Page 16 of Fake it 'Til Christmas
She finally looks up.Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes a little glassy—but dry.Still holding it together, but barely.
I walk the few steps to the edge of her deck and hand her the second glass without a word.She takes it like she’s not sure if it’s peace or pity in liquid form but drinks it anyway.
“If you ever comment on one of my emotional posts, I’ll block you,” she says flatly.
I lift my glass in mock surrender.“Duly noted.”
She exhales a soft, tired sound.“You’re going to be here all weekend?”
I nod.“Unless my house burns down.”
She leans back with a dramatic sigh.“Fine.Then I’m baking all weekend.And you’re legally required to eat everything.”
“If that’s the case, I might need my lawyer to look over that contract.”Then stop and give her a thoughtful look.“You’ll be sending it in writing, right?”
“I’m going to need a grocery run and emotional support.”
I raise an eyebrow.“Is that code for ‘buy more butter’ or ...?”
She smiles—barely.But it’s ...I’m not sure.Though it knocks something loose in my chest, I’m not ready to examine it just yet.Obviously, I need to change gears.This is uncomfortable.Which reminds me—I have my own disaster to solve.And unfortunately, she’s the only person I trust to help me pull it off.After all, she has a lot of experience with this.
So, I clear my throat.“On an unrelated note ...”I rub the back of my head.
She eyes me with immediate suspicion.“Unrelated how, exactly?”
“I might need a favor.”
Her gaze narrows like she’s reading terms and conditions she knows are shady.“You?”then she points at herself.“From me?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Wow.With that kind of enthusiasm, how can I not jump in headfirst?”She sets down her glass and tossing me a mock gasp.“I can’t wait to say, ‘No way in hell, grouchy pants.’”
Her eyes lit up, that near-smile curling at the corners of her mouth like it’s trying to break free.And, fuck, I hate to admit that I like it.
“Doubtful.”I swallow the grin that wants to slip.“You’ll get a kick out of this one.”
She leans forward slightly.“Is it bakery-related?Because I just updated the logo, and if you dare say you still like the name Tiny Crimes of Batter?—”
“It’s not about the bakery.”
“Oh, what did you do, Soren?”she groans, leaning back like she’s bracing for impact.“Is it about your plants?Did something die again?Did you overwater the ficus?”
“I don’t have a ficus.”
“That’s exactly what someone with a dead ficus would say.”
I stare at her.“Freddy.”
She raises a brow at the nickname, but I plow ahead anyway.“I need you to either come up with a believable excuse for me to avoid visiting my family this weekend ...or find me a fake girlfriend.”
She blinks.Once.Twice.Then she laughs—loud and unfiltered, head tossed back like I just offered her the punchline to a stand-up set.It’s a full-on-from-the-gut-snort-worthy laughter.
“I should be insulted,” she gasps between giggles, “because you called me Freddy—which I do not endorse—but ...”
She pretends to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye, still smiling.“You do realize this is going to bite you in the ass, right?”
I meet her gaze.
