And right now, I don’t have the time to look too deeply into it either.
“Whatever you ladies want, I’m sure we can provide,” Isabel says with a soft laugh.
It’s like this for the next half hour, the three of us with our heads bent together, plotting and planning last minute decorating details. Joyce writing everything down in her spiral notebook with that elegant handwriting of hers while I’m tapping away in the notes section of my phone. I’d come into this meeting with a clear, planned vision in mind, but the addition of the Sullivan Tree Farm donation changed it up a bit.
Not enough to throw me off, though. I live for this kind of last minute stuff.
By the time I’m finished with my PSL, our meeting is through, and Joyce is packing up her notebook into her large Louis Vuitton tote.
I chance a glance at Isabel, who’s slinging her nondescript black purse over her shoulder as she stands. I bet she doesn’t care about brand name stuff. I already like that about her, though I have no clue if my assumption is correct.
You see, that’s a problem of mine. I assume a lot of things. My brother Kevin tells me it’s a bad habit. My oldest brother Jared calls it honing my instincts.
I’m siding with Jared on this one.
Isabel aims those curved lips right at me, and I glance up at her, noting just how tall she really is. She towers over me, but I’m kind of a shrimp, so it feels like everyone towers over me.
“I have a dinner date with my husband that I need to go home and get ready for, so I have to go. Goodbye ladies! Thank you for your help!” Joyce says with an enthusiastic wave as she heads for the doors. “I’ll be in touch!”
Isabel and I watch Joyce go, turning to look at each other when the door closes behind her. Seems that Starbucks is on an 80s kick, because currently Cyndi Lauper is blasting from the speakers. Girls Just Wanna Have Fun is a personal anthem of mine, for sure.
“Thank you again for offering to help us out,” I tell Isabel as I push in the chair I was just using. “Your trees will look beautiful at our party.”
“It’s not a problem. My family is trying to become more involved with community activities anyway, especially with the holidays drawing near.”
“Doesn’t your farm already provide the trees for just about every lighting event in the area?” There are five tree lighting ceremonies I can think of that start happening the day after Thanksgiving into early December. And I’m fairly certain every one of those trees comes from Sullivan’s.
“Yes, we do.” She smiles. “But we want to do so much more. Have an even bigger, more personal presence in the community during the holiday season.” She hesitates for the slightest moment before she continues. “I was wondering Candice, if I could ask you a—personal question.”
Tilting my head to the side, I contemplate her. This is a confident, self-assured woman, and right now she appears terribly uneasy. Which makes me feel terribly uneasy. “Please. Go ahead,” I say, unable to hide the caution in my tone.
Curiosity overrides caution for me every single time.
“Well, this is kind of a strange request but…I know how well connected and beloved you are in the local social circles.”
I can feel my cheeks heat at her compliment. “Aw, thank you.”
Her smile is friendly. As in, her eyes are smiling too, so I know she’s being genuine. Kevin would say I’m assuming again, but really, it’s just my natural instincts. I’m really good at reading people.
“And I know how much you love the holidays,” Isabel continues. “For the past few years, I’ve seen endless photos of you at every holiday-themed event in the area, always wearing something festive.”
This is one hundred percent true. I have so many sparkly dresses in my closet that gathered all together, they might blind a person. I am a huge and unashamed fan of sequins and glitter. “I do love Christmas.”
“I know. I can tell.” She laughs. Shakes her head. Bites her bottom lip as if she’s reluctant to say the next thing. I wait in anticipation, my curiosity growing stronger the longer she takes to continue.
“I feel silly asking you this,” she finally says on a burst of breath. “But my son…he’s the oldest of my four children, and he’ll be taking over the family business one day. While he knows exactly what he’s doing, business-wise, I’m afraid he doesn’t have the best, um, social skills.”
Weird… “What’s his name?”
“Charles Sullivan. But we all call him Charlie.”
I mull over the name, racking my mind to see if I can come up with a mental image of a certain Charles “Charlie” Sullivan. But no image appears. I’ve met a lot of men over the years at various social functions, but I don’t think I’ve ever met—
“Oh, I’m sure you haven’t encountered Charlie.” Isabel’s laughter turns nervous. “You would’ve remembered him, I’m sure. He always seems to make a lasting impression.”
I don’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing.
“How exactly do you want me to help your son?” I ask her, remaining polite. And how old is this guy anyway? Why doesn’t he have strong social skills? Is he a complete heathen who never ventures out of the forest?
Hmm, that might be kind of fun. Taking a Neanderthal and converting him into a polished, sophisticated gentleman. Sort of a reverse My Fair Lady. I love that movie!
“It’s not that I want you to be his date per say, but maybe you could possibly…accompany him to some of the bigger holiday events? We’re trying our best to get the Sullivan name out. Our goal for the next five years is to take on more philanthropic endeavors, and my husband wants Charlie to become the face of the Sullivan Family Tree Farm, if you will.” A horrified expression suddenly crosses Isabel’s face and she reaches for me, resting her hand on my arm. “But if you’re already involved with someone, please disregard my request. Goodness, I didn’t even think you might have a boyfriend. Not that you aren’t perfectly delightful and lovely, but I’ve seen so many photos of you and you never seem to be attached to any—”
I cut off her babbling mid-sentence, a little embarrassed for her. I know what it’s like, to make a faux pas and feel like you’re insulting someone when that’s the last thing you want to do. “I’m currently unattached,” I say breezily.
“Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind helping my family—Charlie—out?” The hopeful expression on her face makes me feel bad for even considering telling her no.
But I might need to tell her no. I don’t know this Charles Sullivan from a hole in the wall (and where does that phrase come from anyway? My father used to always say it), and if he’s as, ahem, memorable as she makes him out to be, then he might not be a guy I want to associate with?
Crap, I don’t know.
“Can I think on it?” I wince, hating that I’m not giving her a yes, but wow. The more I think about it, the more I’m starting to wonder if she came here to meet with Joyce and I so she could specifically meet me and drop her outrageous plan on me. Weird, right?
I should run.
Run far, far away.
But I’m a nice person. My niceness has been ingrained in me since I was a baby. My mother was known as one of the nicest women on the peninsula. I have an image to uphold. People who knew my mother see me and always say I remind them of her. I want to be her when I grow up, and most of the time, I feel like I’m never going to grow up, I swear.
The only thing I don’t want to emulate is my mother’s breast cancer diagnosis.
“Of course you can think on it!” Isabel’s hand drops from my arm and she shakes her head, seemingly laughing at herself. “You must believe me crazy with my request.”
Yes. Yes, I do. “No, not at all,” I say laughingly.
“Whew. I was afraid you might.” The relief on Isabel Sullivan’s face is clear. “Well, I’ll let you think on it. You have my business card.” She gave one to both me and Joyce earlier and mine is safely tucked into my bag. “So reach out to me as soon as you’ve made up you
r mind. Thank you for not telling me to shove my request up my you-know-what.”
I burst out laughing at that, and she joins in. “I would never say that to anyone,” I reassure her.
Her smile is mysterious. “You haven’t met my Charlie yet.”
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Acknowledgments
Hey you,
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Thank you for reading FAKE DATE! I pray that none of you think Jared is a complete and utter asshole. The original version, oh my. He was…pretty bad. And guess who loved him? My critique partner, Katy Evans! Katy, you are always so supportive and positive. I’m so glad you’re my friend, and I’m always thrilled when you read my stuff and tell me where I go right or wrong. But I have bad news: I had to soften Jared up BIG TIME. It’s okay though, he’s still a total grouch.
My cover designer Hang Le is just hitting it out of the park with these covers. They are so cute (wait until you see the next one!), and our plan is someday, you can line up all the covers, and it’ll look like a city street. How fun is that? Hang, you’re the best!
I need to thank Nina for being a wonderful friend and a wonderful publicist. For reading this book and pointing out where Jared acted kind of cheap. I kept those cheap moments in though - whoops.
And finally, to the readers: You guys are amazing. The response to SAVE THE DATE has been so positive. Thank you for loving Alex and Sarah and all of her friends. If my plans go right, every single one of them will get their own story. I hope you enjoyed Jared and Sarah’s book - these two were so argumentative! I adore them.
About the Author
Monica Murphy is a New York Times, USA Today and international bestselling author. Her books have been translated in almost a dozen languages and has sold over two million copies worldwide. Both a traditionally published and independently published author, she writes young adult and new adult romance, as well as contemporary romance and women’s fiction. She’s also known as USA Today bestselling author Karen Erickson.
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Copyright © 2019 by Monica Murphy
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design: Hang Le
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Editor: Mackenzie Walton
Proofreader: Holly Malgieri
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