Page 7 of Festive Faking
“Showtime, Freckles.”
My head whipped around to glare at him. “Not sure pissing me off right now is going to sell this thing.”
He stepped closer until our bodies were pressed flush, his breath ghosting over my ear. “Ten bucks says your family eats that nickname right up.”
“This is going to be a disaster,” I groaned.
“No going back now.” Without asking, he reached around me, curled his hand over mine around the doorknob and turned, ushering me into the house and hollering, “Hello! Anyone home?”
“Aspen? Is that you, sweetheart?” My mama came into view, turning the corner from the kitchen, an apron tied around her waist.
There wasn’t a conscious thought before I rushed into my mother’s arms. Her hugs had always been magical, and this one helped ease my anxiety over bringing a guy home for the first time—a guy I was only pretending to date.
Pulling back, she smoothed my wavy hair away from my face, cupping both cheeks. “My beautiful girl. I’m so happy to have you home.”
My lungs filled with air on a deep breath, and I sighed. “Me too, Mama.”
Her eyes peeked over my shoulder, and a hint of pink crept up her neck. Bringing her lips close to my ear, she whispered, “Oh my, he’s so handsome.”
She wasn’t wrong about that. The first time I saw him, I thought he was the hottest man I’d ever seen. Then he went and ruined it by opening his mouth.
Turning to face my partner in this charade, I introduced him to my mom. “Mama, this is Mac.”
There was a beat of hesitation, and I could have sworn I heard her whisper, “What happened to Mike?” but she covered it quickly, brightening her voice as she stepped forward. “Welcome to our home, Mac. You must be mighty special to our Aspen. She’s not often accompanied by guests of the male variety.”
Mac plastered on his most charming smile—the one that, most days, had me wanting to throat punch him—and captured my mom’s hand to dust his lips over her knuckles like he was the hero of a freaking regency romance novel.
“Thank you so much for having me, Mrs. Sullivan.”
That blush I thought I had imagined grew darker and settled onto Mama’s cheeks. “Just Daisy is fine.”
“Daisy it is, then.” His wink was damn near sinful, and suddenly, I needed a cold drink of water because my throat had gone dry.
“Well, why don’t you two come into the kitchen? I’m just about done with dinner.”
“Anything I can help with?” Mac asked as Mama led the way.
She waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, well, aren’t you sweet. Appreciate the offer, but all that’s left is to take the rolls out of the oven.”
My brother was setting the kitchen table when we walked in. Tripp turned around, his face lighting up with a smile he reserved for only two people on this Earth—me and his best friend/secret crush, Penny Atkins.
“Hey, Snowcap.”
“Hey, Clumsy.”
Our parents had given us somewhat unique names, and we’d leaned into them over the years, coming up with nicknames relative to their meanings. Snowcap for me because Aspen was a ski-resort town, and Clumsy for him because what else did you call someone who constantly tripped?
He held his arms out wide, and I wasted no time rushing into his strong embrace. “Missed you, sis,” he whispered against the top of my head.
A huffing noise accompanied the pouty note in Mac’s voice when he grumbled, “Oh,he’sallowed to give you a nickname?”
Tripp let me go so I could spin around to face my fake boyfriend. I widened my eyes, hoping he would get the message to cool it.
My mother, utterly oblivious to the tension radiating between me and Mac, clapped her hands in glee. “Ooh! Why do I feel like there’s a story here?”
“Nope! No story!” I winced at the volume of my rising voice.
“Aspen!” Mama scolded. “Where are your manners?”
