Aunt Beverly: She's so excited to meet your wife. Don't break her heart, Jared.
Fuck.
I pull up our customer database and search for Jennifer Walsh. There she is. Contact info, recent purchases (art supplies, coffee, groceries, a space heater), delivery address (Ridge's cabin on Pine Ridge Road). I grab my cell and punch in her number before I can talk myself out of it.
The phone rings four times. I'm about to hang up when a breathless female voice answers.
"Hello? Sorry, dropped my phone under the couch and had to dive for it."
"Is this Jennifer Walsh?" My voice sounds rougher than intended.
"Yes? Who's calling?" There's wariness in her tone now.
"Jared Calloway. I own The Outpost. You were in yesterday."
"Oh! Mountain Man Jared. Ridge's friend." There's a smile in her voice now. "The guy who sells everything from fishing hooks to fancy Italian coffee."
"Mountain Man Jared?" I repeat, caught off guard.
She laughs, a warm sound that travels through the phone and does something strange to my chest. "That's what everyone calls you in town. Well, that or the Hermit of Whisper Vale. But I prefer Mountain Man. It has a certain rugged charm to it."
I'm momentarily speechless. No one talks to me like this. Direct. Teasing. Most people in town treat me like I might bite if approached incorrectly.
"Anyway," she continues, "did I forget to sign something yesterday? Or is this about the special order colored pencils? The ones from Germany?"
"No, it's not about your purchase." I clear my throat. "I have a proposition for you. A business proposition."
"A business proposition," she repeats slowly. "From the town hermit. Should I be intrigued or concerned?"
"Both, probably." Despite myself, I almost smile. "Look, this is going to sound strange, but I need a fake wife for Christmas."
The silence that follows is so long I check to make sure the call hasn't dropped.
"Are you still there?" I ask.
"I'm trying to decide if this is a prank call or if Ridge put you up to this."
"Neither. It's a real request. I need someone to pretend to be my wife for two weeks while my aunt visits. She's sick and she thinks I'm married and it's a long story, but I'm willing to pay."
Another pause. "How much?"
This is not the response I expected. "Ten thousand dollars."
"For two weeks of pretending to be married to Whisper Vale's most eligible mountain hermit?" She makes a considering noise. "Make it fifteen and you have a deal."
"Fifteen thousand dollars? That's absurd."
"Is it? Two weeks of my time during the holidays. Living with a stranger. Pretending to be in love. Meeting your family. That's a lot of acting, Mountain Man."
I grimace. She's not wrong. "Twelve thousand. Final offer."
"Throw in full access to your fancy Italian coffee for the duration and we have a deal."
"Done."
"Well, then." She sounds amused. "Looks like I'm getting married for Christmas."
Something about her easy agreement makes me suspicious. "Why are you saying yes to this? Most people would hang up."
