My Favorite Holidate: A Standalone Holiday Romance

Fable

I’m fine. I’m totally fine. A little water, a little lip gloss. No one will know I’m angry.

Make that livid.

But I’m also not completely surprised about the ‘nog job. Not because Brady’s a hanger-on, not because Brady wears out all his welcomes, and not because he’s a scheming, two-timing jerk apparently—though he is absolutely all those things.

But because…relationships always break down.

Like my last one. And the one before. And, oh say, my mom and dad’s. Which broke down over and over and, yup, say it one more time, over again.

Romance and I aren’t vodka and tonic. We’re orange juice and toothpaste. But no one needs to know that.

I step into the hall, plaster on a smile, and run right into…the man who signs my paychecks.

Great. Now I have to fake it for him too. I smile wider, brighter. “Hey there, boss man.”

Wilder cocks his head, studying me like he has X-ray vision and can see inside my soul. Nope. No one can. I zip up my soul suit so it’s impervious to his perceptive eyes.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Everything is great!” Was that too cheery? Maybe.

“Are you ready for dessert?”

“Ready to skip it,” I say, patting my belly, like I’m too full to stomach pie, especially pie made by Iris. Maybe I can skip dessert. Skip out of this meal and go grab a pint of Molly Moon’s ice cream and binge a comedy on Webflix while knitting the blanket I will probably still be curled up in alone when I’m fifty.

But Wilder gives a professional smile—the same one he flashes when he wants someone to attend a meeting. The smile that says it’s not optional.

“Just sit with us then for a minute,” he says, and this feels like a clear order. A kind one, but an order, nonetheless. There will be no skipping out.

“Sure,” I say, then he walks with me down the hall, peering at me again with some concern.

Wilder stops before we reach the living room. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I force out a bubbly laugh. “Why wouldn’t I be?” I’m not about to tell him Brady was coming down the caterer’s chimney at his Thanksgiving.

“Just checking,” Wilder says, then sets a hand on the small of my back ever so briefly, sending a very unexpected shiver down my spine before we return to the table.

Everyone’s set up again, with plates, forks, and all varieties of pie from pecan to apple to pumpkin. The well-appointed Christmas tree presides over us, its twinkling lights heralding holiday cheer. It’s all so much happiness that I nearly run off. But something in Wilder’s tone—just sit with us—has me pulling out a chair and sitting my ass down.

I’ve just picked up a fork when Wilder clears his throat and says, “The pecan pie is a cherished family recipe…”

Oh. There’s a pie toast? Fabulous. I’ll have to fake I’m fine for even longer.

Then Leo interrupts his friend, taking over the toast. “Speaking of cherished family things…”

Then, my sister’s boyfriend pushes back in his chair, rises, and comes around to my little sister. The hair on the back of my neck prickles. My heart skitters.

Leo drops to one knee.

Charlotte gasps. I gasp.

“Charlotte Calloway,” Leo begins, reaching into his pocket, “you are the love of my life.”

Oh. My. God.

He’s proposing to my sister, who’s madly in love with him and has been since the day she walked into his home. My eyes well with tears as he tells Charlotte how much he loves her, adores her, and admires her. He pops open a box with a stunning vintage ring inside, then says, “This was my grandmother’s cherished ring, and I would be so honored if you’d wear it and be my wife.”

My heart climbs into my throat.

“Leo, you had me at will you decorate my home,” Charlotte says, her voice breaking with happiness. She wraps her arms around him in the most romantic embrace I’ve ever seen.

Tears stream down my cheeks—mostly for her, but some for me. My baby sister is getting married. It’s almost enough to wipe away the images of Brady getting his dick sucked just moments ago.

“Kiss the bride!” someone calls out.

Someone very familiar. Someone who just uttered coming in the wrapping room.

My chest burns. Are you kidding me? Brady’s hooting for his cousin already? He doesn’t even have the decency to shut the fuck up?

I can’t believe I dated him. Of course I don’t blame my sister—though she introduced me to him at a dinner party she and Leo hosted four months ago, saying she wanted me to meet Leo’s cousin, who’s so friendly.

She didn’t force me to go out with him. I made that dumb choice on my own.

I refuse to look his way, staring instead at Wilder’s daughter, who’s taking pictures with a real camera. Is that a little pocket Nikon? I had no idea his daughter was into photography. Most kids—most people—can’t handle a regular camera in our cell phone world. But the kid is a natural, positioned in just the right place, snapping the proposal photos like a pro. It’s kind of adorable that Wilder’s kid is taking the pics.

Once the photos are done, Leo whispers something in Charlotte’s ear, and she beams, then nods enthusiastically.

They turn to the table, and my big-hearted, kind, talented sister says to me, “Will you be my maid of honor, Fable? It would mean the world.”

I never knew it was possible to be elated and angry all at once—but I suppose you just take one heartfelt moment and add a dash of a dickhead ex. Voila. Instant cocktail of emotions. “Like I’d let you have anyone else,” I say, my heart swelling with love for her even as my blood boils over Brady.

Then sweet, devoted Leo turns to Wilder. “And you’ve been like a brother to me my whole life. Will you be the best man?”

“I’m there,” Wilder says, cool and steady.

Under the table, I cross my fingers.

Please let them have just a best man and maid of honor. Let the madness stop there. Pretty please.

But Leo turns to Brady next and says to his cousin, “And you have to be a groomsman, Brady.”

“You know it, dude,” Brady says, giving him some sort of bro-knock.

Kill me now.

When Brady puts his hand down, he waggles his eyebrows at Wilder. “We’ll have to move up that little stock talk.”

Wilder, to his credit, gives Brady a professional smile but says nothing, too classy to turn him down here in front of everyone.

After more congratulations, Charlotte hugs me and then gazes at her new ring proudly. “I can’t quite believe it,” she murmurs.

“I can, and I’m so happy for you.” I steal a glance at the door. Maybe I’ll slip out after this hug.

But Charlotte squeezes me harder, then steps back, holding my arms. Her big, brown eyes sparkle as she looks me up and down. “You and Brady are going to be in the wedding together. Maybe you’ll be next!”

I wither inside but put on a smile. I can’t tell her what Brady did tonight. I don’t want to ruin her special day. Instead, I strip any hurt away, like I’ve learned to do since I was younger. It’s second nature. But I mean it completely when I squeal and wrap my arms around my sister again. As I pull away, I catch Brady’s eye as I say to Charlotte, “I’m so happy for you!”

I don’t have to fake this happiness because I love my sister so much. I channel that joy into a wide smile I wear like it’s my number one fashion accessory because fuck you, Brady. You don’t deserve to see me sad.

Moments later, Charlotte rejoins Leo at the head of the table, and this time, she whispers something to him. His smile is pure delight. He clinks a fork against a glass to get everyone’s attention, and then Charlotte clasps her hands. “We don’t want to wait to get married,” the bride declares. “We want to have a Christmas Eve wedding at Wilder’s cabins. And we want all of you to be there. It’ll be a big destination wedding, and in the days leading up to it, we can bring our families together for the annual Christmas games.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Brady catching Iris’s gaze and mouthing, Want to be my date?

And if I’d thought this day couldn’t get any worse, I was wrong.