Fake It Till We Fall (Trickle Creek: The Lyons #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Grayson

There are two things I know for certain:

You can’t untangle last year’s Christmas lights without swearing.

You can’t untangle your feelings for your first love, either—not when she walked back into town like she never left.

Which was why I was up to my elbows in busted light strands instead of dealing with…other things.

The front counter of the hardware store was buried under a tangle of wires and burned-out bulbs. I’d already cut the hell out of my thumb trying to fix a plug that should have been thrown out years ago.

But sorting out the mass of knots and lights was a hell of a lot easier than attempting to sort out the mess in my head.

Harper was back in Trickle Creek.

It had been more than fifteen years since I’d seen her, if you didn’t count social media posts that I tried and failed not to look at. And I didn’t.

Viewing her exotic life, traveling around the world, working as a chef in beautiful locations and on super-yachts through the lens of a screen was one thing. Seeing her in person, well…that would be a whole different situation.

A situation I wasn’t looking forward to.

Or maybe I was.

I still couldn’t figure out how I felt about having my first love—hell, my only love—back in town.

I tugged on a twisted knot of lights, yanking harder than I should have. A plastic snowflake snapped off and skittered across the floor, landing under a shelf.

“Dammit.”

I abandoned the mess on the counter and went to grab the missing snowflake, right as the bell over the door jingled. I exhaled slowly and stayed crouched a little longer than necessary when I heard the familiar, overly chipper voice call out.

“Grayson Lyons. I hope you’re not hiding from me.”

I sighed and stood. There was no point in trying to hide. She’d find me. “That depends. Do you have that damned clipboard again?”

Tilley Beckett grinned and waved the aforementioned clipboard in the air. “What do you mean, again? I was never without it.”

“Of course you weren’t.” I shook my head and retreated behind the counter again, as if it might offer me a little bit of protection from the never-ending to-do list the head of the town festival committee always seemed to have for me. “What can I help you with today, Tilley?”

The older lady smacked her bright-red lips, which matched the scarf tightly wound around her neck, and wiggled her eyebrows.

I knew that my day was about to get a whole lot busier.

“It’s not what you can do for me, Grayson.” She reached up and tugged on a candy cane earring. “It’s what you can do for the town.”

“Of course.” I tried not to roll my eyes. “Whatever the town needs.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that.” She lifted the clipboard and pretended to scan the list before landing on the new tasks she had for me. “The tree lighting ceremony is two weeks away, and we’re already behind schedule.”

“I don’t know if we’re—”

“The new snowflake banners we ordered are in, and they need to be hung,” she said. “And most of the lights that need to be wrapped around the light poles in the plaza are still in the storage shed.”

“That’s because they’re all a tangled nightmare.” I lifted the knot of bulbs and wires in front of me. “This is just the first of many.”

“Well then, you’d better get moving,” she said briskly. “I told the committee you’d start hanging them this afternoon.”

“You did what?” I froze, mid-tug. “Why would you say that?”

“Because you’re the only one who knows how to work the lift without taking out a tree or a storefront,” she said matter-of-factly.

“I don’t think that’s true—”

“And because people rely on you, Grayson. You know that. You’re the guy who gets things done.”

I blew out a breath. That much was true. Somewhere over the last ten years or so, I’d fallen into that role, whether I wanted it or not. And that was a toss-up some days.

I didn’t have a chance to protest, not that it would do any good, before the bell over the door jingled again, and my youngest brother, Preston, pushed inside the store.

“Hey, do you still have that heavy-duty extension cord—” He stopped, taking a second to stomp the ice from his boots and brush the snow from his jacket while he looked around. “What the hell happened here?”

“Tinsel explosion.” I shrugged helplessly. “You look like you just got off the ski hill,” I said. “And that maybe you wiped out a few times.”

“Not the hill.” He laughed. “I was in the back country.”

“Of course you were.”

“The powder is fresh out there, man. You should get out—”

“Don’t even say it.” I held up a hand to stop him before he could tempt me with some backcountry ski adventure. “As much as I’d love to join, there is literally no time.”

“Not if he’s going to get all these lights hung in time for the festival,” Tilley chimed in.

Preston looked between us and lifted the knot I was working on. “These lights? They look like—”

“A total mess.” I cut him off.

“I was going to say something else.” Preston grinned. “But sure, let’s go with mess.”

I shot him a look. “If you’re not going to help, you can—”

“I’m leaving.” My youngest brother held up his hands. “Just as soon as I get that cord. Don’t get your cables in a knot.” He laughed at his own joke, and I clenched my teeth to keep from saying something rude in front of Tilley.

“Well, I’d better let you get to it.” Tilley adjusted her scarf and tucked her clipboard under her arm. “The plaza isn’t going to decorate itself.”

Didn’t I know it.

She started for the door, pausing long enough to throw me a look over her shoulder. “You never know who you might run into over there, Grayson.”

I didn’t respond, but Preston caught the exchange. His mouth quirked. “She talking about who I think she’s talking about?”

“Don’t start.”

He only grinned wider and wiggled his eyebrows. “Uh-huh.”

“Preston, I’m—”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m going.”

“That extension cord is in the back.”

He saluted me and thankfully, before he could say another word, followed Tilley out the door, leaving me mercifully alone with the thoughts I hadn’t been able to get out of my head since I’d heard the news.

Harper

The early December cold bit at my cheeks as I helped Grandma cross the plaza. After more than fifteen years away from the mountains, I’d forgotten just how sharp the winter air could be. Especially because I’d spent most of that time working on super-yachts in tropical climates.

My body wasn’t used to such cold.

“Your teeth are chattering, dear.” Grandma squeezed my arm. “I’m going to knit you a new scarf.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Harper, I’m eighty-two years old.” She stopped suddenly, causing me to jerk backward. “I don’t have to do anything. I want to do it.”

I couldn’t help but smile and shake my head. She might be slowing down a little bit, but she was still the same feisty, stubborn grandma she’d always been.

“And you’re going to need some warmer clothes now that you’re back in Trickle Creek.”

I opened my mouth to correct her, but closed it again. There was no point in reminding her again that I was only back temporarily. Just until I could get the restaurant sorted out, put in some trustworthy employees, and figure out what was going on with Grandma’s health.

With any luck, I could pull off a Christmas miracle and figure all of that out before the holidays, and get on the first plane to the Mediterranean to start the new charter season.

Grandma shook my arm until I looked at her. “I won’t take no for an answer, Harper.”

“Don’t I know it.” I smiled down at her. “And you’re not wrong. It’s freezing out here. I can’t believe how much snow there is already.”

“This little dusting.” Grandma waved her hand around. “You’ve been gone too long, sweetheart. It’s only just beginning. It’s going to be a white Christmas.”

She wasn’t wrong. Christmas garlands and wreaths already hung from some of the light poles and most of the storefronts. The only thing better than seeing the plaza lit up for the holidays was seeing all those twinkling lights through the sparkle of the snow.

We kept walking, stopping only when we reached the restaurant, still bare of decorations. I mentally added it to my list of things to get done before the festival. By the looks of the heaps of lights and decorations still piled up around the plaza, I still had time to get my own decorations up.

“Let’s get inside, and you can talk to me over a cup of tea,” I told Grandma as I unlocked the glass door.

“Talk about what?” she said, like I hadn’t just spent an hour in the doctor’s waiting room waiting for her to finish up what she tried to play off as a routine appointment.

“The doctor,” I pressed.

She waved her free hand, dismissing the question like a fruit fly. “I lived a lot of years, Harper. Sometimes a woman just needs a check-up.”

I tugged my parka off and hung it on the rack by the door. “Grandma, that was more than just a check-up, and you know it. You said yourself that you haven’t been feeling yourself and—”

“There’s nothing to discuss.” Her voice held a sharp edge I hadn’t heard in years. But before I could respond, her voice softened as she settled into one of the tables by the window. “Now, what is it you said about a cup of tea?”

I blew out a breath and shook my head. I knew better than to push the issue. I didn’t know anyone as stubborn as my grandma. The very fact that she called to tell me she needed me to come home spoke volumes. There was no way she’d do that if things weren’t serious.

Besides, I didn’t need to hear her say it to see how much help she needed. The evidence was all around me. It was shocking to see how much the once bustling, vibrant restaurant now seemed tired and old.

In the kitchen, I set the water to boil and grabbed the notebook with the lists I’d started making the moment I’d arrived a week earlier. The pages were filling up quickly. Even if I worked around the clock, there was no way I was going to get everything done before I needed to leave again.

I was definitely going to have to triage a few things.

With a quick scan, I circled “hang decorations” and “hire a head chef” before the water boiled.

Her eyes were closed when I returned to the dining room with two mugs of tea and my notebook. I watched for a moment, sure she’d dozed off, before her eyes snapped open again.

“Drink your tea, Grandma, and then maybe while I get ready for dinner service, you can go upstairs and rest.”

“I don’t need a rest.” She shook her head. “What I need is for you to go over that list of yours with me. We’ll be short-staffed for the holiday season if we don’t start hiring soon.”

“I’ve got it,” I said. “I’ll handle the interviews, the menu changes, and the ordering.”

“Menu changes?” She held a spoonful of sugar before stirring it into her tea. “Why do we need menu changes?”

I was worried she might push back on a few of the changes I wanted to make. “Nothing too crazy, Grandma. I thought maybe if we streamlined things a little, keeping the classics and a few of the old favorites, it might be a bit more manageable.”

I held my breath, ready for her pushback, but it didn’t come.

Instead, she stirred the sugar into her mug and nodded. “Whatever you think is best.”

What I really thought was best was for her to close Willa’s Whisk entirely and enjoy her retirement. Especially if she was ill. But I knew I’d have to ease her into the idea of that very gently.

“I don’t want you to worry about anything, Grandma,” I told her. “I’ll take care of whatever I can on this list and get some good help in here for you.” I lifted my mug to my lips and blew the heat off. “I’ll feel better when I leave knowing you have—”

“What do you mean, when you leave?”

I set the mug down again. “After New Year’s.”

Her brows rose. “New Year’s?”

“That was the plan,” I said as lightly as I could. “I promised I’d stay through the holidays. After that, I’m hoping to get on as head chef on a new boat for the charter season. I told you—”

She waved away my explanation. “Let’s just take it one day at a time.”

I bit my tongue and once more picked up my tea.

“You know,” she said casually, “Trickle Creek during the holidays is a busy time. You’ll probably run into a lot of people you haven’t seen in a long time. It’s hard to avoid people in a small town.”

“That’s true.” I didn’t meet her eyes.

“I’m sure some of those people will be pretty happy to see you, too,” she added, her tone far too innocent.

I lifted one brow. “Is that your not-so-subtle way of telling me Grayson Lyons still lives in town?”

“Oh. You remember him?”

“You know I do.” I shook my head. “And this is where you tell me he’s happily married with three kids and that it could have been me.”

Grandma sipped her tea and smiled behind the mug. “I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise, sweetheart.”

I rolled my eyes. “Grayson Lyons is old news, Grandma.”

It had been fifteen years since he broke my heart. I wasn’t that girl anymore.

Besides, that was more than enough time to get over a teenage heartbreak.

Wasn’t it?

Grayson

The lift groaned as I eased it to the edge of the plaza. After working all day, the lights were now untangled and almost most of the poles were wrapped, as well as the brand-new flags Tilley wanted hung.

My gloves were stiff from the cold, and my thumb throbbed from wrestling with an extra stubborn plug earlier.

There were still a handful of poles to wrap before I could call the job done. At least until Tilley assigned me another urgent holiday task. But first, I needed a quick warm-up.

I parked the lift by the flower shop and climbed down. I had to admit, the plaza was starting to look good, decorated for the holidays.

The gazebo, which served as the centerpiece of the plaza, held a festive throne where Santa would sit soon to meet all the kids and hear their Christmas wishes. Garlands were strung over walkways, wreaths hung on the shop doors, and pine boughs framed windows.

Most of the doors and windows.

My gaze landed on Willa’s Whisk and the still-undecorated storefront.

A part of me itched to walk over and offer to help. Just a neighborly thing to do. A kind gesture. No hidden agenda. No other reason.

Only, this year, there was a reason.

I shoved my hands in my pockets and started to walk.

“Brother!”

I turned to see Ethan in the door of Peaks & Brews.

“Get over here and warm up with a cold beer.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I shouted back.

“Get over here!” My twin brother, Reid, appeared next to him, his arms crossed over his chest.

I knew when I was beat. Besides, warming up in the brewery beat the alternative of sitting in the cab of my truck with a thermos of stale coffee.

“Five minutes,” I called back.

Reid raised a brow, as if he knew exactly what—or who—had slowed my pace.

I shook my head, tore my eyes from the undecorated restaurant, and headed toward them.