Her Christmas Romance Surprise

by Kenna Shaw Reed

  “Whatever it takes, each of us will beg, borrow or buy a man for Christmas.” I leaned back, waiting for the explosion and ready to win them over.

  “What!” As expected, my friends weren’t going be instant converts.

  “Buy?” JoJo asked. “You mean, get an escort?”

  “Only if you can’t get a man any other way. Buy is an acceptable last resort, but that’s not the point.” With a smile used to reel in my advertising clients, I tried to sound more confident than I felt. “Let’s make a game of it. We have a month. Surely, we can turn on the charm and find some gorgeous man to take home. Think about it, we aren’t looking for love—just a way to shut up our families for at least a couple of years.”

  “Any guy?”

  “Well, you have to sell him as a boyfriend to your family, but yes, any guy.” I waited for the idea to sink in. One by one, my friends went through the whole denial phase.

  “I don’t know, is this what we’ve come to?” Abbie had looked around, waiting and expecting me to crack, admit the joke.

  Holding my nerve, I stared each of them down, “I swore off Tinder dates after last night, but if I get desperate enough, I’ll go back online. Until then, I’ll scrape the bottom of the barrel to find someone who looks the part and I can take home.”

  “Okay, damn it. I’m in. Although I don’t know how I’m gonna get a date to take back to Adelaide, but I’m in.” JoJo almost threw her credit card at the waitress as our drinks arrived and ordered another round. “I might need a constant supply of these, but if I can do it, then don’t come to me with your excuses.”

  I slid my phone back over to my friends. The profile of last night’s date and then the reality. Not even a good filter could have faked that! “Come on,” I urged Abbie and Zara. “One in, all in. If I can go back into the murky pond of lies and dating after last night, then you can at least try.”

  “I’m sick of the pity parties, and judgy family.” Abbie still wasn’t convinced. “I hate going home and running into old school friends who are now celebrating wedding anniversaries that are almost double digits. Like, some of my friends got married out of high school and are still in love.”

  “What are you scared of?” I challenged, sensing a weakening. We both came from small country towns in southern New South Wales. Childhood friends had married local farmers and were now the same pillars of the community we used to mock. I needed Abbie to face her fear so I could face my own. “Aren’t you sick of being the only one at the ‘never been married’ singles table? Since when did finding love become a job instead of fun. Come on, if you’re not looking for love, then look for fun.”

  “What if it goes wrong?” Zara asked.

  “I’m not talking about finding your true love—not even lust. But we are all going to take someone home for Christmas.” JoJo smirked, embracing the pact. “Think of the world of possibilities if we only want a man for a day instead of a lifetime!”

  “But what if I find someone and my family hate him, or even worse, what if they love him?” Zara asked. “Dad loved Vince and it doesn’t matter about my feelings, I can’t break my father’s heart again.”

  “Be sort of honest with them—it’s a new relationship and you don’t know if it’s serious, yet.”

  “How do we explain the fake break up?”

  “Why would it be fake? The deal is finding someone for Christmas lunch—it doesn’t have to be fake.”

  “I can’t.” Zara protested. “I want to, but I can’t.”

  “Come on,” I teased. “Treat it as an exam—except the guys are the ones who need to shape up, ‘cause you need a man.” I almost sing-songed the last part until Abbie begged me to stop. “It only works if we’re all in.”

  If even one of them refused, I knew I’d do the same as last year and plead work commitments. It didn’t matter how much I missed my family; I couldn’t face their continued disappointment. If we all committed to the pact, I’d be tasting dad’s secret egg-nog recipe—the one he stole off Margaret Fulton thirty years ago. I’d be helping mum style the table and put the finishing touches to each dish. Christmas joy turned my hope into smiles.

  I was the one growing up who counted down the last hundred days until Christmas morning. Back in those innocent days when all I had to defend were report cards and sporting achievements. But from the time I left Goulburn for Sydney University, the demands had gotten bigger. Internship, graduate position and then marriage. Forget the idea of dating, my parents expected marriage and grandbabies.

  “One man for one day, it can’t be that difficult, not for sexy creatures like us.” To hell with the pity party, I needed to amp it up. “Unless you want to have a side bet on which one of us gets the hottest date.”

  “What about the rules?” Zara, always the lawyer.

  “There are none.” My confidence was momentarily sky high. This was going to work. “You can beg, borrow or buy a man but you can’t be alone for Christmas lunch.”

  “Fine,” Abbie got out her phone. “I’ve done it.” She shoved her phone at me before hiding her face with her hands.

  Abbie: Mum, I’m coming home for Christmas. Need to confirm whether 1 or 2.

  “Are you serious?” JoJo squealed. “What if she asks questions?”

  “I’ll explain that we’re still new and I don’t want to jinx it.”

  “Oh, my mum will go for that, she’ll be so excited I’m bringing someone home she won’t dare question it.” I hadn’t wanted to be the first, but damn I wasn’t going to be chicken last. “Fine, I’m done.”

  Pia: Set two places for Christmas lunch. Don’t ask for deets but can’t wait for you to meet him.

  “Okay, don’t leave me behind,” JoJo said before showing off her phone with a confidence I envied. The girl breezed through life, thumbing her nose at convention, and breaking through glass ceilings.

  JoJo: Hope you are making grandma’s famous Christmas cake this year. Can’t wait to see you.

  “You didn’t talk about taking a date!” Zara bleated. “How do we know you’re serious?”

  “I’m going home, isn’t that enough? I don’t know whether I’m finding someone in Adelaide or kidnapping someone in Sydney.”

  “It’s fine.” I assured JoJo before we all waited for Zara. Three against one, surely her pride would prefer she risk going home alone rather than face us next year. “How about it. Are you in?”

  “Okay, but there has to be a penalty for any of us who don’t have a date.” Zara looked pointedly at JoJo. “It isn’t enough just to turn up on the day, there has to be a man at your side.”

  “Always Miss Competitive,” Abbie joked, seemingly more relieved than when she’d been the first to send off her text.

  “Why not. I work sixty-hour weeks and most nights I collapse with a glass of wine and a good book. If I’m going to go out and try and find someone in less than a month, then I want to make sure the rest of you don’t chicken out.”

  “Isn’t the punishment of failure, turning up alone?” I pressed; Zara earned more than the rest of us put together. Whatever the penalty, it wouldn’t mean as much to her. “I didn’t mean failure—I mean—I don’t know what I mean.”

  Zara focused on her phone and I let out the breath that had been holding itself. Christmas—I’m going home for Christmas. All of us thought Zara was joining our pact but instead she handed her phone to JoJo first. JoJo’s knuckles turned white before she nodded, handing the phone to Abbie. Bless Abbie, I got the phone after a shrug and giggle. What the hell had Zara done?

  “There you go, ladies, I’ve just booked eight seats on a New Year’s cruise on Sydney Harbor. Whoever doesn’t have a date on Christmas Day splits the cost, otherwise it’s on me.”

  “Why the eight seats?”

  “Because either we have dates who want to come back for more, or we invite more girlfriends.”

  “Oh, what have we done!” I sighed before ordering another round of drinks. It had to be after midday somewhere
in the world.

  Kade Reiss

  What the hell had my brother done now to piss off our parents. That could be the only explanation for the cryptic email from dad. Darling older brother had one role in life—to hang the sun each morning and replace it with the moon each night.

  Home for a brief respite before leaving my beloved Sydney apartment for country reality, I only checked my personal emails once a week and only if I had a full bottle of scotch ready to offer up its life if needed. Usually, my parents bleated about the price of lambs and grain. As if being a successful rural agent could change prices set internationally. I helped out, suggesting when to sell, hold and buy based on where I saw the markets heading, but there were some things I couldn’t manipulate. Like the price of grain, fuel, fertilizer. And whether my man-whore brother would settle down.

  He’d slept through just about every girl of legal age during high school. It had almost been a rite of passage for the graduating class. Hand in their school id, sleep with Declan, graduate and move on to university.

  Why my parents thought age would weary his libido beggared belief, and if they thought that offering up the farm as a bribe for me to beat my brother to the alter, they were demented or mistaken. It didn’t matter which, Declan was happily still experiencing the spice of single life and I—well I loved my job and wasn’t prepared to swap travelling and the thrill of a negotiation for being tied to the farm.

  The only til death do we part kind of legally binding contract I wanted was the one with a woman. Only I’d never been able to move past my high school crush. Not that she’d noticed me as anything more than Declan’s baby brother, but each time Declan glanced in her direction, I counted all the ways I could kill him in his sleep. Or rig up the tractor to explode. Or knock on his door one night and explain, or at least ask for him not to dip his wick in one girl. Luckily, he tried, and she took great pleasure in rejecting each and every one of his offers until it became a running joke at home, school and football field.

  Tremendously funny, unless you were the brother wanting desperately to catch up on that missing year between us, and grab the girl.

  Declan: Did you get it?

  Douche bag must be sweating if he was reaching out in between birthdays, Christmas and the annual last-minute request to put his name on whatever I got for Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. Bastard lived in a house on their property, worked side-by-side with dad on the farm, and yet it was up to me to thank our parents on behalf of both of us.

  Kade: Hiding it from my girlfriend in case she gets ideas.

  No girlfriend, but it felt good to twist the knife.

  Declan: You bringing her home for Christmas?

  I let him sweat for two whole days before responding to his next three texts. I understood, if he didn’t end up with the farm, what had his whole life been about. Declan was born a farmer and would die a farmer—whether he got the farm or not.

  Declan: Have mum and dad met her? Is that why they’ve changed their mind?

  Kade: The farm is yours. Always has been. Always will be.

  I didn’t feel like answering his question.

  10 December

  Pia

  I was in so much trouble. The calendar refused to lie; two weeks until Christmas.

  Abbie cancelled our Sunday brunches while we privately stressed who would find an elusive date. What the hell had I been thinking—even if I could find a guy to date, taking him back home for Christmas required a whole different level of commitment.

  Like giving up his own family Christmas.

  Like being ready to meet my parents.

  Not to mention the whole buying a fake Christmas present and hoping it didn’t give off any secret messages.

  I quit after two busted attempts at first dates.

  I’d thought, “So, what are you doing for New Years,” would serve as an icebreaker before asking about Christmas. The first guy, who I picked up while buying groceries, spent our date describing his Christmas plans for Bali. My next date described in excruciating detail how he planned to spend the holidays tending to his garden. How the Australian summer heat was murder on his vegetables and how his life existed around watering times. An hour to answer the simple question; five am and seven pm.

  I resisted the urge to ask my first date to take me with him. He was cute, but not enough to spend a week with. To survive the second guy, I skolled coffee instead of wine to stop yawning over tales of organic tomatoes.

  Running out of time and options, my earlier vows to give up online dating seemed premature and foolish.

  Still, I wasn’t desperate enough, yet, to go back online. Turning up to my local gym on a Sunday morning seemed a smart approach. After all, any coupled up guy should be still home in bed, not out pumping weights. And, at least he’d feel good in bed if we got that far.

  Except, they were all the usual suspects. Gym buddies or at least spotting partners. Even though I wanted to look at them as potential take-home-date material, I had to consider the consequences of trying to find a fake date here. I’d be forever known as the desperate woman needing a date for Christmas. While true, I wanted to be talked about because of my tight ass and downward dog. Unlike other girls, I didn’t mind the guys looking. It made up for all the nights I went home alone, with nothing to look forward to other than a microwave dinner.

  Not for the first time, I left the gym with a frustration no amount of running on the treadmill could fix.

  “Don’t tell me you found someone!” Abbie answered her phone with a moan.

  “Not at all, does that mean—”

  “I can’t even get the nerve up to ask.”

  “Then you’ll love my last failed attempt.” Friends since we shared a flat through university, I knew Abbie would always find a way to make me laugh about my tragic wanna-be-love-life.

  “Better than flirting with the guy at the florists?”

  “Don’t remind me.” Luckily, Abbie couldn’t see my embarrassed flush and any witnesses were—well hopefully I’d never run into them again. “I was innocently buying arrangements for a conference and he came in ordering carnations.”

  “Pretty flowers.”

  “But he didn’t have a wedding ring and you don’t buy carnations for a girlfriend. Mother, yes. Wife, maybe.”

  “Like I said at the time, lucky escape for you. Think of how many brunches we could have dined out on laughing at his idea of romance.”

  “The card was sweet, ‘To the most beautiful mother in the world’.”

  “Again, icky unless it’s on Mother’s Day.”

  “Which it wasn’t! Anyway, moving on, I’ve got a lucky escape from embarrassment if you’re interested.”

  “Always, you make me seem boring.”

  “I almost asked Coen out.” I held out my phone, protecting my ears from the predicted squeals. Abbie had manufactured a dozen excuses to come by the office to capture his every angle in her dreams.

  “That gorgeous guy who looks like a cross between Chris and Liam Hemsworth?”

  “Oh, don’t pretend you’ve forgotten Coen. Yes, the guy you wet your panties over.”

  “Once or twice,” Abbie giggled. “Oh, my! Why did you even hesitate, I can just imagine the two of you together but feel free to send me photos—showing his best side of course.”

  “Well that would have been awkward. He announced his engagement.” I cued my embarrassing disclosure.

  “He kept that under wraps—how did he keep dating a secret with all the long hours you guys work?”

  “Mixing dating and work is easy when you are dating a co-worker.” Now I waited for the penny to drop. I’d prided myself on being able to warn my friends away from making similar mistakes. Not anymore.

  “But, you’re the only female in the office,” Abbie started. “Oh.”

  “Yep. The guy I almost asked out, came out by getting engaged. Apparently, they didn’t want their parents to know until they were sure.”

  “Luckily, you did
n’t out yourself.” Abbie laughed before self-correcting. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t very supportive. Bad friend, bad friend.”

  “No, it’s all good.” At least my laugh was genuine. Coen was a good guy and I couldn’t resent him finding his happily ever after.

  “What are you going to do now?” Abbie broke her laughing to ask the inevitable. “Time’s running out.”

  “For both of us unless you’ve got news of your own.”

  “Forget me, I’m a lost cause. What are you gonna do?”

  I clenched and unclenched my fingers, wishing there was another way. But truthfully, if I thought there was an alternative, I wouldn’t have called Abbie. “What else is there?”

  “Online dating? You swore off it.”

  “Well, it’s better than having to pay for that stupid cruise Zara booked. Can you afford it?”

  “Oh no,” Abbie cried. “I’d forgotten about the cruise. I better look harder.”

  Before I lost my nerve, I downed a glass of Dutch courage and created a new, fake profile using a silhouette of me from behind. Abbie, Zara and I had been enjoying afternoon drinks at the wharf. After I offered to take a photo of a couple who were the epiphany of love, the woman took some crazy snaps of us. Cropping my silhouette was easy and less embarrassing than having my face attached to the profile.

  Looking for fun this Christmas. Forget about commitment or love. All I want is a date to take home for a country Christmas lunch. Meet you halfway between Sydney and Canberra.

  I didn’t know whether to be happy or concerned when my inbox filled with responses. Who were these crazy people willing to give up Christmas for a stranger? Instead of looking through responses for love and romance, I decided to ignore profile pictures and focus on someone who could at least make the holidays fun. After all, I’d been clear that I wasn’t looking for someone to sleep with—this was about finding someone who wouldn’t bore me to death before we got through lunch.

  Country lunch sounds good. I have a grazing property near Cooma. Want to come down for the weekend to try me out for size?