Page 123 of My Favorite Holidate

The sound of the cabin door opening catches my attention, and from the other room I can just make out the sounds of laughter.

Maeve shrugs happily as she reaches for another seven-layer bar, “If you get a fake tree you don’t have to throw it out. They last.”

I chew on that point, and my seven-layer bar as Max and Wesley stride into the living room, arguing over whose sledding skills are more elite.

“Did you two have your own impromptu sledding competition?” Everly asks, with an amused grin as she looks at Max.

The big, bearded goalie shoots her a look. “Have you met me? Of course we did,” he says, sinking down next to her on the couch and tugging her onto his lap. “And of course I won.”

Wesley rolls his eyes as he drops into a chair, snuggling close with Josie. “Max, you seem to have a misunderstanding of what the finish line is. It was the thing I crossed first,” he says then reaches for a seven-layer bar and takes a bite. “Damn, these are good.”

“Do you two want to have a bake-off?” Josie suggests. “If you want to flex those competition skills in the kitchen, I think we’d all be grateful.”

Max lifts a finger. “I’m in.”

“Me too,” Wesley says, and soon the conversation shifts from my fake romance to their real lives.

As I watch the two couples, I think about the ways they’ve let each other in, the changes people make foreach other, the ways we bend and grow, and the things we’re willing to do to get out of our comfort zones when we fall in love.

But is that what’s happening to me? And if it is, would Wilder be willing to meet me on the other side of Christmas?

40

THE THREE OF US

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 variousboxes 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?”