Page 32 of Fake It 'Til You Sleigh It

We pull up to a cluster of shops, each painted in soft pastels like a row of charming dollhouses. Charming brick walkwayslink them together, giving off such an adorable small-town vibe. You half expect a baker to pop out with free cupcakes.

My eyes land on a sign that reads “Darla’s Craft & Joy.”Oh no.

“Your mom owns a craft store?” I ask, already dreading the answer.

“Yup. Act like you already knew that, okay, fake girlfriend?”

We step inside. My retinas scream.

I’m bombarded by a kaleidoscope of colors and knick-knacks. Flamingo can openers wink at me from one shelf. Alligator toilet paper holders grin toothily from another. And there’s an entire holiday section entitledSanta Got Wasted in the Everglades.

I’m speechless, trying to process the sensory overload.

How am I supposed to fit in here?I’m a woman who color-codes her sock drawer and arranges her tea cups by size, color, AND frequency of use. This place looks like it was organized by a blindfolded monkey throwing glitter bombs.

My palm itches to grab my phone and take a quick glance at my schedule—just a small reminder that order still exists in the universe. But I resist, barely.

Suddenly, a lanky figure materializes next to me, and I nearly jump out of my skin. It’s Nolan, Ethan’s twin, looking about as comfortable as I feel.

Ethan greets him with a bear hug and a double back pat that screams “bro love.”

Nolan swivels towards me, his eyes curious. “What do you think of the shop?”

“Wow,” I manage, plastering on my best fake smile. “It’s… even more… better than Ethan described.”

Nolan nods thoughtfully. “I keep thinking we should expand into other animal crafts. Like, what about… pelicans? They’re theflamingosof the sea, don’t you think?”

How the hell do you even answer that?

I offer weakly, “I guess you’ll never know until you try.”

While Nolan rambles on about aquatic bird merchandise potential, I can’t help but study him. How in the name of all that’s genetically possible are these two twins?

Ethan is literally a walking, talking romance novel cover. Chiseled jaw, bedroom eyes, and a body that makes women(including me)want to “accidentally” fall into his arms. On purpose. Repeatedly.What is the deal with my brain today?

Nolan, on the other hand, is like if you ordered Ethan off Temu. Same basic model, completely different outcome.

He’s tall and slender, with a softness to his features. His light-brown hair looks like he started styling it and then got sidetracked. And his expressive brown eyes have a shy, almost nervous energy that makes me want to give him hugs and bake him cookies.

But yikes, that shirt.

It’s a gray polo covered in grinning cartoon alligators wearing reindeer antlers.Is it just me, or is he trying to blend in with the merchandise?As if becoming one with the tackiness would make his social anxiety fade away.

“Mom wants to see you guys in Ethan’s Corner,” Nolan says softly before disappearing.

“What’s Ethan’s Corner?”

He grins at me. “You’re gonna hate it.”

“For once, I believe you.”

He leads me to the back. There, in all its glory, is a special section fully dedicated to Ethan Barrett merchandise. It’s official. I’ve entered some bizarre alternate dimension. It’s lessdisplayand morealtarto Ethan’s oversized ego.

“Oh. My. Fuck,” I blurt out. “Is this a cult? Are you a cult leader?”

He beams, completely missing(or ignoring)my disdain. “Isn’t it great? Check out this life-size body pillow of me. Perfect for late-night selfies and impromptu cuddle sessions.”

“Oh yes, because nothing says ‘sweet dreams’ like waking up to those dead eyes staring at me.”

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