“There are dogs in San Francisco.”
“My play—”
“There are community theaters in San Francisco that would love to do an Amanda Anderson original play.”
“Youare not in San Francisco.”
“Imight be your best friend, but I amnotyour soulmate.”
Yazmin can occasionally be annoying.
This is one of those times.
“Tell me the heat wave here is frying my brain,” I say.
“A guy pretending to be your fiancé so that you can end your family’s long-standing stupid feud isswoonno matter the outside temperature.”
“Maybe I told you the story wrong.”
“When’s your wedding?”
“We’re not getting married.”
“Your fake wedding.”
I look at my engagement ring and brace myself against the tsunami of guilt that comes with the lies we’re telling everyone. “Monday.Four days.Butit’s not happening.”
“How are you going to break the news to everyone?”
“We’re still discussing exact details, but we’ll basically say spending time together made us realize we’re better off as friends and not as romantically attracted to each other as we thought.”
“You’re in over even your own head.”
She’s not wrong.
“And how’s this helping get you out of bakery duty?”
I sigh. “It was supposed to get me disinherited so that they’d find another solution on their own. Instead, Grandma’s insisting that I learn everything I need to know for when Dane and I break up.”
“Which you’re doing by Monday ...”
“And when I’ll be too sad at the idea of watching our families start fighting even worse and have to leave town ... and get fully cut off for being such a major disappointment.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Yazmin murmurs. “I hate that they’re putting you in this position.”
“It’ll be okay. Ithasto be okay. We’re doing everything we can to leave town better than we found it, you know?”
“None of them deserve you.”
A call from my mom beeps in, so on that note, I let Yazmin go and switch over.
Mom’s ready for wedding dress shopping.
Time to let more people spend more money on a wedding that will ultimately be canceled. Maybe I can follow Dane’s lead and find a way to auction the dress for charity.
I meet Mom at Mrs. Claus’s Runway. It’s a quaint, holiday-themed boutique formal dress shop, attached to Mrs. Claus’s Attic, which is where most locals go for all their ugly and chic holiday sweaters and one-piece fleece holiday pajama needs. Mrs. Briggs, wife of Mr. Briggs, who taught English at the high school, still owns and runs both.
“Oh, my dear, I amso excitedfor you,” Mrs. Briggs squeals when we arrive. With the wire-rimmed glasses, curly white hair, and classy red Christmas sweater featuring a quilted reindeer, she looks every bit the part of Mrs. Claus. She often plays it when the community theater has a need. “Forallof us. An Anderson marrying a Silver! We never thought we’d see the day, but I love that your love is healing old wounds.”
