Chapter Three

Star

Thursday night had me camped out on my couch, a glass of wine clutched in one hand and my phone on the coffee table while some random Christmas movie played. The soft glow of the string lights around my window made the room feel cozy, but my mood was anything but. Christmas was in four days, and I was in a full-blown crisis.

I took a long drink of my wine and flopped back against the cushions. I let out a frustrated groan. “Why, Star, why didn’t you just tell your mom you were single?” I muttered to myself. But no, I had to go and blurt out a story about a boyfriend that didn’t exist. Now, I was trapped. If I didn’t show up with this imaginary guy, the entire holiday would be a disaster. My mom would give me that pitying look, and my sister would gloat about her perfect husband and their perfect baby. I could already hear the snide comments.

“‘Oh, Star, still single? Don’t worry, there’s someone out there for everyone.’” I mimicked my mom’s voice with an eye roll. I swirled the wine in my glass before taking another sip. “Yeah, well, where’s that guy for me, huh?”

Three ex-boyfriends.

That’s all I had to show for my dating life. I had hit up every single one of them today and hoped and prayed one of them could help me. The first two? Married. The last one? Brad, who had the audacity to call me this afternoon from Ohio to let me know he was not only engaged but oh-so-happy in his new life.

No dice on my exes rescuing me.

I groaned again and louder this time. “I’m so screwed.”

I dropped my head back and stared up at the ceiling like it might hold the answers.

It didn’t.

Instead, I grabbed my phone and opened the dating app I’d downloaded earlier when I first cracked open the wine. Desperation had led me here. I’d set up my profile—funny but not too funny, flirty but not desperate, and maybe a little too reliant on old vacation photos—but I hadn’t started scrolling yet.

I stared at the app icon and debated if this was really what my life had come to. I’d heard the horror stories: creepy guys, unsolicited pictures, awkward dates that ended in blocked numbers. And yet, here I was, contemplating asking a total stranger to pretend to be my boyfriend for Christmas. What was I thinking?

“Probably that you’re out of options,” I muttered to myself as I started scrolling. The first guy had a shirtless gym selfie. Nope. The second guy? A photo of him holding a fish. Why was that so common? Did guys think holding a dead fish screamed “holiday boyfriend material”?

I snorted and kept scrolling. Five minutes in, I was more discouraged than before. “Yeah, Star, great plan. Maybe pick the serial killer-looking guy and bring him home for Christmas. That’ll make Mom proud.”

The thought made my stomach twist. What if I actually picked someone dangerous? My entire family could be wiped off the map, and it’d be my fault for bringing the human equivalent of a horror movie villain to dinner.

“Ugh, stop,” I said and tossed my phone onto the floor. It landed with a soft thud, and I reached for my wine glass. I drained it in a single gulp.

This was ridiculous. I couldn’t ask some random guy from a dating app to pretend to be my boyfriend. What if he said yes just to mess with me? Or worse, what if he got attached and didn’t want to leave? The possibilities were endless, and all of them sounded terrible.

But what choice did I have? There was no one else I could ask. All my friends, not that there were many, were either married, engaged, or not interested in helping me out of my self-inflicted holiday mess.

I grabbed the bottle of wine off the coffee table, refilled my glass, and leaned back onto the couch with a heavy sigh. Four days. I had four days to find a boyfriend, and at this rate, the only thing I’d be spending Christmas with was the bottom of this wine bottle.

I raised my glass to no one in particular. “Cheers to that.”