Page 13 of Fake It for Christmas

Too bad all of those finer things were the direct results of my parents’ embezzlement and tax fraud.

And I liked Shane’s stuff better, anyway.

“We should set it up in here, I think,” Shane was saying now, walking over toward the living room. “Get the fireplace in the background, and the edge of the Christmas tree. I want them to see how much work the house needs without thinking it’s totally dilapidated.”

I hauled my camera over toward the living room and set it on the same shelf from earlier. “All right. Let’s get this thing rolling.”

Shane was wide-eyed. “Do you want to do some practice runs first? Figure out what we’re going to say?”

“I say we just go for it,” I told him. “All we have to do is look like a happy couple and talk about the house.”

I hit the record button on the camera and walked over to Shane’s side.

I leaned in, pressing a little kiss to his cheek and squeezing him from the side.

“Oh,” he said, with a little gasp, and something about it made me go a little tingly. I liked surprising him, even though I didn’t really know why.

I’d expected Shane to start talking about his house the moment the camera was recording, but he seemed a little paralyzed, the same way I used to get when I filmed audition tapes.

So I started to do what I did best—I improvised.

“Hi! I’m Rowen Skye, and this is my boyfriend Shane,” I said confidently, smiling at the camera. “We moved into this twentieth-century craftsman home—oh, what was it, five yearsago? The home sits at the heart of Bestens, Tennessee, one of the best-kept secret gems of the countryside. We fell in love with the house after falling in love with each other. But there’s one thing our love can’t fix, and that’sthis.”

I turned to gently push on one of the bricks near the fireplace and it crumbled away, pieces dropping to the floor.

“We, ah, we need the Fixer Brothers’ help,” Shane finally said, stepping in. “We needyourhelp. The Fixer Brothers has been my favorite show since it first came out, and, well, um—I think my house would be good for it. Our house, I mean. Shit.”

He was fumbling.

And it was one of the most adorable things I’d seen in a long time.

His hand had been gently draped around my waist since I’d come up next to him, and he was squeezing my side tightly now, kind of like he was holding on for dear life.

“Shane,” I said softly, moving aside and turning to look him in the eye. “Hang on.”

I walked over and stopped recording, heading back over to him.

“You said so much,” he told me. “You’re so good at that, Rowen—I didn’t expect the wholeheart of Bestensthing, and how you said we’d fallen in love with the house.”

“I was just thinking on my feet,” I said.

He pulled in a slow breath. “Well, you’re a lot better at it than I am. Fuck, I’m nervous.”

“I’ve been acting for almost my whole life,” I said. “It’s been a long road.”

“I think I want it too badly,” Shane said, running a hand through his hair. “It really is my favorite show of all time.”

I nodded. “Well, I can give you some direction, if you want it.”

“Please,” he said.

“Reality shows want one thing the most: personality,” I explained. “And for home renovation shows, they want both the peopleandthe house to have personality.”

“Meanwhile I had the personality of a sinking ship, just now,” Shane said.

“ATitanicpersonality?” I joked.

He puffed out a laugh, relieving some tension. “Exactly.”

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