My Favorite Holidate: A Standalone Holiday Romance
My Favorite Holidate: Chapter 40

Fable

I’m not the most competitive person in general, but when it comes to my home turf—design—I don’t come to play.

I come to win.

Later that afternoon in the town square, I call Wilder and Mac into a huddle next to a spruce tree. We’re dressed for speed—fleece pullovers, jeans, and snow boots. Even though Mac has been competing in the kid’s division for other events, the Christmas-tree-decorating competition allows teams to pull in younger members too.

“Here’s the plan. We’re going to execute a Retro X with two running backs,” I say, giving a football-esque play name to my plans. “Mac and me.”

I tell them the rest of my approach for this supermarket sweep-style Christmas-tree-decorating competition. Each team has thirty minutes to decorate a tree right here in the town square. You can use the first five minutes of that to scoop up ornaments from various boxes in the middle of the square. They’ve been gathered from donations over the years. Volunteers wait next to the boxes to open them when the timed contest begins.

After I review the strategy, I finish with, “It all comes down to how you line everything up on the tree.”

“Got it,” Mac says with a crisp nod, her game face on.

I break the huddle as we wait for the starting whistle. The sun is dipping low on the horizon so we’ll finish after sunset, then turn on the trees.

Wilder turns to me, approval in his eyes. “You’re like a quarterback.”

“I like football, and I like strategy,” I say, owning it.

“Hot,” he whispers.

I laugh, glad he’s not stressing over his dad. Glad he took my advice. Maybe this is what it would be like if we were a real couple—helping each other, supporting each other.

Is he thinking that too? I hope so, but he turns his attention to Mac, who’s staring at the boxes in the center of the square like she has X-ray vision.

“Are visions of Christmas trees dancing in your head?” he asks her.

“I’m just trying to psych out the competition,” she says, then nods subtly to Brady and Iris in the corner who are jogging in place by a Douglas fir, like jogging will help them decorate faster. “Especially that guy. He’s kind of a jerk.”

More than kind of. But I’m curious why she’s labeled him. “Why do you say that?”

“Because he doesn’t like cats. He said so at the shower when he ran into Penguin in the hallway after he used the bathroom.”

Wilder scoffs. “That settles it. Reason enough to beat him.”

“I don’t trust people who don’t like animals,” Mac adds, crossing her arms.

“One hundred percent reasonable approach to life,” I say as Mayor Bumblefritz strides into the square with his megaphone at his side.

He smiles grandly as he weaves through the boxes full of mismatched ornaments.

I think back to when Wilder and I began this fake romance in his office for the sake of his aunt. She asked me pointedly if I was good at Christmas tree decorating. When I’d told her I knew my way around a string of lights, she’d said, “Then I hope you beat that Brady character in the competition.”

I don’t care about Brady anymore, but I do care about Wilder’s aunt so this one is for Bibi. I want to win for her. Because the Evergreen Falls Annual Best in Snow Winter Games Competition matters to her. They’re her Olympics. They’re her big game. I’m going to do my best for her since she’s been so good to me.

Maybe that’ll make up for the guilt I feel about lying to her—even though when I look at the handsome, brilliant man by my side, nothing feels fake anymore.

I also want to do my best for another person. For this fabulous young woman Wilder’s raising. I look at Mac, my heart filling with warmth for her spirit, her mind, and her feisty attitude that I admire.

I could get lost in these warm and fuzzy feelings, though, so I’m glad Mayor Bumblefritz is climbing up the steps to the gazebo now. We take our places by our designated trees. A crowd has gathered around the square to watch the competition.

The mayor brings that candy cane megaphone to his mouth. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, humans of all ages! You’ll have thirty minutes to decorate your tree. You’ll each need to grab what you want from these boxes of ornaments. No new ornaments were purchased for the games. These have all been donated so they’re getting a second chance in our contest as they do every year.” He takes a beat. “There’s no telling what kind of festive magic you’ll create with these. The Christmas spirit is all about making the most with what you have, wouldn’t you agree?”

There is a collective murmur of yes from the contestants as we eagerly wait for him to announce the theme. He takes a weighty beat. “The theme this year is open to each individual team’s interpretation.” Another pause. “And it’s…home for the holidays. Let the tree-decorating competition begin!”

I can’t take a moment to process this theme because we’re going to have to figure it out on the fly as we sift through what each box holds. The volunteers open the cardboard flaps and Mac and I take off running. Wilder’s behind us holding a red bag that we’ll fill with the ornaments.

I kneel at the first box, scanning the goodies. I don’t see a random collection of ornaments, but a puzzle waiting to be solved. My mind begins to race, envisioning the perfect arrangement of colors, shapes, styles—the perfect design for home for the holidays.

“Grab the reindeer,” I say, pointing to a wooden ornament in the corner of the box. Mac grabs it, then points to a red wooden sleigh. I snatch that up. She smiles at me, nodding and understanding, knowing instantly that we’re going for a homey vibe. I spy a wooden nutcracker. “That one too.”

“Got it,” she says, darting out a hand.

We race to the next box as Wilder holds open the bag. “What’ll it be, ladies?”

I scan the treasures so fast, then dole out instructions. We grab a wooden Santa, an elf, then a sled.

We’re off in no time to the next box when an idea strikes. I motion for Mac to come closer, then whisper. “Let’s do old meets new,” I say. “That’s kind of the point of home for the holidays?”

Her eyes brighten. “Yes! I love it. We’ll get baubles and sparkly things and mix them with the old fashioned ones.”

“It’s like you can read my mind,” I say.

“That sounds perfect,” Wilder says, watching us with so much affection, it nearly breaks my heart. I almost want to stop right here, right now, and say to him, “What if this was real? Do you feel it too?”

But the clock is ticking and this girl wants to win. For others.

Mac is off and running so I shut down distractions. We’re faster than the other contestants, racing with our collection. At the final box I spot something red and shiny at the bottom. I grab it before anyone else can then dash to the spruce in the corner of the square.

After Wilder adds lights, Mac and I move like clockwork to create a vintage-meets-modern style. We hang our ornaments in diagonal rows that crisscross along the branches of the tree.

When we’re finishing, Wilder flicks on the twinkling lights. “I do love Christmas lights,” he says with a little innuendo that I pick up on.

“Me too,” I say, my stomach flipping from the way he looks at me with eyes that hold secrets. Perhaps also from the piece de resistance. I grab the red ribbon I found at the bottom of the last box of ornaments.

“I’ll take care of that,” Wilder says with authority.

“Yes, you will,” I reply.

With the same skill he used when he tied me up in one, he fastens the ribbon in front of the tree into a lovely looping bow.

We step back, the three of us, regarding it.

“You did it, Fable. It looks like home for the holidays,” Mac says, patting my arm proudly.

My heart glows with affection for this girl as I squeeze her shoulder. “No, we did it.”

“We sure did,” she says.

Wilder stands next to her too, his arm wrapped around her, his hand touching mine on her shoulder.

This feels all too real too. All too possible. And entirely too wonderful.

It can’t last. It just can’t.

Except, what if it can?

“Let me take a picture of the tree,” Mac says as she fishes her cell phone from her pocket and snaps a shot of it, then looks to her dad then me with hope in her green eyes. “I want another one. Of the three of us.”

The three of us.

Those words lodge in my head and in my heart as Mac calls over Bibi.

In front of the tree, Wilder wraps one arm around me, the other around his daughter then lets out a soft, unguarded murmur.

Like he’s imagining all new things too. Like, the three of us.

My heart catches in my throat.

This is merely holiday magic, I try to tell myself. This is the cocoon of Christmas. The sparkle of falling snow making everything feel possible. But even so, everything is starting to feel possible.

Except…me liking eggnog. When the owner of the North Pole Nook wheels a red cart into the square with a chalkboard sign for eggnog, I cringe a little. But Mac wheels around to Wilder. “I love eggnog. Can I get some, Dad?”

He adopts a straight face. “Just one cup.”

“Thanks,” she says and rushes off to the cart, lining up right behind Charlotte to snag a cup of the holiday treat. The cart must catch Iris’s attention, too, since she and Brady trot over from their tree and line up right behind Mac.

I turn to Wilder and shrug. “She’s pretty much perfect in every other way.”

“It’s her only flaw.”

We take a moment to survey the other Christmas trees as the judges wander around checking each one, but something catches my attention at the eggnog stand once more. I jerk my gaze back over to the commotion.

The bride-to-be is clasping a hand over her mouth, like she’s shocked as she looks down at Brady, who’s kneeling on the snow. Looks like he was tying his boot. Only now, his head is covered in eggnog. “I’m so sorry,” my sister says loudly, holding an empty cup, like she’s so terribly contrite for her clumsiness.

I fight off a smile as I tug Wilder’s hand and we rush over to get a better look at the scene.

“I’m so very sorry,” she says again but I don’t detect an apologetic note in her voice.

“It’s fine,” Brady mutters, but there’s a hitch in his voice. Poor guy. He always did love his hair.

Wilder peers down at my ex. “Same, Brady. But good thing you and Iris are really, really good at cleaning up eggnog messes.”

Brady gulps, his eyes widening. Oh shit seems to flash in them.

Charlotte lifts her chin at her groom’s cousin, shooting death stares at him. “I bet you are.” She walks off to join the groom, who I suspect is none the wiser that his bride just delivered some unexpected payback for me.

A second later, Mac joins us empty-handed. “I lost my appetite for eggnog.”

“Perfect,” I mouth to Wilder.

And so is the end of this afternoon, since a little later the three of us win and come together in a group hug.

The theme of the tree-decorating competition sticks with me later that evening when we’re back in our cabin. Wilder’s lounging on the couch, listening to a podcast, while I gather up the red and green glitter dick T-shirts I brought so I can head to Charlotte’s cabin for a little bachelorette party. All of my best friends are here, and I’m lucky like that—to be surrounded by people who make me feel like I’m home.

An idea starts to form as I drop the shirts in a bag, but my focus turns elsewhere when Wilder sits ramrod straight and stares at his phone, then me. He whispers cautiously, “It’s a text. From my dad.”

“What did he say?” I ask desperately as Wilder hits stop on the podcast.

His eyes are sad, but his lips curve up slightly. “He says he’s sorry to worry me. And that he’s okay.” He pauses, then adds, “And that’s all.”

“Maybe it’s enough?” I sit down with him on the couch, setting a hand on his shoulder.

“Maybe.”

I don’t know if Wilder feels reassured from the text, but he covers my hand with his and says, “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” I say, meaning it in a whole new way, hoping to replace the courage to tell him sometime soon how I feel.

I glance at the time. I should go and meet my friends, but the idea is crystallizing. Today, I felt like I was home for the holidays, but what about people like his father, whether it’s from their own doing or not, who don’t have this warm, cozy embrace of family and home at this time of year? What about children and families who don’t have all…this? Chalets and lights, seven-layer bars and movie evenings? Those who are fighting just to keep the lights on rather than to decorate with them?

“Wilder?” I begin.

“Yes?”

“What if we make some time tomorrow to wrap presents for kids who don’t have them? To buy and to wrap,” I clarify.

His smile is warm. “Let’s do that. I’ll replace a local organization and set something up.”

That’s so very him to jump right in.

Wilder joins Mac and her friends and cousins along with his sister for a movie while Charlotte and I catch up with our girlfriends. We wear the glitter dick T-shirts, pour champagne, and indulge in the most fantastic charcuterie board that Josie has put together. It’s low-key by bachelorette party standards but that’s what Charlotte wanted—just some time with friends before her big day in two more nights.

We toast several times and when it’s my turn I lift my flute high. “To the eggnog spiller. She is the queen!”

Everyone clinks and says, “Long may she reign!”

Charlotte’s eyes fill with pride and happiness. “I swear it was an accident.”

Josie nods, exaggerated. “Say that in court. You nailed it.”

“I will,” Charlotte says, then lifts a glass my way. “A toast to my sister who means the world to me. And who’s helped make this holiday into the best Christmas ever.”

That’s what I’ve always wanted for her. I pull her into a hug, grateful I told her the truth the first night here, and grateful, too, for all these new Christmas memories that we’re making.

The party winds down around eleven, and I return to the honeymoon cabin, looking around at the fireplace, the twinkling tree, and the sleigh bed. It’s just me in this quiet suite. Wilder’s not here, but a text on my phone says he’s having a scotch out on the deck with Leo and will be back soon.

Perfect timing, since I just thought of a special gift for him.

I know my way around a string of lights after all.