Page 85 of The Holiday Fakers
“You sure?”
“Yeah, yeah. So, what’s the plan for today?”
Erica breaks eggs into the sizzling pan. “We’ve got it all arranged. Marv, why don’t you fill them both in?”
Marv leans forward. “It’s Christmas story time for kiddies down at the library. Erica’s worked her magic and got you a slot at the end, so fingers crossed the rugrats aren’t too hyped up on sugar by then. Then there’s the sock race in the woods?—”
“And I’ve got extra mistletoe to hang in a tree for your kiss,” Erica interrupts.
Piper’s coffee mug stops halfway to her mouth at her mother’s words.
“We don’t have to do that,” I say.
“Why not? It’s so pretty up there. I’ve got it all planned out.”
“What about the photos Mia took last night?” Piper asks. “You know, of us …”
“But that was atnight, honey. We need them during the day, too. Don’t we, Marv?”
“Er …” Marv has clearly picked up on the vibe between me and Piper this morning.
“But we’ve got it all organized!” Erica’s voice is plaintive, like a little girl who’s just been told her party’s canceled because all the guests are sick.
“The forecast says it’s going to snow later, so it might not photograph well,” I say. “It can always wait for another day.”
“Okay,” she replies, seeming slightly mollified, then dishes up our breakfast.
It’s delicious as always, but my stomach is too tangled to enjoy it.
Marv’s one-man show continues for the next hour as we clear up and get ready to leave the house.
After John heads out to the Locke Reserve to oversee preparations for the sock-running championships, and Ericaand Piper go with Cara to find boots that fit her, Marv rounds on me.
“Whatever you’ve done to screw things up with our golden girl, sort it,” he hisses.
I don’t even bother arguing with him.
“What did you do? For the love of all that’s holy, please tell me you didn’t turn her down?”
“I—”
“Because that girl’s in love with you. The way she looks at you? That ain’t acting.”
“You don’t know that.”
Marv whacks my arm with the back of his hand. “Seriously? Give me a break.”
I rub the lines on my forehead. How the fuck can I fix this mess?
“So, what the hell happened last night?”
I take out my phone, pull up the images she’s drawn of me, and show them to him.
“What the—” He swipes through them. “Holy shit, man!” He gazes up at me, his eyes wide. “Did she do these?”
I grab the phone from him and shove it in my back pocket. “Of course, she fucking did.”
“But how did she know you were going for the part?”
