my way for real. But I have plenty of other good things going on, so that’s just fine. And really, I have two more immediate issues occupying my mind—refining this fake romance routine so Bibi won’t see through Fable and me, and then slaughtering that asshole ex of Fable’s in the Christmas competition. “Let’s not get ahead of things. We’re just dating,” I say, hoping to dodge the topic of the right person.

Felicity laughs. “Wilder Blaine. Someday you’re going to fall head over heels for a woman and I’m going to write a song about the unbreakable man breaking.”

I roll my eyes. That will never happen, but still I say, “I’ll consider myself warned.”

I end the call as an unexpected thought lands in my head—breaking. Me breaking. In the cabins, when it’s snowing, and the world’s gone quiet. I set my hand on the roof of the car, letting that image roll through me. It’s tempting, like a siren, but dammit—I can’t let it distract me. I shake it off then hop in the car, where a text flashes on the screen from my mother. I click on it.

I send a quick reply, letting her know yes, I’m on my way, I’m glad I’m second best, and I’ll help her with the present question anytime. I drive to Fable’s place in the Mission District. As I turn onto her block, a zing shoots through my chest over the prospect of seeing her any second. I’ve been feeling those zings more and more lately.

But it’s probably just the natural curiosity over checking out her building. I wouldn’t be so successful if I didn’t learn everything there was to know about all aspects of my business, from deals to contracts to employees to, apparently, fake girlfriends. After I park, I head up the steps and press the exterior buzzer for her place.

Her face appears on the screen, with a bright but apologetic grin. “I’m almost ready. I swear! I just had a minor toaster mishap, but I’ll be down in five. Actually, do you want to come up?”

More than I should.

“Sure,” I say, and the zing makes a liar of me.

So, that wasn’t just natural curiosity. It was hope—the hope to learn more about her. Nothing to do but give in to it since seconds later, she’s letting me in.

I head up the stairs to Fable’s home, more thrilled than I should be to see an employee’s apartment. I pause at the top of the steps, not to catch my breath, but to settle the pulse that’s stupidly springing in excitement.

Get a grip, man. She’s your fake girlfriend, and this is not a window into her world.

But when she swings open the door, I’m all wrong. It’s a window into her life and I’m ravenous for the view.

Her red hair is piled in a bun, and she’s wearing jeans and a white sweatshirt that slopes off one shoulder, revealing a sliver of pale, kissable, freckled skin, and that silver snowflake necklace that I want to drag between my teeth only so I can lick what’s under it. I stare a little too long at her collarbone, remembering how she tastes. Like strawberries and champagne. Remembering, too, how much she likes kisses on her collarbone, her shoulder, and especially at the hollow of her throat. The way she trembles when I touch her there…

But if I linger too long in this memory, I’ll slip into other ones. More electric ones. Memories of the sounds she made when she came undone on my desk, of the way she shook when she fell apart underneath me, and most of all, how she tasted when I licked her off my fingers. Heat blasts through me like the door to a furnace has opened. All I got was just a taste and I want so much more.

I have to slam the door shut on that memory just like I close the door to her home.

“Come in. I’m almost ready. Make yourself comfortable,” she says, and I try to blink off the lusty thoughts as she gestures to an emerald-green couch in the middle of the little living room. Across from the couch is a metal table, held up by two brushed nickel frogs that look like they were sculpted straight from a fairy tale. That’s so very her. “Do you like frogs?” I ask, hungry for this intel too.

“Of course,” she says breezily. “They have big eyes and funny bodies.”

Another zing down my chest. Because she has a reason for liking frogs. Fucking frogs. What is happening to me?

“Let me just grab a couple things for the wedding and I should be good to go,” she says.

“I presume you’ve packed extra glitter dicks, just in case?” I tease, remembering that fateful morning that led us here—when she glitter-dicked me with her sister’s bachelorette party outfit.

Pretty pink flushes across Fable’s cheeks, but she volleys right back. “I always have emergency penises on hand.”

I resist the urge to offer my cock in case of emergency, but it’s hard. Only that thought’s not going to help me as we head toward a long car ride, so I quickly change course, pointing to the kitchen counter. “What happened to the toaster?” I ask.

“A battery fell in it from the smoke alarm.”

My brow furrows. Something’s missing there. “Is the smoke alarm not working then?”

She winces. “Yes. Maybe. I think so?”

“Did you use the toaster?”

“No. I tried to get the battery out but it was stuck, so I skipped breakfast.”

I take a beat to process all that. “Go. Get ready. I’ll take care of it.”

“Really? Thank you. I was going to do it, but⁠—”

“I’ve got it, Fable.”

In the kitchen, I pick up the toaster, peer inside, then turn it upside down. Some crumbs fall out and the battery slips and slides. I wiggle the toaster a few times to no avail. After unplugging it, I replace a pair of wooden chopsticks in a drawer, then use them like tweezers to remove the slim battery. When it’s free, I grab a kitchen towel and wipe the counter clean.

A few minutes later I’m up on the stool, replacing the battery in the smoke detector till it’s fixed firmly in place when she emerges with her suitcase.

She stops. Whistles. Then claps.

“What’s that for?”

“I guess that joke is wrong.”

“Which joke?”

“How many billionaires does it take to change a smoke detector battery? None. He hires someone to do it.”

I shake my head, trying but failing to hide a smile. “The correct answer is—one, if he’s handy.”

“And you are. Thank you,” she says, with genuine gratitude. But curiosity perhaps, too, as she asks, “How did you learn to change a smoke detector battery? Don’t you have people for that?”

“No. I do it myself.”

She seems flummoxed momentarily, but then she nods. “You’re very capable.”

‘‘Did you think I was…what? Spoiled?”

“Actually, I don’t know.”

“I wasn’t raised with money, Fable.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that,” she says.

“I know how to change a flat tire. To cook a meal. To perform CPR. To fix a faucet and change a lightbulb,” I say.

She dips her face, like she’s hiding a smile. One I want to kiss off. When she raises her face, she says evenly, but like it takes some effort, “That’s good.”

I have to know. “Why? Why is that good?”

She presses her teeth into her lips, then says, “I like that you’re normal too.”

My heart pounds too fast, then too recklessly. I blame that damn organ for the next thing I say, “I like your apartment. It’s very you.”

“Thanks.” She pauses. “That actually means a lot to me.”

As we leave, I take the suitcase, then set a hand on her back despite the fact that no one’s watching. But it feels right to touch her like this. It’s not helping my intention to compartmentalize, but that’s fine. I’ve got a plan, and a plan always helps.

When we reach the car, I load her suitcase into the trunk, shut it, then scan her block. “Now, let’s get you breakfast.”

Fifteen minutes later, she has a toasted bagel and a coffee in hand as she slides into the passenger seat.

Once I’m in the driver’s seat, I push bagels and thank yous out of my mind, shoving them next to desk orgasms and hot mistletoe kisses. It’s time to work on our fake romance plan—phase two.

“Now listen, we can’t fuck up again like we did at the party.”

“With Bibi? You felt that too?’ Fable asks, and of course she noticed—she’s the kind of woman who really seems to see people and understand nuance.

“I did. That arched brow of hers gives me nightmares. She can sniff out a lie like a bloodhound in a Santa hat. But I have an idea to keep us on track when we’re in Evergreen Falls.”

“I’m all ears.”

I flick the turn signal as I near Divisadero Street, then toss her a playful smile. “It’s a naughty and nice list.”