Page 171 of Flirty Fall Fling

The haunted manor is lit up, already decorated for Christmas. Smoke curls from the chimney, and several cars are in the long driveway. Josie crosses the front window, laughing at something. I’m sure she’s been cooking since dawn.

I’m happy to be home. This manor has quickly become my safe space.

When we walk inside, all I can smell is pumpkin pie. Nick and Jules beat us here, and they’ve already got an empty bottle of wine sitting on the kitchen counter. Blaire hugs me hello and shoves a wineglass into each of our hands while Nick argues about football with nobody. Sir Charles supervises the floor, waiting for turkey scraps to be dropped for him.

“Is everyone ready to eat?” Jameson asks.

The three of us groan, but everyone else cheers. Autumn and I exchange a look because we’re miserable from everything we devoured.

Jameson is wearing a red flannel with his sleeves rolled to his elbows. He’s thinly slicing the turkey as Josie directs him.

The diamond on Blaire’s hand throws light around the room like magic. Our eyes meet, and I raise my glass to her, so damn happy she’s getting her forever. I knew the moment I saw them together that it was the real deal. Love like that can’t be faked. And now they’re getting married. This is how it was always supposed to be. It’s undeniable how perfect they are together.

They tried to keep the engagement secret, but the town got the news when Doris Jean announced it at Roasted Bean one morning. Blaire forgave her because the ring wouldn’t have happened without her help.

Dinner is served, and I nibble because I don’t want to be in a turkey coma for the next two to three business days.

Zane gives a toast to Blaire and Jamie. When Josie cuts into her pies, it’s met with applause.

Blaire sits wedged under Jamie’s arm, wearing an engagement ring. All the armor she usually wears is gone. She’s carefree, laughing at everything. Love and happiness suit her. Everyone deserves to have that.

Somewhere between the turkey and the pie, the snow picks up outside the window. Fat flakes fall, and I stop paying attention to the conversation at the table.

This season is mine. It always has been. Happiness is snow days, gray skies, and the quiet cold that stretches throughout December. It’s my namesake and my season, and it’s what I missed most when I lived in California.

Eleven years of sunshine and fluorescent hallways went to planning a life that wasn’t my dream. Everyone at this table spent the autumn watching Blaire fall in love. I spent it watching the aspens turn and waiting for this.

“It’s really coming down out there,” Jules says.

“Good,” I say. “It can snow every day through March, and I won’t complain once.”

“Easy for you to say. It’s your season,” Josie says, and I toast her for noticing. “I’m honestly missing the island right now. I already can’t wait for spring and summer.”

“Oh, it’s going to be a long winter for you, honey pie.” Jules sets down her fork and smiles. “You know engagements come in threes. Blaire’s taken. So, which one of you is next?”

“I’m waiting until I’m thirty,” Josie says, winking at me.

Every head swings my way, including the smug, newly engaged ones.

“I’m flattered and unavailable,” I say, swirling my wine like I don’t have close to a million dollars in medical school loans. “I’m actually considering renting myself out as a pretend girlfriend for the holidays. Show up, charm the family, pretend to be madly in love for a night. Everyone wins.”

My sister and Jules laugh. Jamie doesn’t. He wears the expression of a man remembering a conversation.

“That’s a real thing,” he says.

“It is not.”

“Oh, it actually is. There’s a website where you can list yourself. I think I have it somewhere. Hold on.”

Blaire glares at him.

“I don’t use it anymore! Sometimes, I couldn’t show up to places without anyone, so I’d have to have a stand-in just to be left alone,” he explains.

“Yeah, he’s not making it up,” Nick says. “People hire dates for weddings, reunions, office parties.”

“The resort sees it every Christmas,” Zane says, and he’d know because his family owns the place.

“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” I say, and my next question is out before I decide to ask it. “I’m strangely intrigued. Is there a vetting process, or does a woman end up murdered in a nice cabin?”