Page 124 of My Favorite Holidate

“Because he doesn’t like cats. He said so at the shower when he ran into Penguin in the hallway after he used the bathroom.”

Wilder scoffs. “That settles it. Reason enough to beat him.”

“I don’t trust people who don’t like animals,” Mac adds, crossing her arms.

“One hundred percent reasonable approach to life,” I say as Mayor Bumblefritz strides into the square with his megaphone at his side.

He smiles grandly as he weaves through the boxes full of mismatched ornaments.

I think back to when Wilder and I began this fake romance in his office for the sake of his aunt. She asked me pointedly if I was good at Christmas tree decorating. When I’d told her I knew my way around a string of lights, she’d said,“Then I hope you beat that Brady character in the competition.”

I don’t care about Brady anymore, but I do care about Wilder’s aunt so this one is for Bibi. I want to win for her. Because the Evergreen Falls Annual Best in Snow Winter Games Competition matters to her. They’re her Olympics. They’re her big game. I’m going to do my best for her since she’s been so good to me.

Maybe that’ll make up for the guilt I feel about lying to her—even though when I look at the handsome, brilliant man by my side, nothing feels fake anymore.

I also want to do my best for another person. For this fabulous young woman Wilder’s raising. I look at Mac, my heart filling with warmth for her spirit, her mind, and her feisty attitude that I admire.

I could get lost in these warm and fuzzy feelings, though, so I’m glad Mayor Bumblefritz is climbing up the steps to the gazebo now. We take our places by our designated trees. A crowd has gathered around the square to watch the competition.

The mayor brings that candy cane megaphone to his mouth. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, humans of all ages! You’ll have thirty minutes to decorate your tree. You’ll each need to grab what you want from these boxes of ornaments. No new ornaments were purchased for the games. These have all been donated so they’re getting a second chance in our contest as they do every year.” He takes a beat. “There’s no telling what kind of festive magic you’ll create with these. The Christmas spirit is all about making the most with what you have, wouldn’t you agree?”

There is a collective murmur ofyesfrom the contestants as we eagerly wait for him to announce the theme. He takes a weighty beat. “The theme this year is open to each individual team’s interpretation.” Another pause. “And it’s…home for the holidays. Let the tree-decorating competition begin!”

I can’t take a moment to process this theme because we’re going to have to figure it out on the fly as we sift through what each box holds. The volunteers open the cardboard flaps and Mac and I take off running. Wilder’s behind us holding a red bag that we’ll fill with the ornaments.

I kneel at the first box, scanning the goodies. I don’t see a random collection of ornaments, but a puzzle waiting to be solved. My mind begins to race, envisioning the perfect arrangement of colors, shapes, styles—the perfect design forhome for the holidays.

“Grab the reindeer,” I say, pointing to a wooden ornament in the corner of the box. Mac grabs it, then points to a red wooden sleigh. I snatch that up. She smiles at me, nodding and understanding, knowing instantly that we’regoing for a homey vibe. I spy a wooden nutcracker. “That one too.”

“Got it,” she says, darting out a hand.

We race to the next box as Wilder holds open the bag. “What’ll it be, ladies?”

I scan the treasures so fast, then dole out instructions. We grab a wooden Santa, an elf, then a sled.

We’re off in no time to the next box when an idea strikes. I motion for Mac to come closer, then whisper. “Let’s do old meets new,” I say. “That’s kind of the point of home for the holidays?”

Her eyes brighten. “Yes! I love it. We’ll get baubles and sparkly things and mix them with the old fashioned ones.”

“It’s like you can read my mind,” I say.

“That sounds perfect,” Wilder says, watching us with so much affection, it nearly breaks my heart. I almost want to stop right here, right now, and say to him, “What if this was real? Do you feel it too?”

But the clock is ticking and this girl wants to win. For others.

Mac is off and running so I shut down distractions. We’re faster than the other contestants, racing with our collection. At the final box I spot something red and shiny at the bottom. I grab it before anyone else can then dash to the spruce in the corner of the square.

After Wilder adds lights, Mac and I move like clockwork to create a vintage-meets-modern style. We hang our ornaments in diagonal rows that crisscross along the branches of the tree.

When we’re finishing, Wilder flicks on the twinkling lights. “I do love Christmas lights,” he says with a little innuendo that I pick up on.

“Me too,” I say, my stomach flipping from the way he looks at me with eyes that hold secrets. Perhaps also from the piece de resistance. I grab the red ribbon I found at the bottom of the last box of ornaments.

“I’ll take care of that,” Wilder says with authority.

“Yes, you will,” I reply.

With the same skill he used when he tied me up in one, he fastens the ribbon in front of the tree into a lovely looping bow.