The Stuffing Situation (The Holiday Glitch #2)

Chapter 1

The Lie That Launched a Glitch

Maya didn’t mean to lie.

Well, okay, she meant to lie. She didn’t mean to lie that extravagantly.

It all kicked off during what should’ve been a three-point turn, but turned into almost nine, right in front of Trader Joe’s.

The steering wheel squeaked in her sweaty hands, every awkward twist a standoff between too much caffeine and not enough will to exist the week before a holiday. The tires clipped the curb.

Her mom’s voice blared from the speaker, ricocheting off every cramped surface in the car.

“So you’re still single?”

“I’m driving, Mom,” Maya muttered, eyeing a pedestrian wrapped in canvas bags and a parking attendant who looked one cone short of quitting.

Please not now, not like this.

“That’s not a no.”

Maya exhaled, a frizz of hair sticking stubbornly to her lip gloss. “I’m talking to someone.”

Which was technically true. She had spoken to the Starbucks barista that morning.

He’d asked how her day was going. He was very flirty, extremely latte.

Name a worse time to crave male validation.

But for Maya, it had been a while since she had any male attention at all; she was starting to get desperate and felt as if she might accept anything at this point.

“Oh, honey! That’s wonderful!” her mom squealed. “You have to bring him to Thanksgiving!”

Crap.

“I can’t, Mom, he’s working,” Maya said, checking her mirror and narrowly avoiding a Subaru. “He’s a nurse, on call, can’t come home.”

Right on cue, the radio, a petty little machine with the soul of a snitch, blared a Hallmark Channel promo with the same premise. She jabbed it off, the plastic buttons digging into her palm.

She tapped her forehead again, “Maybe I’ll go home for the holidays and fall in love with my high school rival,” because Blair wouldn’t set her up with her own personal sex demon, which, yes, was apparently a real thing now, and honestly? Rude.

Her mom gasped. “Do you have one of those?”

“No, Mom. It was a joke.”

“You still planning on staying here tonight? Your room is already ready for you.” She made it sound as though it were a question, but we both knew better.

Maya finally found a spot, slammed the car into park, and dropped her head to the wheel with a soft, pathetic thud. The leather was sun-warmed and slightly sticky, as if stress and SPF had melted into it.

Why didn’t I try to get out of coming this year? Say I was studying to be a sommelier? Or prepping for an amateur hot dog-eating contest? Literally any other lie.

* * *

That night, Maya wore the weekend’s defeat already plainly, sat nursing a spiked cider at Murphy’s, the bar that time forgot and Spotify would never bother to find.

The music was a half-hearted loop of ‘90s soft rock and static.

The vinyl seats clung to the back of her thighs, making her question why she had worn a skirt to the bar in the first place.

The bartender was Rae, the kind of woman who looked ready to shiv you for breathing wrong, and somehow, she still kept the night’s drink orders flowing as if it was nothing.

Across from her, Josie, her best friend from childhood, slumped into a coat that seemed to have swallowed her whole. They hadn’t caught up much since Josie became a single mom, but she was one of those friends you just snap back into sync with, no matter how long it’s been.

“You told your mom you had a boyfriend?” Josie asked.

“I panicked,” Maya groaned. “The words just fell out of my face.”

“Let me guess. He’s tall, rugged, and emotionally available.” Josie said accusingly.

“Tragically, yes.”

Josie raised her glass in mock solemnity. “To fiction.”

“If he existed, he’s already married,” Rae said, dropping off two shots sent by men old enough to be their dads. “And you’re definitely not finding him in here.”

The cider was finally working its way into her spine. Her shoulders, tight since the Trader Joe’s fiasco, started to uncoil.

Then the door jingled, and in walked her ex with his fiancée, straight out of a Vermont-themed engagement calendar, matching pea coats, coordinated scarves, and that smug, well-rested glow of couples who do yoga together and always vote early.

Maya’s gut twisted, literally.

“Oh wow,” Josie whispered. “He actually brought her.”

Maya turned back to her drink, practically inhaling the foam.

Of course, he brought her. He’s the kind of guy who shows up to funerals with a date and a crypto pitch.

“Remember his promposal?” Maya said.

“He misspelled your name. It’s four letters.” Josie added.

“He still blamed the pilot.”

They were closing in. Maya tried for casual disinterest, but probably landed somewhere around “lactose intolerance.”

“Maya,” her ex said, offering a weird half-hug that smelled of lavender detergent and subtle condescension. “You look great.”

“Thanks,” she said, stabbing a jalapeno popper as though it had insulted her mom.

His fiancée smiled, with a perfect waist, glowing, and probably thought oat milk came from a cow. “We saw your mom’s Facebook post. You’re seeing someone now?”

“Yeah!” Maya said too loudly. Her voice cracked. “He’s amazing. Just has to work a lot.”

“Do you have a picture?”

Ice water was in her veins.

Abort mission. Mayday. MAYDAY.

“Um, yeah. One sec. Bathroom. Broke the seal, you know how it is.”

In the stall, fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like a judgmental fly. She balanced her phone on the toilet paper dispenser, thumbs flying.

She stumbled upon the AI boyfriend video generator on TikTok, which all the girls were using to create fake videos of men and make their exes jealous.

“Six-four,” she whispered, voice tinged with the weight of a wish. “Dark hair, tattoos, wears Henleys, Fixes stuff, Protective but soft, Name: uh, Felix.”

The screen flickered, just once. A glitch, static behind glass.

Maya blinked.

It’s probably a bad signal, or she’d had too much to drink.

Then, he was there, Felix, ruggedly handsome, too hot and almost too real, like he’d just built a deck and then written a brooding song about it.

“Hey, babe,” he said, voice low and warm. “Just thinking about you. Hope you’re having fun with your friends.”

Maya stared. Oh my god. I’m unwell.

She sent the video to herself, strutted back out as if she hadn’t just summoned a man in a public restroom, and showed it to her ex and his fiancée.

His smile wobbled. Her eyes went wide. Josie mouthed damn. It should’ve ended there. But Maya hit “Share” instead of “Save.”

To Facebook.

The hearts rolled in before she could close the app.

Her mom: He’s adorable!! Can’t wait to meet him!!

Aunt Lorraine: Finally, someone who looks like he worships her!

Coworker Amanda: Damn girl, where’d you find HIM?? Asking for a friend.

Maya stared at her screen, heart pounding somewhere behind her eyes.

Oh no. No, no, no, no.

* * *

Maya woke with a pounding headache, a mouth as dry as sandpaper, and the faint clink of someone moving around in her mom’s kitchen.

She shuffled out of bed, bracing for the sight of her mom elbow-deep in stuffing, her favorite side dish, prep.

Instead, there was a tall man at the stove.

“What the-”

He turned, and she screamed.

Felix. The AI man she’d made last night. Standing there, in the flesh, holding her favorite mug, the one with the tiny crack in the handle. Wearing a rumpled hoodie and a stupidly casual smile, as though slipping into her life required no more effort than putting on socks.

“Morning!” he said. “I made coffee. Used the beans labeled ‘Do Not Touch.’ That… was wrong, huh?”

Maya’s jaw moved. No words came out.

This is fine, this is totally fine.

I just accidentally manifested a boyfriend like I was ordering takeout.

DoorDash, but for the forever alone.

She opened her mouth to scream again

And fainted.

System Error: Boyfriend Detected.