My Favorite Holidate: A Standalone Holiday Romance

Fable

The bell above the door to Made By Fable jingles and I say goodnight to the last customer as she leaves the shop a few days before Christmas. Then I flip the sign to closed and turn around. I take a moment to savor the scene, as I’ve been doing for the last few months since I opened my first shop in Russian Hill on Polk Street, like I’d envisioned. I wanted to do it on my own, and I was able to with enough money saved up to start my first eco boutique. I didn’t need a cent from my billionaire boyfriend and I’m proud of that. He gives me so much and it was important I open this shop on my own.

Everything I carry here is recycled and I’m still a little amazed I’ve pulled this off. But dreams have a way of coming true if you work hard for them. My grand opening in September was a hit, and it’s been a busy few months. I stepped down from running merch at the Renegades to focus on the shop and, well, on my fantasy football team.

News flash: I’m winning again.

Tomorrow morning, we’re heading to Evergreen Falls for the holidays, so I finish up, then drive home.

It once was Wilder’s home but it’s become ours. I live with him and Mac now—our little happy family. In the morning, the three of us head up to the little snowy town together.

A couple days later, we toast to Charlotte and Leo winning the Christmas games on their first anniversary.

On Christmas morning, we’re in the main living room in front of the tall tree, opening gifts with Mac, Bibi, and Elizabeth, who moved from London to San Francisco to be closer to family. Wilder’s dad is here too and he has his one-year chip. That’s the best gift of all.

When the tree is empty and wrapping paper is strewn everywhere, Wilder says, “I have one more thing.”

Then my boyfriend gets down on one knee and flips open a sapphire blue velvet box.

I gasp, my heart swelling as he says, “Fable Calloway, you’re the woman of my dreams, my favorite date, my one and only. I adore you, and I want to keep treating you like the center of the world because you’re the center of my world. Will you marry me?”

Tears well in my eyes—happy ones. “I love you so much. I can’t wait to be your wife.”

He kisses me and when he breaks the kiss, he slides a brilliant, four-carat diamond solitaire on my finger. As he puts it on, I catch a glimpse of his new ink for me on his forearm. The word real.

I gaze at my ring, then kiss the man who’s going to be my husband.

We spend the day sledding, and eating, and hosting an impromptu snowball fight, and when everyone’s gone to bed, Wilder turns on the tree in the room in our honeymoon suite. As if surprised, he points to a brand-new gift sitting under the tree.

A small, wrapped box.

I already have the kind of gift that comes in a small box so I have no idea what it could be.

“Looks like Santa brought you something else,” he says, amused as he picks it up and brings it to me on the couch.

I’m wildly curious. “What is it?”

“Find out.”

With excitement pinging in my veins, I tear off the paper and open the red box. Inside there’s a piece of paper with the words Deal Memo across the top.

Then, I read the terms.

And my jaw drops. I can’t breathe. My hand flies to my mouth. I can’t speak for a minute, or many more, until finally I croak out, “You didn’t.”

He grins, clearly pleased. “I did.”

“Wilder,” I whisper. “You can’t give me your football team.”

He’s bossy as he says, “I can.”

“But why?”

“You once asked me not to buy you a jewelry shop in Russian Hill. And I didn’t. You opened it entirely on your own.” He pauses, a sly smile forming on his lips. “But I needed to find a workaround in case you want to expand Made By Fable. Open more stores. Take it international. So I’m giving you this. You can use it to grow Made By Fable. Or you can use it for fun and run a football team. Or you can use it just so you have the best suite in the house to watch games from.” Then, like this is no big deal, he adds, “I’m busy with my hotels and green energy businesses. Really, you’d be helping me. Think of it as a side hustle.”

“This is my side hustle? Running a football team?”

“Yes. You can do it,” he says, steady and certain, believing in me. He’s always believed in me.

I take a moment to absorb the scope of this. The magnitude of it. The extravagance. Then, I throw my arms around him and say, “Want to be the owner’s date at the next football game?”

“I’d love to.”

And I kiss the most generous man in the world, who’s mine. All mine.