1. Shane

1

SHANE

My heart skipped a beat when I saw the advertisement online, gleaming out at me like a bonfire out on a cold winter night.

Fixer Brothers Home Renovation Contest: Couples Edition!

I gripped my phone, staring at the simple ad on the screen like I was a kid who’d just found a golden ticket in a chocolate bar.

Yes. Fuck yes.

The jazzy piano version of “O Christmas Tree” playing on my living room speakers suddenly felt too calming compared to the surge of adrenaline hitting my veins.

This was what I needed. It would be my Christmas gift to myself. It didn’t matter what I had to do: I was going to enter the contest.

And I was going to win.

“This is not a drill,” I told my sister Mariel. “There’s a contest to be on the Fixer Brothers TV show.”

She didn’t even look back. She was reaching up high on a stepladder, pinning the last of the Christmas garlands around the living room ceiling.

I’d never won anything in my life—hell, I’d somehow never even managed to get so much as a participation trophy in anything I did as a kid. Soccer, baseball, basketball, football. I’d played and enjoyed them all, and I’d never been remarkable at any of them.

But I was not an average Fixer Brothers fan.

I’d wanted to be a home renovation client since the moment I’d first seen their TV show.

“You think The Fixer Brothers would come all the way out here?” Mariel said, stepping back down to the floor. “The middle of nowhere, Tennessee, to a house that’s a hundred years old?”

“Hey,” I protested. “I love my house, and you bet your ass they’d love it, too.”

“I’ll admit, it has a charm,” she said. “Especially around Christmas.”

It was the beginning of November, but my sister and I were steadfast: starting November first, we were allowed to hang holiday decorations. And that was exactly what we did, every year. She helped at my house, and I helped at hers.

She reached down to plug in the cord hanging from the garland and all around the ceiling, glowing white Christmas lights lit up, strung throughout the pine garland. These types of lights always had a way of making any room come alive, and suddenly my dusty old living room became more like a cozy, wood-framed hideout. Memories flooded my mind. The scent of ham roasting in the oven, Mariel and I as kids coming inside from snowball fights, and Gram laughing in the kitchen.

I felt like I came alive when those lights switched on, too.

The rollercoaster shitstorm of the past few years lessened, and I could remember what it felt like to be me.

To maybe even let myself want things again.

I glanced back down at my phone, the yearning in my chest almost too much to take. “The contest says it’s open to the whole United States,” I said. “Screw it. I’m applying.”

“It’s rare to win things like that. But I guess you’ve got nothing to lose.”

“Yeah,” I said, scrolling through the contest website.

She gave me a dubious look as she glanced down at my phone, seeing the details.

“Shane,” she said in a gentle tone. “Did… did you see that it says couples edition?”

I pulled in a breath of air, leaning back on the couch. “I did.”

“And that you have to showcase why you and your partner are perfect for the show,” she continued, “in a five-minute video you need to submit?”

I was like a stubborn puppy who wouldn’t give up his stick, not making eye contact with Mariel.

“I did see that,” I said, defiant.

She chewed on the side of her cheek. “How do you plan to… handle that? Being single, and all?”

That, of course, was the big elephant in the room.

Or the big elephant in my mind , because no one was more aware of my singlehood than me.

“How could I not apply, though? It’s my favorite show of all time,” I said.

It was an understatement.

I’d seen every single episode of their home renovation show, and I had re-watched all of them an embarrassing amount of times. I followed all of the guys on their individual social media accounts, too, and to me, the Fixer Brothers crew were even bigger celebrities than the damn Royal Family.

But my sister was right.

I was terminally alone, and the contest was supposed to showcase couples.

“I’ll… figure something out,” I told Mariel as she folded up the step ladder.

“This place looks damn good,” she said, glancing around at all of the decorations we’d hung.

We’d been at it for hours. We hauled home a Christmas tree, put up the lights outside, strung more lights and garlands inside, and arranged my seasonal plaid pillows on the couch.

“Gram would have loved it,” I said, already feeling the twinge of tightness in my throat.

It was our second Christmas without Grandma. We kept every tradition she loved alive, starting with these decorations and continuing into all the food we’d make on Christmas day. Her favorite was sweet potato casserole, and holiday garlands in particular were a must.

“We’ve got the holly garland and the pine garland. Yee-haw!” Mariel said in Gram’s exact voice, and we both laughed. “Both! Always use both kinds of garland!”

“I miss her.”

“I miss her, too.”

A few hours later I was sitting on a bar stool nursing a Rum and Coke at the Hard Spot Saloon, trying to take a different piece of advice that Gram always used to give us.

“I don’t care if you’re gay, straight, or any of a million things between,” she used to say, holding a finger high in the air as she narrowed her eyes. “You’ve always got to lead with love. Because nobody can fuck with that.”

“I’m definitely gay, Gram, and not anything in between,” I’d tell her, “but I promise I’ll always try.”

The longer I sat at the bar, chewing over the Fixer Brothers TV show contest that night, the less I felt like leading with love was even possible for me.

I was definitely striking out on my attempts to find a date here at the saloon, at least.

I was 26, and I’d been single ever since I left college.

Which was now five years ago. Alarmingly.

I had to do something. No matter how much I loved it, my house was ancient—cabinets falling apart, a stove that only worked some of the time, and a front door that let a vicious cold draft in on a windy day. It was a perfect candidate for their show.

… I was just sorely lacking in the whole “happy couple” department.

So now I was here, glancing around the bar, on the prowl for any guy who seemed boyfriend-eligible. I lived a five-minute walk away from the Hard Spot Saloon, and even though Bestens, Tennessee wasn’t exactly a gay hot spot, this saloon-style bar was the closest thing we had. I’d put on my cutest collared shirt that everyone always complimented me on, saying it brought out the blue of my eyes. I smiled at anyone who walked by.

Probably looking a smidge desperate, but hoping somebody else might be, too.

This building used to be an old, independent bookstore, and when it had gone out of business, it became the Hard Spot Saloon. Some of the built-in bookshelves had been left up, and they stretched from floor to ceiling, wrapping around nooks and alcoves along the far wall. Each alcove had its own pool table or big leather booth in it, and the bookshelves were now covered with framed photos of Hard Spot regulars from years past.

There was a guy at a pool table in the corner with a woman, plenty of regulars dotted throughout the tables in the saloon, and the usual amount of local farmers relaxing after long days out on the fields.

Nobody who seemed like they’d want to be my boyfriend.

I turned back toward the bar and ordered a second drink, feeling my Fixer Brothers dreams slip away bit by bit.

Maybe it’s time to pack up and head home. You don’t win things, anyway, Shane.

“Hey,” I heard from beside me a minute later. “You going to come join me, or do you just like the view?”

I looked up in the middle of a sip of my drink to see the guy who’d been over in one of the alcoves, playing pool with the woman.

Damn.

He was being awfully forward for a guy I didn’t know.

“What happened to your girlfriend?” I asked.

He was wearing a sweater with a tiny Christmas reindeer pattern all over it, which I couldn’t help but love. There was something about his eyes, too. They were brown, but speckled with green and gold, contrasting against his dark brown hair. His eyes had the permanently-sleepy bedroom eyes kind of look that I loved a little too much.

Probably straight, and definitely out of my league, but I definitely liked looking at him.

“Not my girlfriend,” he said. “Just a friend from my theater group. And she headed home.”

I lifted my eyebrows. “Theater?”

He nodded. “Local plays. That kind of stuff.”

I furrowed my brow. “There’s theater here in Bestens?”

He cast his eyes behind the bar, breaking eye contact with me for a moment. “Well, there was a lot more in New York City, but I haven’t exactly been able to break it there yet. I’m here in Tennessee until the new year, staying with my grandparents.”

“That’s a long time for a vacation. Two months?”

The guy moved his fingers over a knot in the wood bar top, his expression far away again. “My living situation got a little fucked up in New York. I’m back here for now.”

My heart panged. It was clear I’d hit a tender spot.

“Well, maybe I’ll come see one of your plays sometime,” I offered. “Here in Tennessee or over in New York.”

His eyes flashed up to meet mine again, the glimmer returning to them. “I’d rather you come play a round of pool with me, right now.”

Damn .

Something inside me perked up.

Something like maybe he’s not so straight, after all .

I picked up my glass and stood up. “Deal.”

He cocked his head to one side. “If I win, though, you have to tell me why you’re sitting at the bar looking so sad tonight.”

Damn. Knew I looked desperate.

“Sad?” I protested. “Shit. I wasn’t trying to look sad. I was going for… friendly and mysterious and radiating charisma.”

He laughed, and the skin around his eyes crinkled up. “I see.”

“And hold on,” I said. “I get to say my terms, too. If I win the round, you have to… tell me your deepest, darkest secret.”

I expected pushback from him, but he just nodded. “Easy. Done. I’m Rowen, by the way.”

“I’m Shane,” I said. “And wait a minute. How is that easy ? You want to share your deepest secret with a stranger?”

“No. Trust me, I don’t want to tell anyone my darkest secret,” he said, turning back to glance at me as he started to walk to the pool table. “I just know I’m going to win.”