Page 59 of Fake it 'Til Christmas
ChapterTwenty-Three
Winnifred
Three days.
It’s been three days since I’ve heard from Soren Thorn.
Not that I’m counting.
Not that I’m sitting here, surrounded by empty baking trays and half-melted snowflake-shaped butter molds, obsessively checking my phone like a woman whose love life is sponsored by emotional torture.
I’ve been busy.
Productive, even.
I just finished a massive catering order for a harvest-themed fundraiser and should be basking in the post-pumpkin-glazed glory of success.
But instead, I’m spiraling.Into what, you ask?
Thanksgiving.Obviously.
Aiden and I agreed that it was best if I was proactive.Plan before others plan for you.If I want my family to believe I’m with Soren until after the holidays, I have to make sure we’re seen together but not too close to them.
She contacted her bestie, Galeana, and got us an invite to her family’s Thanksgiving.It’s going to be like Friendsgiving, but with her friends instead of mine.We’ll take pictures, get to know that small town, and buy plenty of maple syrup to gift during Christmas.
There’s a lot to do for that holiday, of course.I need to make sure we sell it right this time I’m not sharing one bed because after that kiss ...well, maybe we shouldn’t even share a wall.Maybe Soren not being here was the best for both of us because we could be making bad decisions.Very, very bad decisions.Like kissing more because why not just leave it at two?Or ...yeah, I’m going to stop right there before I digress—again.
My kitchen smells like cinnamon-suffused despair, and my living room looks like a seasonal vision board exploded.These are emotional boards.Mood archetypes.Spiritual food mapping.
I’ve got five different centerpieces half-assembled on my dining table, a half-burnt gratitude candle flickering like it’s giving up on me, and a note in my planner that says “cranberry compote or total collapse?”because apparently, those are the only two futures I’m capable of manifesting.
There’s something wrong with me.Normal people relax after catering orders.I fall headfirst into the next project.This time is holiday micro-management.
And to make matters worse, the silence from Soren is starting to echo louder than my inner monologue.
He probably knows.Yes, he knows that I tricked him into keeping this nonsense going for longer.Listen, it was all his fault.He ran away.I was left with a mother offering me my dream—The Wolfcraft Howler.Not just anywhere in the letter, I’m going to what Mom likes to call The Centerfold.
I’ve been working toward this my entire life.
My entire life.
It seemed like spending Christmas with her would make it happen—as long as I bring Soren.Am I aware that she’s using us to backstab her nemesis?Oh, yeah, definitely.She’s doing this solely to piss off Mrs.Thorn.Do I care?
If Soren hadn’t run away to London and abandoned me to deal with the aftermath, I think it’s fair he pays with emotional blood.
I water my plants.My succulents look smug again.Even the basil is judgmental.
And then there’s the ficus.The new one.Gorgeous, thriving, suspiciously expensive-looking.Yes, Soren sent me a ficus.There was no note or explanation.Just a passive-aggressive delivery guy who made me show him my ID and had me sign too many papers just for a plant.
“Yes, you’re gorgeous.I just don’t think I needed to give that much information to receive you,” I explain, and I don’t want her to resent me just because I misspoke.
Her father and I aren’t on good terms at the moment.Yes, you guessed it.Apparently, we co-own a ficus now.Joint custody via trauma bonding.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I mutter to the ceramic turkey centerpiece I’m forcing into a makeshift tablescape that screams emotionally unraveling but festive.“Some of us need control to survive.”
I pick up my phone for the fifteenth time in an hour.No new messages.
Until—wait.
