Page 61 of The Christmas Arrangement

“It’s bizarre, actually.”

“I know.”

“Like, genuinely unhinged behavior.”

“I know!”

“We love you,” Holly adds quickly, “but this whole idea is completely out of character for you. We’re just trying to understand.”

I grab a marshmallow brownie from the box, mostly so I have something to do with my hands. “He told me they never had a real Christmas. That it was always just the two of them, working. That she sacrificed everything for his career. I wanted to give him something special.”

“That’s sweet,” Merry says. “It’s also a lot of pressure to put on a new relationship—real or fake.”

“And on yourself,” Holly adds. “You’re trying to be the perfect partner who does the perfect thing. But maybe what he needs isn’t perfect. Maybe what he needs is for you to be honest about how you feel.”

“I can’t tell him I’m uncomfortable with his mother being here. I invited her!”

“You can tell him you miss him,” Holly counters. “That you want to spend time with him. That you feel like you’re on the outside looking in.”

“That makes me sound needy.”

“It makes you sound human,” Merry says firmly. “Ivy, you’ve been killing yourself to be considerate. To give them space. To not be in the way. But you’re allowed to want to be with him.”

I take a bite of gooey brownie goodness and chew slowly. “I’m not sure she likes me.”

“Did she say something?” Holly’s immediately on alert.

“Not directly. But there was this moment when she asked if I really thought Dash could be happy here, and I couldn’t tell if she was genuinely asking or if she was implying that he’s couldn’t.”

“See, that feels pointed,” Merry says.

“Or it could have been a mother making conversation,” Holly argues. “Context matters. Tone matters. Was she hostile?”

“No. That’s what’s making me crazy. She’s pleasant and polite but it feels like she’s elbowing me out.”

Holly sets down her mug. “Okay. Real talk time. What are you actually afraid of?”

The question catches me off guard. I pull my knees up to my chest. “I’m afraid she’ll convince him that this—us, this town, this life—isn’t real. That it’s just a break from his real life.”

Merry shakes her head. “That won’t happen. Anyone who’s seen you two together can tell it’s real.”

“It started as fake,” I remind her.

“And then it became real,” she insists. “You told us. The night he shared your bed, when you asked him to stay—that was real. And yesterday when told you he wanted to stay in town longer, spend more time with you —real. And this morning when you woke up feeling like you’d made a mistake bringing his mother here—also real. It’s all real. The good and the uncomfortable.”

I press my palms against my eyes. “What do I do?”

“You give them space today,” Holly says. “You let them have their time together but you claim your time, too. At the gingerbread contest, you show up as Ivy. Not as his fake girlfriend, the town ambassador, or the perfect hostess. Just you.”

“And if his mom tags along?”

“Then she tags along. And you’re polite and kind because that’s who you are.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “But you don’t disappear. You don’t make yourself small. You finally started taking up space. Don’t backslide now.”

Merry weighs in. “The point is, you can’t protect yourself and build something real at the same time. You have to choose.”

I stare into my coffee. “What if I choose wrong?”

“Then you learn something. But running away last night? Sleeping here instead of talking to him? That’s also a choice. And I don’t think it’s the one you actually want to make.”