Page 12 of Fake It for Christmas

As I mixed up the rest of the frosting, I really felt like a bull in a china shop all over again, like I had no natural talent in the kitchen at all. Rowen took a seat on one of the dining room chairs that looked over past the kitchen island.

“My grandma always made baking and cooking look so easy,” I said, turning the first cake over onto a plate. When I pulled the pan up, half of the cake had stayed stuck to the pan, and the other half flopped out onto the plate. “Fuck.”

“Any chance you lined those pans with parchment paper beforehand?”

I shook my head. “Zero percent chance.”

“Cooking spray?” Rowen asked.

“I… spread a little bit of butter onto them,” I said. “I think that’s what the recipe said.”

He nodded. “That’s better than nothing. Here.”

He came over, reaching for the pan.

“Wait. Here. Take the hot pads,” I said. “It’s still scorching hot.”

“Well, there’s your problem,” Rowen said. “You’ve got to wait until they cool down.”

“Fuck,” I repeated.

He reached out to rub the small of my back. “It’s no biggie. Once it cools, we can easily fix it up. This piece will come out and fit against the other one like a puzzle piece.”

His hand on my back felt good.

He was still touching me like that, even when we weren’t taking pictures or filming anything yet?

I cleared my throat. “We can do the video, then, I guess. While we wait.”

I tried hard to hide how flustered I was.

This gorgeous man in my kitchen, who was probably used to the fanciest food in New York.

For all I knew, his life back in the city might have been leagues beyond anything Bestens, Tennessee could offer. Other than auditions, he probably didn’t have a care in the world back there, living it up and hanging out with wealthy socialites.

Rowen was the kind of guy who could have anyone he wanted. And he was taking a shot on me, even being nice enough to bring over fresh flowers, for fuck’s sake.

I wanted to lead with love.

Even if it was… fake love.

Just chill, and pretend to be his boyfriend for the video, I reminded myself.And please, God, stop staring at his lips.

4

ROWEN

I’d never been in a house quite like Shane’s. It definitely looked like thebeforefootage of before-and-after renovations, but there was also something unique about it that made me feel at home from the moment I stepped inside.

There was peeling paint, sure, and I was pretty certain that 75% of the stone pavers on the front walkway had sunk into the grassy lawn by now.

But every inch of the place was like a time capsule, of the house and of Shane himself. The old fridge was covered in photos, presumably of him, his sister, and tons of family. The Christmas decorations were in every room, and even the kitchen counter had a tiny, ancient little ceramic Christmas tree that plugged in and lit up small multicolored bulbs all over it. The fact that most of his dinnerware had been passed down was cute.

It was so different from my family.

I swore Mom ordered a new, fancy set of dinnerware every few years, when the old one didn’t seem “in style” to her anymore. They were all imported from Sweden or France or handcrafted by someone in Japan. I’d accidentally broken a teasaucer once, and she’d sent me home in a rage—only to discard that dinner set a few months later.

We’d always had thefiner thingsin life.

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