My Favorite Holidate: A Standalone Holiday Romance
My Favorite Holidate: Chapter 43

Fable

My first thought as we head down the freshly shoveled sidewalks of Main Street is I wish Charlotte were here. This is exactly what I wanted for her when we were growing up—this kind of family moment during the holidays.

But I know she’s having a lovely time with friends doing her final wedding prep this afternoon. So I snap a couple pictures of downtown Evergreen Falls to share with her, then put my phone away.

Freshly fallen snow lines the edges of the sidewalks. The scent of gingerbread from the nearby Sugar Plum Bakery floats past us. A bell tinkles as I walk into Play All Day with the man I’m dating, his smart-as-a-whip daughter, his mother, and his aunt.

And I couldn’t be happier.

Plus, this toy store rocks. It’s a veritable wonderland, with everything from plush animals to board games, wooden puzzles, and dollhouses lining the shelves. Mac surprises absolutely no one by heading for the board game and puzzles section. The woman behind the counter calls out in a voice like a duchess. “Let me know if I can help you with anything.”

“We will,” Mac answers.

“Games and puzzles were on the list of top-request types of gifts from the organization. I bet she’s going to pick out a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle,” Bibi declares.

“My prediction is Settlers of Catan,” Wilder’s mother says.

I smile, knowing they’re both close but no cigar.

Her father shakes his head. “That kid is getting chess. She’ll want everyone to learn it,” he says confidently, and yep, he’s right. At the end of the row, Mac stretches up on tiptoe to grab a chessboard from a shelf, and her dad calls out, “Do you think that’s the game kids want for Christmas?”

Mac shoots him a look like, How can you even ask? “Chess is for everyone. But so is Settlers of Catan and these puzzles and Monopoly.” She tugs those off the shelves too, stacking them high in her arms. “I also highly recommend we get Exploding Kittens, Clue, and Cat Crimes. Also, Would You Rather. For kids, of course.”

Wilder quickly strides to the end of the aisle, taking some of the boxes.

At an endcap of intricately crafted dollhouses, complete with miniature cardboard milk cartons on tiny wooden tables in Lilliputian kitchens, Bibi fails to stifle a laugh and turns to her sister. “Every day. This is what your granddaughter is like every day.”

It’s said with such obvious affection, but when Wilder’s mom smiles there’s a hint of sadness in her eyes. “I miss this,” she says softly.

And my heart, my squishy, soft heart is officially a marshmallow as I witness the wistful interaction from a few feet away.

Emotions swim up my throat, twisted up with nostalgia and the wish that I had this when I was younger. But there’s also gratitude that I can have it in new ways as an adult. I’m lucky that my sister and I stayed close through all the years. Now, she’s getting her dream wedding tomorrow and we’re finally having a holiday free of the kind of drama and the toxicity that plagued our home when we were growing up.

I look down the aisle at Mac, focused, precise, and also happy as she grabs gifts. She’s wise beyond her years, and yet her parents allow her to be exactly eleven. They don’t expect anything more from her than to be her age.

We pass the dollhouse endcap and join them, then help to carry some of the games to the counter when Mac notices a nearby display of wooden toys. “Not everyone likes games. Some kids like toys. Those were on the requested list too,” she says in that confident, take-charge tone. “We need to get those too.”

“Don’t forget the artsy kids,” Elizabeth puts in, then shoots me a knowing look. “Right, Fable?”

I feel like a can of soda shook up, fizzy, and warm. I smile back at her. “Artsy gals have to stick together.”

“Don’t I know it.”

His mother and I head to the art supply section, picking out crafts and paintbrushes, chalk and sketch pads, and pen sets that would have made my younger self squeal if I’d opened these under the tree. Come to think of it I’d probably squeal now.

Bibi sweeps over to us, adjusting the pom-pom on her simple red-and-white Santa cap. “Don’t forget some kids just like to get up to all kinds of mischief.”

“Some things never change,” her sister says, “and I know exactly what to get for people like you.”

We pick Lego sets and construction toys, science kits for making volcanoes, as well as soccer balls, basketballs, and even kites to help burn off energy. All from the list.

We’re nearly done when Wilder points to a section with globes of all kinds—from historical to raised relief, some with topographic maps and others that light up. “We can’t forget a globe. The topographic one is fascinating.”

Mac rolls her eyes. “Dad, I assure you kids don’t want globes for Christmas.”

“I did. Besides, it’s just an extra gift. Why not, right?” He’s so earnest and straightforward and clearly thinks it’s a great gift. And maybe it is. We are all snowflakes, I suppose. No two are alike.

Before we’re done, the counter is stacked high with gifts that we’ll wrap and donate.

Wilder runs his gaze over the stacks like he’s doing a quick calculation, then turns to us, and shrugs. “We got everything on the list. What if we gave a little more? A little extra? It’s Christmas after all?”

This man. “Go for it,” I say, beaming.

He turns again to the woman behind the counter, who’s dressed in a snowman sweater with the name tag Maryam over the top hat. “Would it be possible if I bought three of everything you have in the store to donate to a local organization for the holiday? I would be happy to pay for delivery, too, Maryam.”

Her jaw falls to the carpeted floor, which is printed with a map of the world. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.” There’s no joking in his tone. No argument either. This is a man putting his money where his mouth is.

“Yes, of course,” the woman says. The two of them work out the details of immediate delivery to the donation center. Then, she brings her hand to her chest. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“How about where’s your credit card?”

She laughs then says, “Where’s your credit card?”

He slaps down his card and buys out half the store. As they’re chatting about the final details, Wilder pulls the woman aside and says something I don’t hear.

When they’re done, we load some of the toys into his car. The store will deliver the rest this afternoon to the donation center.

The five of us head over there and start wrapping.

Finished wrapping a toy train in the community center basement, Bibi checks the big clock on the wall and frowns apologetically. “I hate to do this, but I need to go.”

“Don’t apologize,” I say. “Dates are very important.”

Wilder flashes me a knowing grin then presses a kiss to my cheek. “They sure are.” No need for the naughty and nice list to make sure we stay on message. We are on message.

We send Bibi on her way and wrap board games and craft kits for another hour, then it’s Mac’s turn to frown. “I have to go. I’m a gingerbread aficionado, and the kids’ event starts soon. I need to decorate the gingerbread house I made.”

Her grandmother tilts her head, seeming bemused. “You know the word aficionado? Wait. Of course you do. You use it?” But then she holds up a hand. “Don’t even answer me. Of course you use it. You are your father’s daughter.”

Wilder turns to his mother. “I believe you are a gingerbread aficionado, as well. Do you want to take her back?”

“I do. It’ll be a good chance for us to catch up some more.”

“And you can hang out with me while we decorate,” Mac says. “I enlisted Cousin Troy as my partner because I think he is secretly, weirdly creative.”

“I think you’re right,” I agree.

They head off for the competition, leaving Wilder and me in the basement with several volunteers, a mountain of gifts, rolls of wrapping paper, tape, and bows. For a moment, I stare at the gifts on the table, a little daunted by the towering pile. “We’d better work quickly. The gingerbread house-making competition is the last event, and then the awards ceremony is tonight. We’ve got about two hours before we have to go.”

I baked the gingerbread yesterday, but we’ll need to decorate it in the Sugar Plum Bakery, which is hosting the contest. But as I stare at the generous heap of toys and games and puzzles, I’m unsure if we can pull this off.

“We can do it all,” Wilder promises as he wraps a crafting kit, folding a corner of red reindeer printed paper. “And I think we can hang onto first place too.”

Since we won the snowball competition and the tree-decorating one, we’re still in the lead, despite our middling finish in caroling. “I think we can too.”

Though it’s irksome that Brady and Iris are clinging to third place thanks to their epic performance in the caroling competition. And Iris can probably make a damn good gingerbread house since she’s a chef. But I won’t let that bother me. I can’t.

“All we have to do is place well in this last event,” Wilder says as he reaches for another gift and methodically wraps a square of mistletoe paper around a set of paintbrushes. “That should keep him out of first place.” Then he shoots me a soft smile. “Even though I don’t want to win just to beat him. Ask me why I want to win.”

“Fine. I’ll bite. Why do you want to win?”

He scans the basement, then lowers his voice. “Because it turns you on when my team wins. I’ve noticed that after football games, your cheeks are pink and your chest is flushed.”

Anything is foreplay for this man.

“That’s true,” I say, then he steals a kiss that sends shivers all the way to my toes as if he’s proving his point.

But we have more work to do, and I focus on that. Only it seems the more we wrap, the more we have to wrap. The stack of presents is multiplying. Which is great because it’s all going to a good cause. Still, I don’t know how we’ll get through it all.

As evening nears, I shake out my wrists, which are sore from all the gift wrapping. Wilder stops and rubs them for a minute, and then we return to the pile on the table, tackling the soccer balls next.

“I guess wrapping takes a long time when you buy half a store,” I say with a wry smile.

“Good wrapping is always worth it,” he says with a naughty gleam in his eyes as he perfectly ties a green satin bow on a box.

“Now I really want to go,” I say.

The problem is by the time the clock strikes six, there are still easily one hundred presents left to wrap.

I glance around at the hard-working volunteers wrapping gifts for kids who might not otherwise have them. “If we’re going, we should go,” I say softly, but the words don’t match my tone. I don’t want to leave.

Wilder simply says, “Or we could stay.”

And I fall a little harder for him.

“I would really like that,” I say, grateful. I love that he’s giving up the contest for this.

“There’s just one thing I need to do.” He already sounds satisfied, but he takes his phone from his pocket and dials a number. “Brady-i-o,” he says, then pauses. I tilt my head, wondering why the hell he’s calling my ex. “Actually, no, I don’t want to hear your formal pitch tomorrow. Or the next day. Or any day. I don’t work with cheaters. And I definitely don’t work with people who hurt my girlfriend. I’d say good luck with your stockbroker business, but I wouldn’t mean it, so I won’t.”

My lips form a wide O as he hangs up with a powerful stab of his finger against the screen.

“That was hot.” I stretch across the table and throw my arms around him, whispering in his ear, “You are going to get fucked so good tonight.”

“No, Fable. You are.”

Chills rush down my spine. “True, true,” I say, then send a text to my sister so she won’t worry about our whereabouts.

We spend an hour or more wrapping gifts and missing the Christmas gingerbread contest, hardly even caring about the competition.

Sometimes other things are more important.

Eventually, we finish and say goodbye. We’ve worked long into the night, and we get to the town square right as the awards ceremony is about to begin. Everyone is assembled by the gazebo, clutching hot cocoa and chatting while the lights of the trees we decorated yesterday flash on and off.

Wilder and I stride across the snowy town square, where Brady is chatting with Mayor Bumblefritz. When Brady spots me, an evil grin spreads across his face, and something like payback sparks in his eyes.

I gulp, suddenly afraid. My pulse spikes with worry.

Brady darts a hand toward the mayor, snatches his candy cane megaphone, and bounds to the gazebo, pointing it our way as he brings it to his stupid mouth. “You’ve finally arrived! Will you pretend you’re happy to see me win, Wilder Blaine? Like you’ve been pretending everything else? Like, oh, say, your little romance with Fable that’s actually one hundred percent, certified fake. And guess what, big man?” He stops to let out a victorious cackle. “No one likes a liar at Christmastime.”