“You absolutely can and you will,” Karen says firmly. “That color’s perfect on you.”
Mitch’s hand squeezes mine, and when I look at him, there’s something warm and proud in his expression. Like watching his mother accept me, include me, means something to him too.
“Thank you,” I say, because what else can you say when someone’s family decides you’re worth keeping?
Tears swim in my eyes, and I have to blink them away.
The morning continues in a blur of wrapping paper and laughter. I help Evan set up Jake’s new video game, watch Mitch assemble Sophie’s dollhouse with the focused intensity he usually reserves for game tape, and try not to notice how natural this feels.
How right.
My phone buzzes against my thigh, and I glance down to see a text from my mom:“Merry Christmas, honey! Things are crazy here with the kids, but hope you’re having a nice quiet day. Love you!”
That’s it. That’s my entire Christmas morning communication with my mother. No phone call, no questions about what I’m doing or who I’m with. Just a quick text squeezed in between managing her stepchildren’s Christmas traditions.
I stare at the message longer than I should, trying not to let it sting. Around me, the Drake family is in full celebration mode—wrapping paper everywhere, kids shrieking with delight, adults laughing over coffee.
This is what I’m missing. This is what I’ve always been missing.
“I need to make a quick call,” I murmur to Mitch, who’s currently being buried under dollhouse furniture by his niece.
He glances up, catches something in my expression. “You okay?”
“Fine. Just need some air.”
I grab a throw blanket on my way out the front door, wrapping it around my shoulders for warmth. The front porch is quiet, snow falling in fat, lazy flakes that muffle the sounds of the neighborhood. I dial Bryn’s number, needing to hear a familiar voice that isn’t tied up in this complicated mess I’ve created.
“Merry Christmas, bitch,” she answers on the second ring. “How’s the fake boyfriend situation?”
“Complicated.”
“Good complicated or bad complicated?”
I glance through the window at Mitch helping Sophie with her dollhouse, his face serious with concentration. It’s sweet, unexpected. “I think I’m in trouble, Bryn.”
“Finally. I was wondering when you’d stop pretending this was just business.”
“It was supposed to be just business.”
“Honey, the way you talked about him when you agreed to this? It was never just business.” I can practically see her rolling her eyes. “So what’s the problem? He’s gorgeous, he’s sweet, and from what I can tell, he’s completely into you.”
“The problem is we work together. The problem is this was supposed to be fake. The problem is—” I stop, frustrated by how tangled everything feels. “What if I’m just convenient? What if this is just holiday magic and proximity, and he goes back to Dallas and realizes I’m just the PR girl who helped him avoid family drama?”
“Or,” Bryn says gently, “what if he’s falling just as hard as you are and you’re both too scared to admit it?”
The possibility hangs in the cold air between us, terrifying and hopeful in equal measure.
“His family gave me Christmas presents, Bryn. His mom has been nothing but sweet to me. His niece is calling me Aunt Clare like it means something.”
“Because it does mean something. To them and to you.” Her voice softens. “When’s the last time you had that? People who wanted you there just because?”
Never. The answer is never, and we both know it.
“I’m scared,” I admit, the words visible in small puffs of vapor.
“Good. You should be scared. That’s how you know it matters.”
Through the window, I watch Mitch look around the room, clearly searching for me. When he doesn’t find me, he gets up and heads toward the front of the house.