Page 2 of Fake It for Christmas

“I did see that,” I said, defiant.

She chewed on the side of her cheek. “How do you plan to… handle that? Being single, and all?”

That, of course, was the big elephant in the room.

Or the big elephant in mymind, because no one was more aware of my singlehood than me.

“How could I not apply, though? It’s my favorite show of all time,” I said.

It was an understatement.

I’d seen every single episode of their home renovation show, and I had re-watched all of them an embarrassing amount of times. I followed all of the guys on their individual social media accounts, too, and to me, the Fixer Brothers crew were even bigger celebrities than the damn Royal Family.

But my sister was right.

Iwasterminally alone, and the contest was supposed to showcase couples.

“I’ll… figure something out,” I told Mariel as she folded up the step ladder.

“This place looks damn good,” she said, glancing around at all of the decorations we’d hung.

We’d been at it for hours. We hauled home a Christmas tree, put up the lights outside, strungmorelights and garlands inside, and arranged my seasonal plaid pillows on the couch.

“Gram would have loved it,” I said, already feeling the twinge of tightness in my throat.

It was our second Christmas without Grandma. We kept every tradition she loved alive, starting with these decorations and continuing into all the food we’d make on Christmas day. Her favorite was sweet potato casserole, and holiday garlands in particular were a must.

“We’ve got the holly garlandandthe pine garland. Yee-haw!” Mariel said in Gram’s exact voice, and we both laughed. “Both! Always use both kinds of garland!”

“I miss her.”

“I miss her, too.”

A few hours later I was sitting on a bar stool nursing a Rum and Coke at the Hard Spot Saloon, trying to take adifferentpiece of advice that Gram always used to give us.

“I don’t care if you’re gay, straight, or any of a million things between,” she used to say, holding a finger high in the air as she narrowed her eyes. “You’vealwaysgot to lead with love. Because nobody can fuck with that.”

“I’m definitely gay, Gram, and not anything in between,” I’d tell her, “but I promise I’ll always try.”

The longer I sat at the bar, chewing over the Fixer Brothers TV show contest that night, the less I felt likeleading with lovewas even possible for me.

I was definitely striking out on my attempts to find a date here at the saloon, at least.

I was 26, and I’d been single ever since I left college.

Which was now five years ago. Alarmingly.

I had to do something. No matter how much I loved it, my house was ancient—cabinets falling apart, a stove that only workedsomeof the time, and a front door that let a vicious cold draft in on a windy day. It was a perfect candidate for their show.

…Iwas just sorely lacking in the whole “happy couple” department.

So now I was here, glancing around the bar, on the prowl for any guy who seemed boyfriend-eligible. I lived a five-minute walk away from the Hard Spot Saloon, and even though Bestens, Tennessee wasn’t exactly a gay hot spot, this saloon-style bar was the closest thing we had. I’d put on my cutest collared shirt that everyone always complimented me on, saying it brought out the blue of my eyes. I smiled at anyone who walked by.

Probably looking a smidge desperate, but hoping somebody else might be, too.

This building used to be an old, independent bookstore, and when it had gone out of business, it became the Hard Spot Saloon. Some of the built-in bookshelves had been left up, and they stretched from floor to ceiling, wrapping around nooks and alcoves along the far wall. Each alcove had its own pool table or big leather booth in it, and the bookshelves were now covered with framed photos of Hard Spot regulars from years past.

There was a guy at a pool table in the corner with a woman, plenty of regulars dotted throughout the tables in the saloon, and the usual amount of local farmers relaxing after long days out on the fields.

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