Suddenly, the opening notes ofOde to Joyplay. That’s my special ringtone for Ingrid, a reminder that I should act happy and not panic when she calls, because she always calls at the most random, inconvenient times.
Like midnight on a Sunday.
Fuck, she must be calling because she’s pissed that I went off-topic. If she tells me to start over, I’ll be up all night trying to fix the article.
My heart races as I pick up the phone. “Hi, Ingrid. What’s up?”
“Pippa! I started reading the article, and it’s great.”
Whoa. I can’t be hearing her right. “It is?”
“You really got raw with this one! I could actually feel the emotion behind the words. It could probably use a few edits to make sure it all fits with your new angle, but I’ll have an editor take care of that tomorrow.”
Relief rushes through me, and I can practically feel the muscles in my back unknotting. When it comes to work, if Ingrid’s happy, I’m happy.
“But I’m calling because I need you to change track. We need something big and flashy to topline the site for the holidays, and Monica’s article about the dark side ofThe Great Holiday Bake-Offhas hit a standstill.”
“What happened?”
Ingrid sighs. “Turns out, there’s no dark side toThe Great Holiday Bake-Off.It really is just wholesome grandmas making gingerbread houses in a giant fake igloo.”
I roll my eyes. I could have told her that. Cat and I watch Sequel’s holiday baking competition every year, and there’s no sex, drugs, violence, or drama involved. That’s why we love it.
“Anyway, we need a replacement article. What do you have for me?”
Typical Ingrid. My job is always chaotic, but calling me at midnight, demanding that I pitch her a new article after shealreadyhad me writing a different last-minute article is extreme, even for her. But in a way, that’s what I love about this job. I’m good at rolling with the punches, getting creative off thetop of my head. There’s nothing like that thrill of victory when I know I got itjust right.
Holiday tropes buzz through my head.Reindeer, guys with red noses, Mrs. Claus, that weird Mrs. Claus-themed lingerie Victoria’s Secret sells every year, Christmas trees, partridge in a pear tree?—
The idea crystalizes perfectly in my head. Flirty enough forBelladonna, festive enough for holiday lovers. “The 12 Dates of Christmas,” I say breathlessly. “We can feature twelve different holiday themed dates.”
“I like that,” Ingrid says thoughtfully. “That way, we could keep it going till—what’s the twelfth day of Christmas, January 4th?”
I count the days quickly on my phone calendar. “January 5th. And I could get on theBelladonnaforums and collect stories from readers about their top holiday dates. A few of the articles could be expanded versions of the craziest ones.”
“No. I want it just like your man-child rant article. Real and raw. That means it has to be you on those dates, Pippa.”
My stomach sinks. Where am I going to find twelve free days to go out during the busiest time of the year? More importantly, where am I going to find twelveguys?
Ingrid must guess what I’m thinking, because she adds, “Belladonnawill cover expenses for all your dates, of course. I just want you to dig deep and get raw. Let down your guard and get us in your head, with all the frustration, embarrassment, and insecurities. Now that I know you can do it, I want to see you soar.”
I bite my lip. I can count on one hand how many times Ingrid has been this effusive about something I wrote. There’s no way I can tell her no now.
Besides, wasn’t Ijustthinking I wanted to start dating again? Maybe try to find something like what Cat and Nate found ineach other? I was going to wait until after the Holidays, but this might just be the perfect excuse.
And I mean, if I don’t findthe one, who cares? I’m looking for content here, not commitment. If one of the twelve happens to be both, well…that’s between me and my deadline.
“Okay. Yeah, I’ll do it. I’ll get started first thing tomorrow.”
“Amazing. I’ll see you then.”
Hanging up, I flop back on the bed and put a pillow over my face. I love Christmas—long walks looking at the lights, shopping for presents, watching cheesy Hallmark movies and eating gingerbread cookies until my stomach hurts. Why taint all that goodness with shitty dates?
Because hopefully after all those terrible dates, you’ll eventually luck out and get a good one.
Maybe it’s all my time third wheeling Cat and Nate, but I’m done with being single. Deep down, I crave the kind of love they have. I’ve never been with a guy who was that crazy about me. For once, I’d like to know what that feels like.
Everyone says that dating is a numbers game. The wheel will never land on my number unless I go out there and give it a spin.
