Page 17 of Fake it 'Til Christmas
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” I murmur.“But I’ve got a feeling ...if anyone’s gonna make it hurt, it’ll be you.”
And she smiles again, this time, full-force.
“Oh my God.Is this a setup?Did Aunt Nell put you up to this?Is this karma?”She shakes her head.“No, it’s some kind of setup.The universe and my mother...”
She pauses and starts walking along the small deck.Her face splits into a grin that is entirely too delighted.“You, Mister I-Live-Alone-and-Like-It-That-Way,youneed a fake date?”
I sigh.“Please don’t make it sound like we need a documentary.”
She leans forward, giddy now.“Does this involve wardrobe coordination?A backstory?”
“I’d prefer if you could come up with a good way to avoid my family,” I stop her before she drags out material to create an entire scrapbook.“Just need one of those stories you concoct.No drama.”
Winnifred shakes her head.“I don’t agree, but tell me why you need this, and I’ll make it better for you.”
She’s going to make this so much worse before it gets better.
And the worst part?
I already know I’m going to let her.
Because even when she’s unhinged and unpredictable ...she makes it kind of worth it.
ChapterSeven
Soren
“Your sister is engaged?”she asks, blinking at me like that’s the most shocking revelation of the last five minutes.“Daisy is engaged.”
That’s what she got from all of it.Not the fake girlfriend part.Not the last-minute travel.Not the Catholic guilt trip woven into my mother’s voice like a blessing-curse hybrid.
Just that Daisy is engaged.
“What’s the big deal?”
She rolls her eyes as if I’m so exasperating and obviously can’t catch up with her nonsense.“The big deal is that I know before my mother.”She actually claps excitedly.“I got Winterberry Cove gossip before her.”
I blink.“Why does that matter?”
She waves a hand in the air like that’s explanation enough.“You wouldn’t understand.It’s a whole thing.That’s premium information.That’s, like, small-town trivia tier.”
“Try me.”
“Nope,” she says, already halfway tuned out.“I’m not wasting time on this.We have a situation.”
She downs the rest of her wine, sets the glass down with purpose, and pivots on her heel toward the sliding door.“We need to find you a girlfriend who has a free weekend and can fly to—wait, where are you going again?Are they doing this in Winterberry Cove?”
I open my mouth, but she doesn’t wait for the answer.She’s already back inside her place.
I hear drawers opening.Footsteps.A door slam.What sounds like the ripping of paper and plastic boxes smashing against each other.When she returns, she has her arms full.
“Permission to cross to your side since you have a table to work with.”She kind of asks but doesn’t wait for my response before crossing the fence.
She’s got scissors, glue sticks, markers, a couple of magazines, highlighters ...or are they more markers?There’s a fabric swatch pinned to a corkboard and a suspicious amount of glitter bottles.
“What ...is that?”
“A starter kit,” she announces.“For the emergency fake-girlfriend vision board.”
