Chapter 22
Super Fan
Fenella
My heartbeat jumps to a painful thump in my rib cage. I turn off the ringtone, then switch my phone to silent. I dim the phone screen to the lowest setting, not wanting it seen from the window.
“I forgot he knew your house,” Laird scoffs.
“Yes, he helped my mom carry stuff from the bazaar earlier.” I glance at him.
“Now he’s openly chasing you.” He snorts again, annoyed.
“Fenella! I know you’re inside! I brought a Christmas gift!” Alan’s voice echoes from outside. “Mrs. Baxter? Anybody home?”
My mouth falls open, my eyes widen. “How dare he shout like that?” I hiss under my breath.
“I can’t believe it,” Laird mutters, shaking his head.
“What should we do?” I frown, trying to decide whether to let him in or not.
“Just like you said. Let’s pretend we’re not home and hide.” He pulls me back to the bed by the waist, lying down beside me. “Good thing you turned off the lights earlier.”
“But—”
“No buts. Remember, he can’t know we’ve made up.” His whisper sounds firm against the dark.
“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” I nod and follow his lead.
Outside, Alan keeps trying to get my attention, calling my name over and over. My phone vibrates against my arm. He sends a few more messages, but I ignore them all.
I settle next to Laird, wrapped in his arms, his forearm under my head like a pillow. We lie still, our breath slowing, listening until everything goes quiet. No more footsteps, no more calls. My phone stops buzzing—a sign Alan’s finally given up for the night.
Somewhere deep inside, guilt tugs at me again. While I’m falling asleep in the warmth of the man I love, he’s out there alone, fighting the cold. From the corner of my eye, light slips through the curtain, brushing the wall. Snow drifts down outside, slow and soft.
* * *
I wake up early. Laird’s still fast asleep beside me, but I can’t keep my eyes shut any longer. I reach for my sweater and long pajama pants. Getting out of bed, I peek through the window. The cold air has left a misty trace on the glass, wet from last night’s snowfall.
I glance at the street below. The road looks damp, sprinkled with small piles of snow, but not thick enough to make a snowman. I don’t even know why I looked out there. Surely I’m not searching for Alan, am I?
Drawn by a delicious aroma, I head downstairs. “Hey, Mom.”
She looks up as she pulls a casserole out of the oven. “Hey, dear.”
“When did you even have time to make that?” I nod toward the dish.
“It’s nothing. Took less than an hour to get everything done.”
“Weren’t you home late last night? Did you even get any sleep?” I frown.
“Don’t worry. I’m used to sleeping just a few hours. I’ll nap later.” She chuckles while I stare at her, still processing that.
She’s used to sleeping just a few hours? Is something wrong with her? The realization hits me that I know nothing about her health. I gulp down my guilt and promise myself in silence that I’ll be a better daughter from now on.
“Is that vegetarian?” Later. She’ll never tell until the time is right.
“No, men need protein. I’ll make a vegetarian quiche for you instead.” She places the casserole on a pretty ceramic plate and sets it on the table.
I clear my throat, awkward. “So that casserole’s for Laird?”
“Yes, and also for Lloyd and Mr. Evans.” She cuts the casserole neatly and divides it into another dish.
“Do you always share Christmas food with the neighbors?” I sit at the dining table, running my fingers through my hair.
“Not always. This year’s special. I’m only cooking for the Evans family.”
My hand slows in my hair as I ask another question. “Why?”
“Because you’re officially dating their son. I need to build a better relationship with Lloyd and Mr. Evans so they’ll accept you with open arms later.”
“Oh.” My face heats up at her words. “Well, I think that’s pointless. Their acceptance of me isn’t gonna depend on how good your casserole tastes.” I shrug.
“Oh, you’re so silly. Maybe not, but good food usually softens any heart.”
My eyes widen. A pang of fear tugs my heart. Oh, damn. How could I forget?
Mr. Evans is a ruthless man who’s demanded results from his sons since they were kids. Even Laird hasn’t fully escaped his father’s grip. We’ve been neighbors for years, but that doesn’t mean he’ll go easy on me.
I don’t have any real achievements. I was involved in a scandal with another man and got dragged online. And if that counts, I don’t even have a steady job now. My savings are running low after setting aside the contract money I owe Gene. Who would want me as their daughter-in-law?
“What’d he say about me?” I get up to grab a glass of water from the dispenser.
Mom pauses, her hands frozen mid-wrap over the casserole. She hesitates. “Nothing. Lloyd knows you well. As for Mr. Evans, he criticizes everything except himself. Don’t stress over it.” She ties the casserole bag neatly.
“Wow. That’s comforting.” I roll my eyes. Great. He must hate me already. I sit back down and sip the warm water. Mom tidies her bag and slips on her coat. “You’re delivering it now?”
“Of course. It’s for their breakfast.” She heads for the door, opens it, pauses, then comes back in. “Uh, honey, there’s a hamper outside. I think it’s for you.”
My forehead creases. “What hamper?” I stand and walk to the porch. Mom crosses the street toward the Evans’ house, leaving me alone with a giant Christmas hamper. It’s way too big for one person.
“What the hell…” I whisper.
Inside a huge dark wooden basket, everything’s wrapped in transparent plastic dusted with glitter. Crackers, cheese, biscuits, pretzels, fruit, even a big bottle of wine—all arranged like a catalog photo from some luxury winehouse. Was this from Alan? So that’s why he showed up last night?
“Oh, God’s gracious.” I rake my hair in disbelief.
“What’s wrong?” Laird comes up behind me. He’s already dressed in his black sweater and jeans. He hugs me briefly from behind, but I push him back off inside the house.
“What if someone sees us?” I hiss.
“So what?” He frowns.
“Alan might be watching, your father might be pissed you skipped the party last night, and the neighbors might gossip.” The words tumble out in one breath.
“Oh, hell. You’re being paranoid.” He steps back, hiding behind the door.
“Help me move this inside.” I step out, bend down, and push the hamper from the porch. “Damn, it’s heavy.”
“What’s that?” He frowns but holds the door open so I can drag it through. He crouches as the basket slides halfway in, closes the door, then lifts it easily with both hands and sets it on the table.
“Easy. You almost pushed the casserole off the table.” I move the warm dish away from the hamper.
Laird removes the envelope with the red ribbon tied to the side of the basket.
He pulls out a card and reads it out loud.
“Merry Christmas, my sweet angel. May the chubby man in red pull a strand of his magical, thick beard to give a gift of your beloved presence in this world. With love, Alan, a.k.a. Clark.”
We fall silent after he finishes. Laird scoffs and hands the card to me. I read it slowly, and from the corner of my eye, I catch sight of my mom coming back from the Evans’ house.
“Who’s it from?” she asks.
“From Fenella’s superfan,” Laird says dryly.
“No.” I smack his back lightly, and he laughs. “Mom, was this here last night?” She should’ve seen it on her way home.
“It was just there. There was nothing on the porch before I baked the casserole.” She frowns, looking confused.
“So that means it was delivered minutes ago?” I blink. “Don’t tell me Alan went back and forth to this house.” I bite my lower lip, uneasy.
“Great. Now he’s officially a stalker,” Laird mutters, his lips press into a thin line.
* * *
I take a deep breath and brace myself to face Alan today. After spending the whole day with Laird, planning things out with Matthew and Golden’s assistant, it’s finally time for my acting skills to be tested.
“You remember, right? This necklace only works one way, so you won’t hear us, but we’ll be listening and watching from the cam,” Laird reminds me again.
“Is it on now?” My fingers stroke the circle onyx stone framed with fake crystals.
“Yes. I’ll press the record button once you walk through the door,” he answers.
“Okay.” I nod, even though my heart’s pounding.
“You remember the safe word?” he asks.
“Whitehill Academy.” I confirm it, and they both nod.
“Good. Sounds familiar enough to Alan so he won’t get suspicious. Just say it if you need backup,” Matthew adds with a smirk.
“Break a leg,” Laird whispers, looking straight into my eyes. He kisses me softly before pulling his hand away from my cheek.
“Break a leg,” Matthew echoes, leaning in like he’s gonna kiss me too. Of course, Laird pushes his face away with his palm.
I can’t help but laugh, before licking my lips. My hand pushes the car door open, and I step out. I glance back at Laird, who waits in the white rental sedan across the street.
God, I feel like a spy right now.
Even with my nerves tightening and my heart racing, I keep walking toward the café about a mile from home. It has that dim, cozy vibe from the string lights curling across the ceiling. The afternoon sun hides behind thick gray clouds, making the glow inside look colder, like a secret.
As soon as I walk in, I spot Alan sitting in a secluded corner at the back. He’s upright, his eyes bright, posture straight. That wide smile on his face is all for me. The wooden partitions between tables can’t even hide his excitement.
If I didn’t know better, I’d fall for it—for the charm, the attention, the way he makes me feel like I’m the most precious girl in the world. It’s almost intoxicating.
I sit in front of him with a small awkward smile. He offers me a drink, but I just order the same as his. I need to get straight to the point.
“This ring.” I slide the box to him.
“Oh no, Fenella. I don’t wanna take it. I told you, keep it until the time comes for you to come to me.” Alan leans back, shaking his head, raising both hands in front of him.
“Yes, that’s the point, isn’t it? I’m here now. I’m coming to you.”
I hold his gaze, trying to show I’m serious. He stays still for a moment, processing my words. Then he blinks, and his smile slowly spreads. “Does this mean what I think it means?”
“Yes, Alan. Let’s get married.” My heart hammers in my chest.
Shit. I’m nervous. My voice sounds off, my face stiff, and I can’t control my expression. If I force a smile now, it’ll only make things worse. But I need him to believe me. I need him to trust me enough to pull me into his circle, to bring me close to Amy and her husband.
In my panic, I blurt the one line I think will seal it.
“I love you.” The words taste hollow as they leave my mouth.
He opens his lips like he wants to say something. His eyes dart side to side, then he blinks again and lets out a small laugh. He seems pleased. Maybe it’s working. Maybe my acting’s actually convincing.
“How did this happen?” His laugh grows louder. Oh, shit. He sees through it.
My back stiffens in my seat. My eyes flick from his smirking mouth to the white sedan across the street. I start thinking about saying the safe word. My breathing picks up while I wait for him to stop laughing.
“Alan, I mean…” I stutter as he raises his hand.
“No, Fenella. Don’t. I don’t wanna hear your lies. This is ridiculous.” Alan exhales sharply, shaking his head. “How can you reject me yesterday and now suddenly accept my proposal? And say those three words like they mean something?” He takes a quick sip of his tea.
I clench my knees under the table. God, I shouldn’t have done it. My acting’s not good enough to fool him. I’m a lousy actress who can’t even convince a single man.
Alan starts tapping his fingers on the table, frustrated. His head dips, shoulders hunched. His face turns red, the smile gone, his eyes wet like he’s fighting tears. He shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, curling in on himself like he’s building a wall.
My emotions twist inside me like a storm. I can’t lie—I don’t love him. I don’t wanna marry him. But I need this plan to work. There won’t be another chance.
Think, Fenella. Think.
I’ve never been the calculating type. Alan and Laird think in chess moves. They always have a next step when things go wrong. Me? I’m impulsive, na?ve, ruled by emotion and instinct. And if I’m being honest, all I have for Alan now is guilt. He’ll only hate me more once he realizes the truth.
“Sorry,” I mutter, rubbing my forehead. “I guess I’m a terrible actress. I shouldn’t have lied.”
“Why’d you lie like that?”
I go quiet. My mind replays everything between us, the chaos, the mess. I thought planning things out would help me get what I wanted. But it never works that way. I bite my bottom lip while reconsidering everything.
Should I stop now? Or maybe I should trust his genuine emotion toward me? If he really sees me as an ambitious girl, and he’s as obsessed with me as Laird said, then maybe I know what to do now.
“Sorry, Alan. I can’t marry you. What I feel for you is guilt, nothing more.
” My fingers brush my nose as I talk. “I thought marrying you would fix my life, make everything fall back into place. You said you had a plan to rescue my career… Guess it’s a bad idea.
” I shrug and lean back in my chair, finally giving in to the weight of it all.
Pretending to be in love, pretending to be engaged to Alan—what a joke. That kind of story only works in romance movies.
Alan just stares at me. Slowly, he mirrors my movement, leaning back again. His hands shift restlessly on the table before one covers his mouth.
“Fenella, I get it,” he says softly. “This must be confusing for you. I know you still love Laird. You don’t have to lie to make me happy.” His tone changes—gentle, sad, almost tender—as a crease deepens on his forehead.