Page 11 of My Favorite Holidate

Lucia’s his wife, who works in building ops.

Then, he’s poised and professional again as he says, “Don’t forget your ten a.m. with Fable Calloway from design.”

“I won’t,” I say with an even stonier expression.

How could I? I’ve only been looking forward to that meeting since I woke up. Once inside my office, which overlooks the field and the best damn football team in the world, I check the time on my watch. One hour till my meeting with my lead designer. I check my reflection in the window. This suit does look sharp. I run a hand over the midnight blue jacket.

I did pick it for a reason. This is my best suit, and I like to look nice. The fact that the meeting is with Fable has nothing to do with my selection.

Fine.

Maybe it has a little something to do with it. But it’s nothing I can’t handle. Or hide.

Just like I’ve been doing for the last year or so.

5

FONDLE WITH CARE

Fable

Where is the new sparkly T-shirt? The one that will look amazing in all the employees’ holiday stockings?

I swore I left it on my secondhand brushed metal table. The one held up by two whimsical metal frogs because frogs should only ever be whimsical. I set the shirt here last night to show the boss man. I shove aside the crimping pliers and a few half-finished earrings, then peer under the mason jar holding the wind chimes I’m making Mom for Christmas.

My pulse pounds with worry. We’re meeting to discuss numbers, trends, and growth, but I really need to locate this special-edition shirt. It’s not only a gift to go with the staff’s bonuses, it’s a tangible example of my vision for our merch in the new year. It’s made from recycled textiles, and it’s still gorgeous.

Wilder likes to give the shirts to employees first as a special holiday gift before we roll them out to the teammerch shops. But I can only show it to him if I can find the dang thing. I scan the couch in case it’s stuck between some cushions—like I was last night when I conked out after staying up too late making glitter dick shirts that sayFondle with Careon the front for Charlotte’s Christmas-themed bachelorette party.

As I send the search party of one to my bedroom, Charlotte’s ringtone trills from the back pocket of my black pants.

My chest squeezes uncomfortably, but I’ve put this moment off long enough. As in all of Black Friday, Black Saturday, and Black Sunday. I have to tell her that Brady and I are no longer together. That I picked a guy who cheats, just like our mom did. But unlike Mom, I won’t let him keep walking all over me.

I swipe open the phone as I round the corner into my cubicle-size bedroom. “Hey, beautiful blushing bride,” I say, all merry and bright.

Dammit, I am merry and bright.

I’ve had three days, a box of Trader Joe’s wine, a football game (on TV since I was not in the mood to go to the stadium and cheer from the stands), and far too much time alone. My good friends, like Rachel and Elodie, and my besties Josie, Maeve, and Everly, were busy during the holiday weekend. They would have all made time for me if I’d asked, but I didn’t want to be a downer. Now, there’s no more procrastinating.

“How was San Diego?” I yank open the creaky closet door. Maybe I left the shirt hanging up here after I designed it?

“It was amazing,” she says, singing that last word. “Leo took me to La Jolla, and we stayed at a gorgeous hotel with a view of the ocean, and I felt like I was living in a storybookromance. But now there’s so much to do in such a short amount of time.”

As I flick through hangers of shirts, she rattles off a wedding checklist of details like the photographer, the cake, the dress, the flowers, the tuxes, the string quartet and even something about snowmen and ice sculptures, which doesn’t quite compute but I’ll figure it out later.

“So, just a few little things,” I say dryly, spinning around and heading for the bureau, where I shove aside the mood boards I made for the jewelry shop I want to open someday in the distant future when it doesn’t cost me a couple of organs on the black market.

“Just a couple,” she singsongs while I search the dresser. “But worth it. I have some new clients, too, who want the world from me over the next few weeks. Holiday rush and all. I crunched my free time in a spreadsheet, and I’m positive I can get all the wedding things done in the evenings. The next twenty-two evenings,” she says, then gulps in worry. Christmas Eve is coming up fast.

“Do you need a wedding planner? I can find one for you.” It shouldn’t be hard to hire someone eager and hungry.

“That’switha wedding planner. Leo insisted on hiringthe best, but I want to be involved. I want my dream wedding.” She takes a beat, and I can picture her twisting her fingers uncertainly. “I’ve always wanted to get married on Christmas Eve.”

I smile. “You say that like I don’t know it already.”

“You know all my teenage dreams,” she says. Like how she wanted to excel in school, become a wildly sought-after interior designer, and fall madly in love with a cinnamon roll of a man. Check, check, check. The only thing left? The dream wedding. “Is that selfish?”

Big sister mode is activated. “Nope. It’s not selfish, and I’ll help you in any way.” It’s my job and my pleasure. “You know that.”

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