Epilogue
WINTER
Zane drives me home over the pass with the heat on high. Autumn is in the passenger seat, chatting about ski season. I’m sharing the back seat with leftovers from my parents’ house that nobody needed. My mother wouldn’t accept no, per usual.
Thanksgiving number one was at my parents’ place in Cozy Creek.
We ate turkey at two, and my mom asked me twice if I’d thought about getting licensed in Colorado.
My parents love Blaire, but they don’t like me not using my degree.
Working at the apothecary is seen as a waste of smarts.
My sister, Autumn, acted as a referee most of the afternoon.
Zane charmed everyone but could talk himself out of any situation.
By four, we were hugging goodbye at the front door with foil pans pressed into our arms like party favors. Now, I’m in the back seat, heading to Pine Haven, where we’ll eat even more food. Snow falls across the headlights, and it makes me happy.
“Mom was in a mood,” Autumn says.
“Yeah, you can say that again,” I tell her.
When we’re back in Pine Haven, I relax.
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?”
Autumn looks at Josie. Josie looks at Blaire. Blaire looks at me over her wine, reading me.
“You’re asking a lot of questions,” she says, “for a joke.”
“It’s professional curiosity.”
“Mm-hmm.” She sets down her glass, and a little smile starts that I don’t trust at all.
“Here it is,” Jamie says, showing the website.
“Rent a girlfriend dot com,” I say out loud. “This is a joke.”
“Yeah? Then make the listing. Right now. Ask a ridiculous amount and see if anyone bites,” Blaire says. “Dare you.”
My nostrils flare. “Nobody dares me.”
When we move away from the table and go into the living room to watch a holiday movie, I go to the website and create an account. I upload a cute picture of myself and write a bio.
Pretend girlfriend available—holidays only.
I’ve heard thousands of breakup stories, so I know what to avoid.
I’m the girl next door your mother wants to see you with.
I’ll wear matching pajamas, learn your weird cousins’ names, and swear your aunt’s dry turkey is the best I’ve ever had.
Your family will love me; you won’t get the chance.
Rules: No locals. No falling in love. Also, oatmeal raisin is better than chocolate chip, and it’s not up for debate. Serious inquiries only.
“No locals. No falling in love,” Blaire reads it out loud over my shoulder.
She and Jamie exchange a look, the one where they basically hold a conversation without speaking, and I snap to break them out of it.
“It’s a joke.”
“Post it,” Josie says.
My sister speaks up. “Wait, should you think about thi—”
“No,” I say and press Submit.
Everyone bursts into applause.
Zane toasts to my new career, and my sister demands to be kept up to date with what happens. We watch Elf with slices of pie and coffee, and nobody thinks about it again.
The night winds to an end. Autumn and Zane take the guest room rather than try to make it to Cozy Creek at night. Nick and Jules take the other one. The couples go upstairs around midnight, doing a bad job of pretending they’re tired. Josie helps clean up, and we blow out the candles one at a time.
On the way upstairs, my phone vibrates, and I have a notification on the app.
There’s one new message.
I saw your ad, and I need exactly what it offers …
a girlfriend for the holidays. You’re within a fifty-mile radius of where I’ll be.
Terms negotiable and generous. I’d like to meet somewhere public first because my family expects a specific …
type. Are you available tomorrow? Tell me what time and where; your choice.
Also, your rules are acceptable. I’m not a local. Love is out of the question.
One correction before we proceed: Oatmeal raisin isn’t a superior cookie to chocolate chip. It isn’t even close! If that’s a deal-breaker, I understand.
—TF
I read it twice. It’s polite and direct. He needs exactly what the listing offered. He’d like to meet first, which is nice.
As I’m standing in the hallway, Blaire walks toward me in her robe. She stops when she sees my face.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“Somebody emailed me about that ad,” I say.
“Really?” She’s at my shoulder, reading it. “His initials are TF? Like The Fuck.”
I chuckle.
Blaire yawns, but I can still hear the excitement in her tone when she asks, “Are you going to do it?”
“I don’t know. This is out of character for me,” I whisper.
She grins. “And that’s exactly why you should do it. It’s good to keep the universe on its toes.”
“That’s what you did,” I say.
“Yeah, I did.” She’s pleased with herself. “Now it’s your turn.”
THE END