Page 45 of Fake It 'Til You Sleigh It

Chase winces, and for a second, I think I’ve ruined the moment. I’m about to make a joke, to brush it off like I always do, when she surprises me.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I should’ve... I mean, I want to hear your process for developing characters. Your idea is intriguing.” A small smile tugs at her lips. “What animal did you use for Connor, the barkeep? Let me guess, a peacock.”

I chuckle. “Nah. It was a chicken, actually.”

“A chicken,” she repeats playfully. “The sexy bartender was a chicken?”

“Hey, chickens are badass!” I defend. “They’re social, enthusiastic. Great listeners. Plus, they care for chicks that aren’t their own. Kind of like bartenders, they sense when they’re needed.”

“You know, Ethan, you might actually have some depth under all those muscles.”

“Careful, Chase. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

She turns back to the snake, but not before I catch the smile she’s trying to hide. My gaze drops to our still joined hands, and I’m struck by how perfectly they fit together.

***

“Welcome, folks, to theJingle Gator Jamboree!” Dad’s voice booms across the amphitheater, a perfect blend of showmanship and genuine enthusiasm. “I’m Doug Barrett, and we’ve spruced up this lagoon for a festive good time!”

I grin, leaning forward in my seat. This never gets old.

There he is, my old man, standing proud in the middle of this outdoor spectacle. He’s swapped out the usual Florida retiree getup for khaki shorts and a sharp shirt, looking every bit the adventurer he is—minus that worn-out Santa hat perched on his head.

Weather-beaten benches form a semicircle around a murky pool, hinting at more danger than your typical Christmas gathering. A chain-link fence surrounds it all, a flimsy barrier between the audience and potential reptilian chaos. Every seat is packed with sunburnt tourists, cameras at the ready, eyes wide with anticipation.

I turn to Chase, seated beside me. “Dad’s been doing this show since before I could walk, and it still gives me goosebumps.”

“I see where you get your showmanship. Your dad’s a natural. Too bad you didn’t get his good looks.”

“Funny stuff. Really. But to be clear, people tell me daily how handsome I am.”

“That’s because you’re famous; Gail and her scandalous Christmas cookie photoshoots don’t count. Though I have to admit, that woman has a talent for strategic icing placement.”

“How do you know about that?” I ask, caught off guard. “Hold on, are you jealous?”

Whoa—she blushes.

My brain blushes right back.

Then she smiles.

Wow, she’s so beautiful when she smiles.

Dad’s voice snaps me back to reality. “I want to introduce you to Bubbles, my dwarf alligator. While some gators live in the wild and others are kept as pets with the proper permits, Bubbles is neither. He is being trained as an emotional support alligator.”

He holds the reptile in his arms like a scaly, potentially lethal toddler—stroking the gator’s head as if it were a dog. The crowd awws—I can’t disagree. The cute animal’s friendly smile and wagging tail make it impossible to imagine this “puppy” chomping your hand off.

“He’s four years old, and he loves it when you say hello. Everyone wave and say hi to Bubbles!”

The onlookers all coo in unison, “Hi, Bubbles!”

“With his tail, he’s four feet long and weighs in at forty pounds. He’s packing eighty razor-sharp teeth. But Bubbles is uniquely different—he loves a good snuggle, watching YouTube videos, and can never get enough hugs and kisses.”

To demonstrate, Dad hugs the half-sized gator and plants several kisses on the alligator’s snout.

Chase leans in, her breath tickling my ear. “Yup, still weird.”

I stifle a shiver, feeling my heart rate kick up a notch.Keep it together, Barrett.You know the drill—list the reasons she’s not your type:

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