Page 14 of Fake it 'Til Christmas
Chad tilts his head like she asked if the sky was blue.“I mean, yeah.Kinda feels like it, right?”
She nods slowly, then says, “Right.Because I won’t wear a corset and sleep in a reenactment tent while birds of prey scream overhead.”
His face softens like he thinks he’s doing her kindness.“You’re great, Freddy.You’re just ...not really LARP girlfriend material.”
I flinch on her behalf.I don’t think she’s heartbroken, more like she’s invested so much into this fantasy, and now she’s going to have to break it to her family that ...well, it didn’t work out, and Chelsea will have the best social media posts among the two of them.
She blinks up at him.“Well, you’re not vineyard material.”
I almost gawk at her comeback.It’s so weak.What happened to her fiery wit?She’s probably trying to figure out where to get the lumberjack special so she can convince her mom that she’s better than Chelsea and Ken.
“Totally fair,” Chad says like she just handed him a gold star.
There’s a pause.Long enough to feel the gap between them widen.
Then she clears her throat and straightens her shoulders.“Well.May your goblet always be full or whatever.”
Chad beams like that was a blessing.“Thank you.That’s actually really sweet.”
He turns and walks off—chainmail clinking, cape flapping, no sense of irony in sight.
She stands still on the deck, phone limp in her hand, watching him go.Her shoulders fall just a little like the air’s gone out of her.
She doesn’t cry.Doesn’t yell.Just closes her eyes for a second longer than necessary, like she’s rebooting her entire nervous system.
And then she lifts her phone again and mutters, “Guess I need to return the fake robe.”
I stay quiet.Hidden in plain sight.
Because if I say something now, I might tell her the truth.That he wasn’t even in the same league.That she deserves better.That her chaos isn’t the mess—he was.
I just grip the railing, exhale through my nose, and let her have her moment.But then I wonder, what if ...what if I bring Freddy to Winterberry Cove?Isn’t that what she wanted all along?A ranch, a family—and a vineyard.
What will she say if I propose a little lie?
ChapterSix
Soren
Instead of sayingsomething right away, I head back inside and pour two glasses of wine.
Winnifred’s going to need one of them.Possibly both.
When I come back out, she’s still on her deck—legs crossed, phone in hand, defiance in posture.Thankfully, she’s not screaming.Or crying.No mascara streaks, no sobbing.
She’s just ...processing the only way she knows: loudly but in silence.That’s a very Winnifred thing to do.
I pause at the threshold, lean against the doorframe, and really look at her.
Winnifred Wolfcraft, in all her post-breakup glory.She’s barefoot, wrapped in a cable-knit cardigan that might’ve once belonged to an ex or a thrift store grandpa—same effect either way.Her hair’s twisted into one of those messy topknots that looks accidental but took effort, and her face is set in this focused scowl that says she’s on a mission.Probably trying to fix this “minor inconvenience” the only way she knows how—by overplanning it to death and pretending it’s content.
She sits curled up in that dusty rose Adirondack chair she spray-painted over the summer.Sorry, not pink—sunset aesthetic.She gave me a full TED Talk on the difference when I called it “bubblegum Barbie hell.”I think she forgave me—eventually.
Right now, she’s furiously typing into her Notes app like she’s drafting a cease-and-desist letter addressed to the entire male species.
So, as I said, she’s spiraling.
I can already predict the next few moves.She’ll ghost the Wolfcrafts for the next couple of holidays to avoid the inquiries.She’ll host Friendsgiving out of spite.And by December, she’ll invent a mysterious long-distance boyfriend named Jonah who rescues turtles off the coast of Maine.
