My Favorite Holidate: A Standalone Holiday Romance

Fable

This evening after work I head to Elodie’s Chocolates in Hayes Valley to meet my sister for the best part of planning her wedding. We’re picking out gifts of chocolate as favors for the guests.

But a funny thing is happening to me as I walk down the block to my friend’s chocolate shop. My brain keeps replaying that three-second kiss in Wilder’s office earlier today.

I can still feel the confident brush of his fingertips across my cheeks, the way he held my chin, how he coasted his lips across mine. My skin tingles from the memory of an innocent kiss that didn’t feel innocent at all. It felt more like a hint of an after-dark kiss.

When I reach the store, I square my shoulders, determined to leave that kiss behind as I go inside. Charlotte’s already here at the counter chatting with Elodie, who’s decked out for the holidays in a rockabilly dress in red, white, and green stripes.

“Elodie has Christmas truffles for us,” Charlotte calls.

“And you can taste test as many as you want,” Elodie says from behind the counter.

“Perfect,” I say as I reach them. “I’ll take one of those and one of those and one of those and one of those and one of those.” I point to pretty much every chocolate in the store.

Elodie gives me a double-dog stare. “Don’t challenge me. You know I’ll let you try everything.”

Instead she hands us a tray with five truffles. My sister and I head to a table to sample them.

“This one is amazing,” Charlotte says of a hot cocoa-themed bonbon.

And here I go again. Thinking of Wilder and his hot cocoa secret, and now this kiss secret. But is the kiss a secret? I don’t even know, so I stuff a piece of chocolate in my mouth instead. “Mmm. This is good,” I say, trying to focus on the taste of the chocolate rather than the flavor of my boss’s kiss.

“So good,” Charlotte echoes.

“Do you want to have some at your shower this weekend?” I ask.

She winces. “I need to talk to you about that. Since it’s co-ed, Brady’s coming. We had to invite him.”

My smile vanishes. But I’m not entirely surprised he’ll be there. “It’s no big deal.”

But in the back of my mind I’m picturing Brady sauntering around Wilder’s home with Iris. The last time I saw the caterer, her mouth was opened wide. It’s going to be so hard to unsee that image every time I offer her a canape.

“Really, it’s fine,” I say, since my sister is looking at me like for real? And besides I have a fake boyfriend for this very purpose—so it looks like I’ve moved the fuck on.

“But Iris isn’t coming,” Charlotte quickly adds. “Why should I invite Brady’s new girlfriend anyway? She’s coming to the wedding. I don’t need to invite everyone to the shower,” Charlotte says, all badass and supportive at the same time, like she is.

Still, I don’t want to be treated with kid gloves. I definitely don’t want her to think I can’t handle my emotions. I’ve got those fuckers mastered and have for a long time.

“I can handle seeing Brady, no problem,” I say breezily.

Charlotte flashes me a big smile. “Especially since you’ll be with your new guy. I’m so excited you’re hosting it together. And so, so grateful. Tell Wilder thank you!”

My gut churns with guilt. She’s totally on my side, and I haven’t even told her that this thing with the best man isn’t real.

“I will,” I say, then I redirect her attention to the chocolates. As we sample some more, she tells me about an idea for the shower, then we order the hot cocoa truffles as favors. When we’re done, we say goodbye to Elodie, then Charlotte asks if I want to join her for some Christmas shopping.

“Is that a trick question?” I ask, arching a brow. She knows shopping and I are tight.

“Oh good! I told Leo I’d be home kind of late because I had a feeling I could twist your arm.”

“You know me so well. And I’ll do some of my shopping too,” I say.

“To Fillmore Street,” she says, naming my favorite place to exercise my credit card.

I stick out my arm. “Go ahead. Twist it twice.”

We take off for my personal shopping heaven. The block is home to a cute card, puzzle, and tchotchke shop called Effing Stuff, my friend Rachel’s jewelry store where I used to work, some cute boutiques, and my favorite vintage clothing shop in the city. I can snag Christmas gifts for all my friends as well as for family there.

Ten minutes later, I head into Effing Stuff to track down an I Hate Everything mug for Cousin Troy while Charlotte finds some irreverent coasters for our mom, so we head to the counter together. As I’m swiping my phone screen so I can tap pay, the woman at the counter says, “You’re both all set.”

Confused, I turn to Charlotte. “Did you sneak attack pay?”

But my sister looks just as confused as I am. “I didn’t.”

The clerk offers a smile. “Everything’s covered. Wilder Blaine called and said you can get whatever you want.”

What? How? When? I can’t even speak as questions ping-pong in my head. Finally, several seconds later, I form words. “He did?”

I can’t believe it.

The clerk nods. “He said you’d be Christmas shopping and that it would all be covered. And everything for your sister too.”

Charlotte spins around, delight in her eyes. “That’s some plus one.”

I’m too shocked to say anything but, “yes, it is.” Because this is nicer than anything a real boyfriend has ever done for me.

And it doesn’t stop. When we head into Better With Pockets so I can pick up something for Everly, the man at the register says the same thing.

When I go to An Open Book to buy some books for Josie, everything has been covered there too.

When we pop into Bling and Baubles, Rachel grins and says, “You can have anything you want. Plus, free gift wrap.”

For some reason, that last part makes me laugh the hardest. Maybe because Wilder even included gift-wrapping in his sneak attack shopping spree.

When I stop in the vintage shop to pick up a jacket that Maeve has been eyeing, the same song plays over again at the register.

As we leave, I ask, “How did he even know where we were going?”

But then I realize what must have happened right as Charlotte says, “Leo.”

Charlotte told Leo, then he must have mentioned it to Wilder, and then Wilder went ahead and covered our entire Christmas shopping trip.

Talk about thoughtful.

When we’re done, and laden with gold and silver bags, stuffed with beautifully wrapped gifts, I feel a little bit like I’m in another world. Shocked by what the man did. But also, I feel…frothy.

And special.

Something I’ve never really felt before either.

Charlotte’s Lyft pulls up outside the last shop. She stops before opening the door to the black sedan.

“Want to share? I can add a stop.”

We live in opposite directions, so I wave her off. “Mine will be here any minute.”

She blows me a kiss. “Love you. You’re the best. Sorry I freaked out this morning about the shower, sorry about Brady, sorry about everything. But I’m not sorry you have a hot new man who loves to spoil you!”

She waves and disappears into the car. As it peels off, I whisper, I don’t have a hot new man.

A pang of longing for what I don’t have digs into my chest, but I do my best to ignore it. It’s selfish to feel any sort of loss right now as I carry bags of gifts my fake boyfriend surprised me by paying for.

Besides, I need to thank Wilder for this wildly unexpected gift. Then focus on making it through seeing my awful ex nonstop the week of the wedding, showing that jerk how a woman should be treated, and in the meantime—all the time—saving for my new business.

Funny though, how Wilder already showed me tonight how a man should treat a woman.

My smile won’t disappear. I stare down at the bags once more. This was just so…wonderfully extra. I take out my phone to thank him as I head to the bus stop a block away. I didn’t really order a Lyft. I don’t need to spend extra money on cars.

When I reach the stop, I open my texts.

He replies a minute later.

Right. He’s fake boyfriending. Of course that’s what he’s doing. And while it is above and beyond, it’s also for show. I need to remember that. Still, I thank him one more time. Because that’s what a good fake girlfriend should do.

Ha. Is that an emoticon? I guess that’s my thank-you since I’m pretty sure the man has never used one in his life. And I suppose I’ll have to take him at face value—that my thank-you was enough.

I sigh contentedly, enjoying the compliment so very much. Those were rare with Brady too. And he never really treated me to anything. But I don’t want to get too lost in the Cinderella fantasy. I return to agenda items, as Wilder likes to call them.

He’ll definitely want to know that Brady’s coming to the shower, especially after his PDA review at work today. He clearly wants to make sure we don’t miss a beat. I don’t want Brady to catch on either. No way am I giving that rat bastard the satisfaction of thinking he’s hurt me.

Before I can even tap out the details, there’s a new text from Wilder and the words Thought you might enjoy this. It’s a snippet of his daughter performing at her school concert and it’s absolutely delightful.

Heat spreads across my cheeks. I shouldn’t flirt with him. But he’s the one who mentioned a naughty mind. I hop onto the bus and reply once I sit down.

And he’s flirting right back. My stomach flips again, and I tap out a reply—Do you? But then I backpedal, erasing it. Just because we practiced kissing doesn’t mean we need to practice sexting. I return to the shower.

He’s silent. For several minutes, my phone doesn’t buzz or beep as the bus chugs through the city toward my little apartment where I’ll work on some of my own jewelry designs tonight.

I check my phone again. There aren’t even three dots dancing. I can hear the dread loud and clear, though, in his eventual reply.

Then there’s the sigh of resignation.

A good girlfriend, fake or real, would make things easier for her guy. I hop off the bus and head to my apartment, replying as I go.

I shut the door to my place and quickly change, then write back.

I pause, considering my next words. Then, what the hell?

I gasp. And once more I replay the kiss. Then I tell him what his costume is.

The fake boyfriending doesn’t stop at shopping. The next day while I’m working, an email lands on my computer from Shay.

Dear Fable,

Wilder has arranged for a private suite for you at this Thursday’s game. He said you can invite as many friends as you’d like. Hors d’oeuvres included of course. Can you let me know by end of day if you can make it?

Thanks so much! We paw-sitively hope you can!

Shay

Once more, my jaw drops. Is he for real?

No, he’s fake, girl. But seriously. This is elite-level fake boyfriending. I write back in all caps with extra exclamation points and a thousand thank yous.

And on Thursday night, I roll up to the stadium in my Renegades gear with Maeve, Josie, Everly, Charlotte and Leo, and also Rachel and Elodie. Josie brings Wesley, and Everly brings Max. Elodie brings her husband while Rachel brings her sister, Juliet, since her husband—Carter—is on the field prepping to play the game.

I’ve been to private suites before at the Renegades. I’ve stopped by the owner’s suite. But I’ve never—naturally—had my own private one.

I’m giddy as I head up the elevator to the suite level, bouncing as I walk down the hall, and more excited than I think I’ve ever been when an attendant opens the door, and says, “Enjoy the game, Ms. Calloway.”

But then, when I look at the spread, I’m simply touched. It’s all my favorite foods, from olives and cheeses and nuts to mushroom bruschetta, to corn flautas, to zucchini fritters.

And there’s no mayonnaise or shellfish in sight.

My heart pounds. I don’t deserve this level of fake boyfriending, but holy fuck. I am going to enjoy the hell out of it.

“Go Renegades!” I shout.

“Damn, this is nice,” Wesley says, then strides over to the tables full of appetizers. “Can we come to every game?”

“Yeah, it’d be great if you could get a private suite for every home game, Fable,” Max calls out as he follows Wesley.

“Athletes,” Everly says, smiling affectionately. “Food is a tractor beam for them.”

“Um, me too,” Josie says, then follows the guys.

Everly squeezes my shoulder, then says in a soft voice, “Maeve was right.”

“Oh stop,” I say, but I’m blushing.

By the end of the third quarter my voice is hoarse from cheering on the Renegades and shouting you were wrong at the refs when the door swings open. Wilder’s dressed in a suit, no tie. He strides in during a commercial break and comes up to me as I refill my water.

“Are you enjoying the game?”

“Yes! Thank you, boss⁠—”

I’m about to say boss man, when I stop myself. He’s supposed to be my boyfriend. Would I really call him boss man here in front of everyone? “Thank you so much, sugar plum,” I say, then…fuck it. I plant a quick kiss on his cheek.

His breath catches for a second, but he clears his throat and says, “I told you that you should come to the next home game.”

That’s what he said that day in his office when we made this arrangement. When he seemed bothered that I’d watched the Thanksgiving weekend game at home alone instead of with friends. So he made it possible for me to watch this one with them. All of them.

I look around at Everly and Max, checking out the popcorn offerings. At Josie and Wesley, her head on his shoulder in the front row, at Rachel chatting with Juliet and Elodie. This is so…generous. I don’t even know how to properly thank Wilder. “You really did this to make sure I could see the game in person?”

His smile is wry as he looks toward the glass overlooking the field with a confident nod. “It’s better in person than on TV, isn’t it?”

That’s all he says. Then he turns to leave. But I stop him, grabbing his arm, then dropping another kiss on his cheek.

“That wasn’t for practice. That was for real. Thank you.”

There’s a pause as something unreadable passes in his eyes. “You’re welcome,” he says, and I watch him go.

But then, maybe it wasn’t unreadable. Maybe it was actually that he enjoyed watching me…have fun.