Festive Facade

The stainless steel counters in my pop-up kitchen gleamed under the fluorescent lights, a battlefield of prep bowls and razor-sharp knives. I wiped a smudge off my chef’s jacket sleeve, my reflection showing a tight, stressed face. Another fourteen-hour day done. My brother Ethan’s ringtone shattered the quiet. I almost didn’t answer. Family meant complications. Complications I didn’t have time for, not with Hanukkah at the cabin looming and my pop-up’s reservation list exploding.

“Bri,” Ethan said, his voice too cheerful. “Mom’s on my case again. About you. About bringing someone.”

I groaned, leaning against the cool metal counter. “Ethan, I can’t. The pop-up’s insane right now. And you know how Mom gets. She’ll be planning the wedding before dessert.”

“She just wants you happy,” he countered. I could hear the eye-roll. “Look, just… think about it? Maybe ask Reggie? He’s always been your favorite of my friends. And he’s single. Mostly.”

Reggie Bianchi. My brother’s best friend since high school. The perpetually charming, perpetually unattached ski instructor. The guy who could make anyone laugh, even me on my worst days. The guy I’d harbored a secret, stupid crush on for years. Reggie, fake dating me? For a whole week at the cabin? The idea was absurd. Dangerous. But… it might actually work. It would get Mom off my back, let me focus on prepping for the New Year’s Eve menu I was planning. Reggie owed me, anyway, after I’d covered for him with Ethan when he’d ‘borrowed’ Ethan’s truck for a weekend and returned it with a suspiciously new bumper.

I called him. He answered on the second ring. “Chef Rossi! To what do I owe the pleasure? Need a ski lesson to unwind from all that pastry?”

“Cut it out, Bianchi,” I said, my tone sharp but a reluctant smile forming. “I need a favor. A big one.”

I laid it out. The cabin. The week. The fake relationship. The part where he’d have to pretend to adore me in front of my entire, nosy family.

Silence. Then, a low chuckle. “You’re serious? Me? Your fake boyfriend?”

“Unless you’ve got other plans for Hanukkah,” I shot back, defensive already.

Another chuckle, warmer this time. “Alright, Rossi. You’ve got yourself a deal. But I have conditions.”

My eyes narrowed. “Like?”

“Like you actually relax. For one whole week. No stressing about your pop-up. No checking your phone every five seconds. And you let me teach you to ski.”

“Absolutely not,” I said immediately. “I don’t do sports. Or snow. Or cold.”

“It’s the mountains, Bri. In December. Cold and snow are kind of the point,” he said, his tone dry. “And it’s non-negotiable. Take it or leave it.”

I hesitated. He had me over a barrel, and he knew it. “Fine. Fine. But if I break a leg, you’re explaining it to Ethan.”

“It’s a deal,” Reggie said, and I could hear the grin in his voice. “Pick you up tomorrow? Bright and early?”

“Ugh. Fine,” I grumbled, already regretting this. But a tiny, traitorous part of me fluttered with something suspiciously like anticipation.

***

The drive up to the cabin was a blur of snow-dusted pines and Reggie’s terrible singing along to the radio. He’d shown up at my apartment disgustingly cheerful, a thermos of hot chocolate in hand. “For the road,” he’d said, winking. I’d rolled my eyes, but I’d taken it.

Now, as we pulled up the long, snowy driveway, the cabin came into view. Smoke curled from the chimney, and warm light spilled from the windows. It looked like a postcard. My family’s cars were already parked haphazardly out front.

“Ready, Rossi?” Reggie asked, squeezing my knee. His hand was warm, even through my jeans. I jumped, startled by the contact.

“As I’ll ever be,” I muttered, wiping my suddenly damp palms on my thighs.

Inside, the cabin was chaos. Warm, loud, wonderful chaos. My mom descended on us immediately, wrapping me in a cinnamon-scented hug before turning to Reggie with narrowed eyes. “And who is this?”

“Mom, this is Reggie,” I said, forcing a bright smile. “My… boyfriend.” The word felt foreign, dangerous.

Reggie slid an arm around my waist, pulling me close. “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Rossi,” he said, his voice smooth, charming. “Bri’s told me so much about you.” He smiled down at me, his eyes narrowing in a warm expression. It looked so real. Too real.

My brother Ethan appeared, clapping Reggie on the back. “Bianchi! Didn’t know you were coming!” He shot me a knowing look. I glared back.

The rest of the evening passed in a whirlwind of introductions, inside jokes, and Reggie playing the doting boyfriend with alarming skill. He fetched me drinks, laughed at my dad’s terrible jokes, and even endured my grandma pinching his cheeks. He was good. Too good. And standing so close to him, feeling the warmth of his body, the low rumble of his laugh vibrating through me… it was doing things to my resolve. Things I didn’t want to think about.

Later, after the latkes and laughter, Reggie and I found ourselves alone in the kitchen, washing dishes. He bumped my hip with his. “You’re doing great, Rossi,” he murmured, his voice low. “Your mom totally buys it.”

I snorted, passing him a wet plate. “She’s probably already knitting baby booties.”

Reggie laughed, a warm, rich sound that filled the small space. “Nah. She’s just happy you’re happy.” He paused, his gaze turning serious. “Are you? Happy?”

I blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I… yeah. I guess. The pop-up’s going well, and…”

“I meant here. Now. With me.” His voice was soft, his eyes searching mine.

My breath hitched. The kitchen suddenly felt too warm, too small. “I… yeah. It’s… nice.” I gulped, tearing my gaze away. “But don’t let it go to your head, Bianchi. This is just pretend, remember?”

“Right. Pretend,” Reggie said, his voice neutral. But when I risked a glance back at him, there was something in his eyes. Something warm. Something real. And then, quietly, “But what if I want it to be more than that?”

My heart stuttered in my chest. I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I had no idea what to say. This wasn’t part of the plan. This wasn’t pretend. This was something else entirely. And I had no idea what to do about it.

I stared at him, my mind reeling. The warmth of the kitchen, the clatter of dishes, the low murmur of family in the next room – it all faded away. All I could see was Reggie, his dark eyes focused on mine, a question lingering between us that I didn’t know how to answer.

“Bri? Reggie?” My mom’s voice sliced through the tension. “Where’s the extra menorah candles? I can’t find them anywhere.”

I jumped back, putting space between us. “I’ll find them, Mom,” I called, my voice too high. I practically ran from the room, my heart pounding.

Later, after the candles were lit and blessings sung, after more food and laughter, my mom dropped the bombshell. “So, the sleeping arrangements,” she said, her tone deceptively casual. “Brianna, your old room is all set up. And Reggie, you’ll be in the loft. But the thing is, the loft’s heater is acting up. It’s freezing up there. So, we thought… maybe you two could just share Bri’s room? It’s a queen bed, plenty of space. Unless… that’s a problem?”

She looked at us, her eyes wide with false innocence. I wanted to sink into the floor. Reggie, damn him, just smiled. “No problem at all, Mrs. Rossi. As long as Bri’s okay with it.”

All eyes turned to me. I forced a smile, my cheeks burning. “Of course,” I said, my voice strangled. “No problem.”

So that was how I found myself in my childhood bedroom, the door firmly shut, staring at the queen bed that suddenly looked much smaller than I remembered. Reggie was already sprawled on his back on one side, hands behind his head, looking entirely too comfortable.

“Relax, Rossi,” he said, his voice amused. “I don’t bite. Much.”

I glared at him, grabbing my pajamas and heading for the tiny attached bathroom. “This is your fault,” I hissed.

“How do you figure?” he called after me.

“You and your charming act. You’ve got my mom convinced we’re practically engaged.” I slammed the bathroom door behind me, changing quickly into my flannel pants and tank top. When I emerged, face scrubbed clean, Reggie was still in the same position. He’d taken off his sweater, though, leaving him in just a t-shirt that stretched across his shoulders. I looked away quickly.

“Come on, Bri. It’s not so bad,” he said, his voice softer now. “It’s just sleeping. And I promise to stay on my side.”

I slid into the bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. The bed dipped as he shifted, rolling onto his side to face me. In the dim light from the bedside lamp, his face was all sharp angles and shadows. “Thank you,” I said quietly. “For doing this.”