Page 31 of Mistletoe, Mayhem & Mr. Grump
"Failed attempts at understanding car maintenance," I explain.
She laughs, and the sound warms me more than it should. "Come on, fake boyfriend. Let's go practice being real."
The irony of that statement isn't lost on either of us. But we go anyway, walking through the snow-covered streets ofSnowfall Creek, playing at being in love while the whole town watches and judges and takes notes.
Three weeks to fool everyone, including ourselves.
At this rate, we'll either succeed spectacularly or fail so completely they'll write cautionary tales about us.
Either way, it's going to be memorable.
Chapter 7
Wren
My apartment looks like a romance novel exploded and nobody called the cleanup crew. There are candles everywhere, which is a fire hazard, wine glasses on the coffee table even though I don't drink wine, and I've somehow acquired throw pillows I don't remember buying which could have been stress purchases.
"This is a lot," Holden observes from the doorway, still covered in snow.
"I was creating ambiance," I defend myself as I look around. He’s not wrong, though.
"For what? A séance?" he asks, stepping carefully around a cluster of tea lights.
"For practice. Couples have ambiance," I explain, though now that I say it out loud, it sounds ridiculous.
"Do they? I thought they just had Netflix and arguments about whose turn it is to take out the trash," he says.
"That comes later. First, ambiance. Then comfortable silence. Then trash arguments," I inform him with false authority.
"You've really thought this through," he notes, picking up one of the wine glasses. "Is this apple juice?"
"Wine stains," I explain. "Also, I don't actually have wine. But apple juice looks sophisticated in the right lighting."
"Nothing about apple juice is sophisticated," he says, but takes a sip anyway.
"We need to work on our story," I announce, pulling out my now-laminated timeline. Yes, I laminated more things. It's a coping mechanism.
"Our story is that we met and started dating," Holden says simply.
"That's not a story; that's a sentence. We need details. Specifics. Memorable moments that make people go 'aww,'" I insist.
"People don't actually say 'aww,'" he argues.
"Teddy literally said 'aww' sixteen times during the committee meeting today," I counter.
"Teddy thinks he’s Santa Claus," he concedes.
I unfold the timeline on the coffee table, pushing aside the fake wine and genuine anxiety. "Okay, so we met at the tree lighting?—"
"Where I was lurking in the shadows," he adds.
"Observing," I correct. "You were observing. It sounds less creepy."
"I was definitely lurking," he laughs.
"Fine. You were lurking. I was struggling with a box. You helped. It was magical," I narrate.
"It was practical. You were going to drop it," he says.
