The van was packed, my house was locked up, and my excitement for the week to come was nearing record lows. Just minutes before my driver got there, my stepsister sent me a text saying that her newly minted fiancé would also be showing up at the retreat, and he was bringing my two cousins with him, who both, you guessed it, had significant others!

I was looking at being the seventeenth wheel, and I wanted nothing to do with it. Not only that, but I also knew I had to confront my stepfather with the photo Mark had shown me. It was sitting in a very taped-up manila envelope inside my backpack, which wasn’t going anywhere without my eyes on it.

I already had a feeling of what the drive to the ranch was going to consist of: looking out the window and wondering why I’d been such a dumb Neanderthal toward Andrew. He had totally captured my attention from the second I saw him, and then when I saw the lack of a ring, I just went into overdrive. I turned into an insensitive douchebag and no doubt turned him away from even a fake relationship.

And one of the weirdest things was that I would have been fine with just settling for a friendship between us. He had left that big of a mark on me in that quick of a time. I just wanted him around, in whatever capacity I could get him. Obviously, the ideal capacity would be hand in hand, but that was me being so fucking selfish. And it showed. He’d seen my selfish, fucked-up side. I hadn’t hidden it from him when I’d asked him to come be my fake boyfriend after something had clearly gone down in his personal life.

What the hell was I thinking?

It was a trait that I worked hard to fix about myself, but sometimes my selfish monster flared up and lashed out. It was something I think I got from my dad, who was selfish but in a weirdly positive way. He always worked hard to make sure he was well off and happy, but always made sure his family was the same. Sure, sometimes he would veer toward the negative side of the selfish spectrum, but for the most part, he was a good man who worked hard and had flaws—flaws of which were passed down and seemingly enhanced in his one and only son.

“It’s the Rose-Covington Christmas retreat, ain’t it?” Arturo, my driver, brought me out of my self-reflection.

“Sure is,” I said.

“You don’t sound like you’re too happy about it?”

“Sure is,” I repeated, inflecting my tone higher.

“Still not buying it.”

I looked out the window as we drove past the big black iron gates that marked the entrance to my neighborhood. There were wreaths the size of truck tires hanging on the gates with golden garland wrapped through it and white dust sprinkled over it, matching with the piles of real snow on the street. “It’s going to be a rough one.”

“Brooke sounds really excited. I drove her yesterday,” Arturo said.

“Oh? I didn’t know she was going early.” My phone buzzed in my pocket. My wild thoughts instantly painted a picture of Andrew reaching out to me because he wanted to come along. Of course, that wasn’t the reality of the situation. Instead, it was a notification from my news app letting me know that the Kardashians were taking a mission trip to India, and while I thought that sounded great for everyone involved, I had no idea why it was listed as breaking news on my phone right now.

I slid the notification aside and put my phone away, internally sighing so that I wasn’t responsible for dampening Arturo’s mood any further. “Did you meet her fiancé?”

“Oh, that was her fiancé, huh?”

“Gregory?”

“Yup, that was his name. Wouldn’t forget a name like that. He seemed like a good guy, but I wouldn’t have guessed they were recently engaged.”

“Brooke’s always been standoffish with the guys she’s dated. I guess a ring hasn’t changed that about her.”

“Nope,” Arturo said, “happy for them.”

“Me too,” I said, sure that Arturo didn’t believe that from me, either.

And then my phone buzzed again. This time I was able to rein in my crazy thoughts and avoid myself from jumping to the fantasy of being texted by Andre—

Holy fucking shit, it was Andrew.

I never slid open a notification so fast. I thought my thumb either was going to break the phone’s screen or break itself. Thankfully, everything remained intact. I read his message and then reread it.

No fucking way. I’m being pranked.

I read it again.

One more time.

Nope, the words didn’t magically rearrange themselves into a different sentence on my screen. The letters stayed put, and the text read:

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

Sure, not the most enthusiastic response, but that was fine! It was a yes! I could work with a yes. That in itself had me feeling more excited than I’d been in a long while.

I looked up and saw Arturo was about to drive onto the highway. “Oh, wait! Can you pull over? We’re actually going to have to make a detour.”

“You got it,” he said, pulling smoothly over into the parking lot of a gas station. I typed out a few responses, which I quickly deleted, finally settling on one:

“Perfect! :) Where are you?”

“Right now?” he sent back.

“No, five days ago at seven o’clock at night”

Shit, was that not funny? Is he not going to get my sarcasm? I don’t want to scare him away now. Shit, shit, shit.

And then I shot another text immediately after: “Lol yes right now.”

It took him a moment to respond. Finally, a text message with a row of periods popped up letting me know he was typing. And then: “Well, five days ago at seven o’clock at night I was binging on old Cher interviews on YouTube, since you asked.”

That made me smile much wider than a text normally does.

“And, if you haaaave to know, I’m at Rockefeller Park right now.”

“Great! Don’t move. I’ll be there in twenty-five minutes.”

He texted back, but I didn’t even bother reading. “Arturo, swing around and let’s head to Rockefeller Park.” I knew Andrew would be protesting, but I also knew that if I didn’t answer, he would stay put. He knew I was on my way, and Andrew didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who would just walk away when someone’s time was on the line. He seemed like a really respectable man, the kind of guy who could be a model for society and a model for Versace. Which was something I was sure he’d never own up to.

And you know what? I wanted to change that. Sure, maybe this entire thing was a sham set up to keep my judgmental family at bay, but maybe one of us could take something real out of this experience. If Andrew walked away from me with his head held higher and his confidence as unshakable as Cher’s, then I’d feel good about it all. I wouldn’t feel like I was stringing along a virtual stranger into a potential war zone, knowing how my family tended to be.

Which… I mean… I guess that was what I was doing?

But I’d feel better about doing it if Andrew benefitted from this crazy plan too, so there’s that.

Ah, fuck, I hope this isn’t a mistake.

Thankfully there wasn’t much traffic on the way back into the city, although we hit some congestion inside as we worked our way down the grid of streets toward Rockefeller.

It meant there wasn’t much time for me to second-guess this crazy decision. Soon, Arturo pulled up as close as he could get to Rockefeller Center. He put on the hazards, and I hurried out, heading to where Andrew said he would be.

I saw Andrew sitting on the bench with his friend, people moving to the side and creating a clear view of him, as if the crowds were choreographed to part like the Red Sea.

Andrew saw me, too, and his eyes lit up. He seemed to tamp down his reaction, though as I got closer, a look of skepticism fell over his face.

“Declan, hi. This is my friend Zoey.”

“Great to meet you, Zoey.”

“Likewise,” she said, her eyes glinting as she shook my hand. I had a feeling she had helped in nudging Andrew toward agreeing to his plan.

“My car’s kind of pulled over in traffic, though, so we should get going.”

“What? Now? I mean, I’m not even packed. I don’t have anything with me except my wallet and cell phone. And house keys, and this pack of gum.”

“Great, that’s all you’ll need.” I was smiling, so taken by his charm and the way he smiled and kind of stammered when he was nervous.

“But my clothes—we’ll be gone for a week!”

“That’s fine. I’ll buy you an entirely new wardrobe when we get over there.”

Zoey was standing off to the side, her attention completely pinned on us. Andrew looked to her, his big eyes open wide, as if looking for more guidance.

“Wait, what do you mean buy me a wardrobe? This isn’t a Pretty Woman situation—you know that, right?” Andrew snapped those big eyes back to me, narrowing them into slits. “You know I’m not… I’m not, like, a prostitute, right?”

I laughed, caught off guard. “I’m well aware,” I said, smirking, “I’ve been at your job.”

“Yeah, well, I dunno. You could think I moonlight as one or something.”

“Trust me,” his friend said, “his life’s not that exciting.” She cocked her head and looked up, as if thinking hard. “Actually his life’s as exciting as making yeast for my grandmother’s annual bread-baking competition. So take that as you will.” We all laughed at that, although Andrew’s laughs were a little shorter.

“Not true,” he said.

“Prove it,” I countered.

I had a hunch Andrew was the type that didn’t back down from a challenge.

A moment of silence followed, filled with the sounds of the thriving city around us, everyone in holiday mode, wearing thick coats and holding heavy bags, seemingly one for every brand under the sun.

“Okay, let’s go,” he said, his smile spreading wide, lighting up as if he was the star that was supposed to sit on top of the gigantic Christmas tree towering behind him.