Page 36 of Fake it 'Til Christmas
As I said, it’s the ambiance.Not the man.There’s something about vineyards that makes people believe in romance.Maybe it’s the trellises, or the rolling hills, or the very curated “rustic” signage that says things likeLove Is the Wine You Bring to the Tablein cursive font.
It’s atmospheric manipulation.Weaponized wholesomeness.This is where I have to be careful, or I’ll start believing it too.
Focus on this place, it’s just overripe grapes, damp earth, and poor decisions—and somehow, we look like we belong here.That in itself is highly terrifying.
We blend into the scenery like a well-posed centerfold in a wine magazine.Drinker’s Digest.Which I guess is the point of this exercise.
“Okay,” I murmur, adjusting my scarf as if I’m trying to hide—not sure from whom.“Just a reminder: no direct face shots.We’re leaning into shadows, angles, and tasteful distance.”
Soren glances over, perfectly unimpressed.“Leaning into shadows?I don’t even know what that means.”
“I’m trying to avoid giving away who I’m dating, Soren.”I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised something doesn’t dislocate.“You need to catch up.Remember, you’re a Capulet.I’m a Montague.Star-crossed.Taboo.Very doomed but hot.”
He dares to smirk.“Pretty sure it’s the other way around.”
“That is so not the point.”I throw him a glare that should’ve come with subtitles.“My family cannot find out we’re dating.”
“They’re not here.”
“No,” I whisper, pulling him toward a narrow stone path framed by ivy and deeply regrettable life choices, “but they’re on the internet.My mother has Google Alerts set up for my name and the keywords ‘kissing in public.’Let’s not test her internet-psychic powers.”
“I doubt that’s a thing.”
I stop and narrow my gaze.“You don’t know her.She once called me before my own breakup because she sensed it.Through Instagram.Don’t tempt fate.”
“We’re going to be in Winterberry Cove tomorrow, Winnifred.They might find out we’re together.”
I knew that could be a thing but disregarded it.Until now, when his words hit with the precision of a late-night thought spiral.
Cold.
Immediate.
Inconveniently true.
In conclusion, I’m fucked.
I blink at him.My heart stumbles over itself.The air suddenly feels tighter around the edges, and I can’t quite catch a full breath.
“What am I supposed to do with that information?”My voice squeaks at the end.I try to play it off like I’m cold.It doesn’t work.
“Breathe,” he says, too calm for someone delivering life-altering news.
“I can’t be dating you while simultaneously searching for the perfect fiancé before Christmas.”
The words feel too big for my chest, like they’ve been rattling around in there and finally forced their way out.My inhale stumbles.My pulse drums against my ribs like it’s trying to stage a protest.
“In fact, they think I’m with Chad.”
He flinches.“The LARPer?”
“I think we’re going to go with the term ‘immersive role-play enthusiast.’”
He scoffs.“For the aesthetic?”
“You’re learning fast, Soren.”
He tilts his head, deadpan.“He’s history, Winnifred.He left you for a medieval wench.It’s over.You need to let that go.”
