Page 5 of Pumpkins & Promises
"Thanksgiving prep. My family goes big for holidays." She rolls her eyes, but there's affection in it. "Twenty-seven people descending on the farmhouse in four days, and somehow I'm in charge of making sure everyone has somewhere to sit and something to eat."
"Twenty-seven people?" I try to imagine that many family members in one place and feel mildly nauseated. "That's a lot."
"Tell me about it. And of course, everyone's going to have opinions about everything. Aunt Linda will complain that the stuffing isn't the same as Grandma's, even though I'm using Grandma's exact recipe. Cousin Beth will try to sell her latest MLM products to anyone who'll listen. And Uncle Frank will corner some poor soul for an hour-long dissertation on why the government is ruining everything."
"Sounds delightful."
"Oh, it gets better. Since Dylan's bringing Sienna, everyone's going to spend the entire meal asking me when I'm going to find myself a nice boy and settle down." She puts on a sugary sweet voice. "'Emily, honey, you're thirty now. Don't you think it's time? Your biological clock is ticking, dear.'"
The bitterness in her voice catches me off guard. "I take it you're not currently seeing anyone?"
"Nope. And apparently that makes me the family project." She picks at the edge of the picnic table. "Last year, Cousin Jessica spent the entire dinner showing me dating app profiles on her phone. 'This one's a lawyer, Emily. This one has a boat.' Like I'm shopping for a used car."
"Could be worse. They could be showing you videos about your dating disasters on gossip channels."
She looks up sharply. "Is that a thing that actually happened to you?"
"Last month, actually. My sister thought I should know what people were saying." I lean back against the picnic table. "Nothing says sibling support like forwarding you links to some stranger discussing your commitment issues."
"Oof. Okay, you win the terrible family holiday stories contest." She's quiet for a moment, then says, "Can I ask what happened? With the gossip thing?"
Most people who ask that question are fishing for details they can repeat later. But Emily's expression is genuinely curious, not predatory.
"Ex-girlfriend sold our breakup story when my career hit a rough patch. Turns out our 'intimate moments' and 'private conversations' were worth more to her than whatever we actually had."
"That's awful."
"Yeah, well. Live and learn." I shrug like it doesn't still sting. "The worst part wasn't even the invasion of privacy. It was realizing that someone I trusted saw our relationship as content to be monetized."
Emily nods slowly. "That's the thing about trust, isn't it? Once someone breaks it, you start wondering if you ever really knew them at all."
There's something in her voice that suggests she's speaking from experience, but before I can ask, she shakes her head and forces a smile.
"Anyway, enough about my dysfunctional family dynamics. At least you get to spend Thanksgiving in peaceful solitude, working on your mysterious literary masterpiece."
"Actually," I hear myself say, "I could always pose as your boyfriend for the day. Get your family off your back about the whole dating thing."
The words are out before I've really thought them through, and Emily stares at me like I've suggested we rob a bank together.
"What?"
"I'm serious. You need a fake boyfriend to deflect family pressure, I need..." I pause, trying to figure out what I need. "Well, I need something to do that isn't staring at a computer screen feeling sorry for myself. It's a win-win."
Emily laughs, but it's the kind of laugh that suggests she thinks I might be having some kind of breakdown. "You want to pretend to be my boyfriend at a family Thanksgiving dinner with twenty-seven people you've never met?"
"Why not? I can be charming when the situation calls for it. I'll compliment your stuffing, nod politely at your uncle's political rants, and answer all their invasive questions about our relationship with just the right amount of detail to satisfy their curiosity without being inappropriate."
"And what do you get out of this arrangement?"
Good question. What do I get out of it besides a distraction from my writing problems and an excuse to spend more time with Emily Holloway?
"Research," I say finally. "I'm supposed to be writing about human connection and family dynamics."
She's still staring at me like I've lost my mind, but now there's something else in her expression. Something that looks almost like temptation.
"You're serious about this."
"Dead serious. One day, completely fake, no strings attached. I'll even bring wine."
