My Favorite Holidate: A Standalone Holiday Romance
My Favorite Holidate: Chapter 42

Wilder

The thing about kids is they rarely outgrow the desire to make snow angels. So I’m up and at ‘em at eight in the morning thanks to a text from Mac that consisted mostly of emojis of snowflakes, angels, and prayer hands.

Spy code, she’s called it.

But I was able to decipher it, so here I am behind the porch of the cabin, lying in the soft blanket of fallen snow on the ground. I’m waving my arms and legs back and forth right next to my daughter when the tromp of boots catches my attention.

I turn to the sound. It’s Fable’s cousin Troy trudging closer to us, wearing black jeans and a black hoodie. No coat because of course he doesn’t get cold. He’s licking a candy cane.

“Hey,” he grunts, stopping when he reaches us, his tone flat. He’s the king of monotone.

“Good morning,” I say, then push up to my elbows in the snow angel mold I’m in.

Troy wastes no time. “If you wanted to date a girl, would you take her to see the new horror retrospective at the local movie house or invite her over to listen to a true crime podcast about unsolved murders?”

This feels like a set-up. Still, as Mac watches our exchange with avid eyes, I ask, “Is this hypothetical or about someone in particular?”

“No. I met a girl at the tree thing yesterday. She told me she has a black tree with ornaments of fictional serial killers on it, so naturally, I want to ask her out.”

“Naturally,” I say.

Mac pops up. “Troy! It’s obvious. Ask her which she prefers. Also, do it now!” She gestures like she’s shooing him off.

“Really?”

“Yes. She might be leaving town really soon.”

He licks the pointy end of the candy, then nods. “If you say so.”

“I do. Go,” Mac says.

He trudges off and frankly, the answer’s obvious for me too. If Troy can do it, I can. I stand, dusting the snow off my ass and legs and back. “Mac, I need to do something.”

Her eyes are inquisitive. “Is it…ask out Fable on a real date? Because I’d highly recommend taking her to the pottery-making workshop at the Art Center For You in the city and then dinner at her favorite restaurant, which incidentally is Happy Cow in Hayes Valley. I’d be happy to arrange a res. Or if you want to go for the extravagant thing, you could suggest a private rooftop dinner, then a helicopter tour of the city. That would be fab for your first real date.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop my smile. “I take back what I said about you going to law school. You clearly need to go into theater and become a director. Or go into sports and become a head coach. Or enter politics and become a chief strategist.”

“Those are all excellent ideas, Dad. But for now, I’ll be the chief strategist for you,” she says, then stage whispers, “Now go. Make your fake romance real!”

I can’t believe my daughter is my wingwoman. But really, there’s no one better. As I head up the steps with Mac beside me, I ask, “When did you start planning that?”

“Planning what?” she asks innocently.

“Planning how to make everything real,” I add.

She gives a cheeky smile. “Chief strategists never tell.”

As I stride across the deck, I spot Fable in the kitchen, pouring coffee. She’s wearing jeans and a soft red sweater, her hair piled on her head in a beautifully messy bun. I absolutely should have asked her out last night. But I was too caught up in the snow, in the moment, in the words. Now I need to act. If my own daughter engineered an entire set-up with Fable’s candy-cane-licking cousin just to make a point, then, well, I need to make a point.

I slide open the door, Mac right behind me. My daughter snags a front-row seat on the living room couch while I make my way to the woman I adore, wrap my arms around her from behind, and say, “What are you doing on New Year’s Eve?”

Mac and I are slated to see her mother’s concert the next day, and I’d like to invite Fable to that, too, a family event. But first things first—a date.

Setting down the mug on the counter, Fable turns in my arms. “Is that a trick question?”

“Um, no.” My brow furrows. I am perplexed. I’ve asked out women before. I don’t usually get this response.

“The answer,” Fable says, “is that on New Year’s Eve I’m going to be in bed at ten-thirty, reading and then falling asleep.”

And I fall even harder. She’s so delightfully blunt. But I can be direct too. “Then when I take you out that night, I better get you home before ten-thirty.”

She arches a brow. “Presumptuous.”

“Yes,” I say. “I can work with your schedule. I’d like to take you out for a rooftop dinner and a helicopter tour of the city. Or a pottery-making class and dinner at Happy Cow. Go out with me. On a real date. On New Year’s Eve.”

Her eyes say yes before her lips do. “Yes.”

Mac pumps a fist. “Did it!”

“It seems we have a little matchmaker,” I murmur.

“We do, and I choose…both dates,” Fable says, then lifts her coffee and downs some.

“I’ll give you both,” I say.

A knock on the door keeps me from basking in these plans. I check my watch. The car I arranged to pick up my mother at the airport is about due, and when I head to the door and open it, my timing proves accurate. She’s here—dark wavy hair, clever eyes, and arms open wide. “Merry Christmas, kiddo!”

“Grandma!” Mac pops up from the couch, rushing over to greet my mom.

It’s another group hug and when we pull apart, Mom walks inside, takes off her coat and scarf, and smiles. “You must be Fable? So good to meet you.”

Fable crosses the living room to give her a hug. “Good to meet you, Elizabeth. Would you like some coffee or tea?”

Mom doesn’t hesitate. “Coffee, please. I’ve been in London too long, and the tea tastes like muddy water.” She tilts her head, crinkles her brow. “Though, I suppose some might say coffee tastes like mud.”

Fable smiles. “That’s the Libra in you.”

Mom’s eyes light up. “You remembered.” Then she looks Fable up and down. “And you? Wait. Don’t tell me.” Mom blows out a thoughtful breath, then declares, “Leo.”

“How did you know?”

Mom nods toward me. “Wilder told me. He texted after you arrived. Told me a little bit about you. All good things.” Mom leans in to whisper in Fable’s ear, but not so low I can’t hear. “He seems quite taken with you.”

Fable meets my gaze with a hopeful one of her own. “The feeling is mutual. In fact, we’re having a real date in San Francisco after Christmas.”

“And I set it up,” Mac puts in.

Mom ruffles Mac’s hair. “Of course you did.” She looks at Fable, then me, then smiles smugly. “I hate to say I told you so, Wilder. But I told you so.”

“And you were right,” I say.

“Yes, I was.”

A little later, we check the agenda for Evergreen Falls Annual Best in Snow Winter Games Competition. Since the last event is the gingerbread house-making tonight, we’ll have plenty of time for a family shopping trip. As promised, I found a local group organizing a community toy drive with nearby charities. I spoke to the organizer, and she emailed me a list of top requested type of gifts this season. We’ll pick up some items from the list, then visit the community center where volunteers are gathered to collect and wrap donations for the drive.

I show Mom to her cabin next to Mac’s, where she can set down her bags before we tackle our shopping. We’re about to head out when Mom stops in her tracks on the soft carpet. “I can’t believe I almost forgot. I need to say hello to my sister.”

I wince. “Good catch.” If we’re going to Bibi’s now, I should invite her to join us. My aunt’s position as head of charitable contributions at Blaine Enterprises is more than a job. It’s part and parcel of who she is. She’ll want to come with us.

At Bibi’s cabin, it’s a hugfest, and when the sisters finish bestowing endless compliments on how fabulous the other one looks, I ask Bibi if she’d like to join us.

“Of course I would, but I have to be back in time for my date,” she says with a mischievous grin, then adds, “Before the gingerbread house-making competition.”

“Who’s the date with?” Fable asks, then answers her own question. “The sheriff.”

Bibi’s smile is Mona Lisa levels of pleased. “However did you know?”

Fable shrugs easily. “You have a definite vibe going on with him. Did you also need Mac to—” Fable blinks and, possibly realizing she was veering into a faux pas, she quickly reroutes. “Did you also need Mac to…take pics of you two?”

But I suspect she was about to ask, “Do you need Mac to set you up?” It’s a good thing she didn’t because my aunt, of course, believes we’ve been together for a few weeks. No need for Mac to set us up today. Just as there’s no need to reveal our hand now.

Bibi shakes her head. “Maybe if we have another date. Just like the two of you.”

Fable’s shoulders relax, looking relieved. But the guilt over lying to my aunt sits heavy in my chest.

But it’s not fake anymore. Does anyone need to know that it once was?

I think not. Best to wait till after the wedding. Besides, there’s no need to expose ourselves. Explaining will mean the eggnog story will come out, which will cause major awkwardness in the wedding party. No one needs that. Time to dismiss the guilt and move forward. We load into the car and go.