6. Slip A Goose Under the Tree For Me

SLIP A GOOSE UNDER THE TREE FOR ME

“ L eft a bit. No, my left. The tree’s left? Just... everyone stop moving.”

I watched from the sidelines as Sun Chen, the legendary female photographer, tried to wrangle a six-foot-four hockey player, a willowy model, and a twelve-foot Christmas tree into the perfect holiday tableau.

Magda had called me a few days ago to emphasize how important this Illustrated Sports shoot was and asked if I would be onsite to make sure it went well. My job was supposedly just to be there to help in any way anyone needed. So far, that had mostly involved keeping Sir Honksalot from eating the artificial snow.

“Sara Jayne, sweetie,” Sun called out. “Can you adjust Svetlana’s hat? It’s throwing shadows on her face.”

I approached Svetlana, who perched on a ladder while wearing what had to be the shortest Mrs. Claus dress in history. She glared down at me like I might contaminate her with my plus-size cooties. She’d looked the same way at Sun, but had put on an excellent fake smile when she realized exactly how this shoot could make or break her career. Sun was that powerful.

“Don’t mess up my hair,” she snapped.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I reached up to tilt the fur-trimmed hat, catching Sun’s approving wink in my peripheral vision. The photographer had made waves last year by refusing to Photoshop any of her subjects, claiming genuine beauty didn’t need digital enhancement. The fashion world had been scandalized. Sun had been booked solid ever since.

“Much better,” Sun adjusted her lens. “Now, Leo, honey, try to look less like you’re planning to check Santa into the boards.”

Leo Iverman, star goalie for the Denver Blizzard, grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

“We want ‘Sexy Santa,’ not ‘Santa’s Going to the Penalty Box.’” Sun snapped a few photos and frowned down at her camera. Then she turned to me. “This isn’t working for me. Something is just off about the whole shoot.”

Uh-oh. That wasn’t good. Magda wouldn’t be happy if this photoshoot didn’t go well and right now the look on Sun’s face was looking like she was ready to throw in the towel. “How can I h--“

“Honk.” I was definitely wishing Sir Honksalot hadn’t chosen that moment to waddle past with one of Derek’s hockey socks in his beak. Why did he love athletes’ stinky feet so much?

Sun raised an eyebrow and her eyes sparkled with mischief. “That’s what’s missing. We’ve got sexy shirtless hockey Santa supposedly cozy at home before the holidays, and that should be whimsical, and this looks all too boring and like manufactured perfection.”

I knew that tone. It was the same one everyone seemed to get around this crazy goose. “What did you have in mind?”

“I want to put the goose in.”

“Oh no,” Svetlana interrupted. “No birds. I don’t do animals. What if it shits on me?”

“Perfect.” Sun clapped her hands like it was a done deal. “That’s exactly the energy we need. Get the goose.”

Sir Honksalot, apparently believing his big break had finally arrived, and decided to let everyone know he was ready for his close up. He honked at Svetlana, who screamed and toppled off her ladder. Leo, showing off those legendary goalie reflexes, dove to catch her. Unfortunately, his face met her elbow while her face met his shoulder, and suddenly we had two broken noses and no cover models.

“I’m calling my agent,” Svetlana wailed through the ice pack the assistant had produced. Of course, her agent worked for Magda, so I was definitely getting a phone call momentarily.

“Not the first time or the last time breaking my nose,” Leo mused, examining his reflection in a nearby ornament. “Very hockey player chic.”

Sun lowered her camera, surveying the carnage of fallen garland and scattered artificial snow. “Chic, and honestly, kind of hot. But not what Illustrated Sports wants for the cover.”

“Magda’s going to kill me,” I muttered. I guess Mac and I should start packing now. I hoped Tommy was in town and not traveling for some away game and could take Sir Honksalot in. Otherwise, the three of us were going to be homeless. Nobody wanted a homeless goose on InstaSnap.

“Unless you’ve got another sports media darling hidden in your back pocket, we’re going to have to cancel this shoot.” Sun shrugged like this was no big deal to her.

“I have an idea.”

From across the room, I caught Mac’s eye. He’d been helping set up lighting all morning, and something about seeing him in jeans and a tool belt had been doing funny things to my insides. He raised an eyebrow in silent question.

Before I could respond, my phone buzzed with a text from Magda.

Why is Svetlana’s agent calling me about a rogue goose attack?

Sir Honksalot honked triumphantly from his new perch atop the Christmas tree, Leo’s sock still clutched in his beak like a trophy.

“What do you mean you have an idea?” Sun asked, but not in an accusatory way. More like she was prompting me. Like... she’d planned this all along. Which was ridiculous.

“Mac is a sports agent, and I’m sure he’s got a client that could hop in on short notice.” Once again, I was praying Tommy was in town.

Sun nodded and was already striding toward Mac, her camera swinging from her neck.

She pointed at Mac. “You’re a sports agent? Who’s on your roster?”

Mac nodded, clearly confused about why this mattered when we had a model storming out, a hockey player with a bloody nose, and a goose causing a lot of chaos.

“Tommy Frayzer, running back for the LA Bandits.”

“Oh, yes, he’s deliciously perfect. Illustrated Sports cover guy for sure. Call him,” Sun commanded. “Get him here. Now.”

I watched Mac’s face transform as he caught on. “No problem. But don’t you also need?—”

“A Mrs. Claus,” Sun finished, turning to me with a gleam in her eye. “Someone who knows how to work with Sir Honksalot. Someone real.”

My stomach dropped, bounced like a red rubber ball, and went right up into my throat. “Why are you looking at me?”

Sun grinned. “You’re perfect. The curves, the natural chemistry with the goose, the way you light up when Sports Agent Boy looks at you...”

I felt my cheeks heat. Was I that obvious?

“But I’m not cover model material... yet,” I protested. “I mean, I am a model, but not for something this big. This is Illustrated Sports.”

“Exactly.” Sun was already moving, directing her assistants to adjust the lighting. “They want something fresh. Something authentic. Leo, honey, how’s the nose?”

“Had worse, like in last season’s playoff game,” Leo called from where the medic was tending him. “Wanna come kiss it and make it all better for me?”

“Why are the hockey players such insufferable flirts?” Sun winked at him. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ve got an idea for a naughty Jack Frost shoot that we’ll get IS to use for their January issue.”

I wanted to be like Sun Chen when I grew up. She was the mistress of her universe right now, and I was a little in awe.

“Sara Jayne, go see Paolo for wardrobe, hair, and makeup. Mac, get Tommy here in the next twenty minutes or I’m putting you in the Santa suit.”

Mac was already on his phone. “Tommy? Drop everything and get to Magda’s. No, you don’t need to bring emergency tacos. Thanks for thinking of us, though.”

“Are you sure about this? Will Illustrated Sports really put a plus-size model on the cov—” I started, but Sun cut me off.

“Look at me,” she said, her tone gentler. “I’ve spent twenty years in this industry watching them try to force everyone into the same tiny box. But the genuine moments? The ones that make a cover pop? They happen when we let people be themselves.”

She gestured to Sir Honksalot, who had finally descended from the tree and was now attempting to organize the scattered ornaments into some sort of pattern. Either that or he was eating them. “Even if themselves happen to include a slightly chaotic goose.”

“Magda’s going to freak out,” I whispered.

“Magda,” Sun said with absolute certainty, “is going to love it. Now go. Paolo’s waiting, and we have a Christmas miracle to create.”

As if on cue, Mac appeared at my side. “Tommy’s on his way. You okay?”

I looked up at him, at the way his eyes crinkled with concern, at the faith there that made me believe anything was possible. “Yeah,” I said, surprising myself by meaning it. “I think I am.”

“Good.” He squeezed my hand. “Because you’re going to be amazing.”

“Enough with the cute,” Sun called out. “Save it for the camera. Paolo, we need her camera-ready in fifteen!”

As I let Paolo usher me toward the makeshift styling station, I glimpsed my reflection in one of the giant ornaments. I didn’t look terrified anymore. I looked... excited. Ready.

Maybe Sun was right. Maybe the best moments really do happen when you stop pretending to be something you’re not.

Though I was definitely going to need someone to explain to Magda how I’d just scored the cover of a sports magazine and why my goose was now on her modeling client list. But to be fair, he did look pretty sweet wearing tinsel like a feather boa.

“Trust me, give me five minutes with a needle and threat and this Mrs. Claus dress is going to fit you perfectly, doll.” Paolo pulled at some material here, tugged at some there, and then stepped back to admire his handiwork. “A little sexy Mrs. Claus, a little old Hollywood glamour, and a lot of you.”

He was right. The red velvet hugged my curves, strangling the girls just a little, but the way he’d used a bolt of white fur trim to make a plus-size dress out of something that barely fit a size zero fifteen minutes ago was nothing less than a miracle. I looked like a 1950s pin-up Mrs. Claus in the best possible way. My hair fell in soft waves, and he’d given me the kind of red lips that belonged on a Christmas card.

“Places, everyone,” Sun called out. “Tommy, stop teaching the goose running plays.”

“But he’s really getting the hang of play-action passes,” Tommy protested. He looked amazing in his Santa pants and suspenders, and about a thousand pack of abs. Though I noticed they’d let him wear his lucky Bandits socks—the ones Sir Honksalot was constantly trying to steal.

“The goose stays on his mark,” Sun directed, adjusting her camera. “Sara Jayne, I want you by the fireplace. Tommy, casual lean on the mantel. Like you just came down the chimney to find sassy and sweet Mrs. Claus waiting for you after a long day of reindeer games.”

I channeled my inner Rita Hayworth, and I took my position. From behind Sun’s lighting setup, Mac gave me a thumbs up that somehow made me feel both more nervous and more confident.

“Perfect,” Sun started shooting. “Now just talk to each other. Be natural. Forget I’m here.”

“So,” Tommy said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Come here often?”

I laughed despite myself. “Only when my goose crashes cover shoots.”

“Speaking of...” Tommy nodded toward Sir Honksalot, who had positioned himself regally beside my skirts like some kind of waterfowl courtier. “Someone’s working that tinsel.”

“Beautiful,” Sun called out. “The chemistry is perfect. Tommy, move closer. Sara Jayne, that laugh is everything. Sir Honksalot... actually, the goose is nailing it.”

We fell into an easy rhythm, the conversation flowing naturally as Sun’s camera clicked away. Tommy told me about his latest touchdown celebration, which apparently involved the Macarena. We were just normal people, co-parents to a goose, and friends, albeit dressed a little weird.

“Okay, now for the shot I’ve been waiting for.” Sun lowered her camera. “Tommy, remember what we discussed?”

Tommy’s grin turned downright devious. Before I could ask what they’d discussed, he dropped to one knee in front of me.

“Sara Jayne,” he announced dramatically, holding up an enormous costume jewelry ring, “you’ve changed my life. No one else would help me teach a goose the importance of proper social media presence. No one else would risk their designer shoes to wade into a fountain after said goose. You’re one of a kind.”

I caught on to the game and pressed a hand to my heart. “Tommy, are you saying...?”

“Will you...” He paused for maximum effect. “Help me teach Sir Honksalot the Macarena?”

The entire room burst out laughing, including Sun, who was shooting rapidly to capture every moment. I smiled over at Mac, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was... scowling at Tommy? No, that must be his worried about what Sir Honksalot was going to do.

“That’s it,” she exclaimed. “That’s the cover! The realness, the joy... it’s perfect.”

Sir Honksalot chose that moment to snatch the ring and take off across the set.

“Should we stop him?” Tommy asked.

“Yes, chase him like the sexy running back that you are, Tommy,” Sun ordered, still shooting. “This is gold.”

I caught Mac’s eye again as Tommy chased our goose around the Christmas tree. He was looking at me with something that made my heart flip, something that felt an awful lot like pride mixed with... more.

“And that’s a wrap.” Sun announced. “Someone catch that goose before he breaks anymore noses. I’d like to keep mine intact, thank you very much.”

The house was quiet after the chaos of the day. I changed out of the Mrs. Claus dress, but kept the old Hollywood hair and red lips. Something about them made me feel brave. Beautiful.

“Sun sent over some preview shots,” Mac said, joining me on the couch with his laptop. “Want to see?”

I curled into his side, breathing in his familiar scent. “Show me.”

The first image took my breath away. Tommy and I were laughing at something, the Christmas lights creating a soft glow around us. But what caught my eye was how... real I looked. Happy. Like I completely belonged there.

“You’re incredible,” Mac said softly, his fingers tracing patterns on my bare shoulder.

“The styling team did a great job?—”

“No.” He set the laptop aside, turning to face me. “You. You’re incredible. The way you handled everything today, how you just... shine, no matter what chaos is happening around you.”

He cupped my face, thumb brushing my lower lip. “I need to tell you something.”

My heart did a complicated gymnastics routine worthy of the seventy-six Olympics. “Okay...”

“I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

“Oh.” My heart had a hard time finding the next beat. “The fake engagement, you mean. Right. Of course. We can?—”

“No, Sara Jayne.” He took my face in both hands. “I don’t want to, can’t pretend I’m not completely in love with you.”

The world stopped. Started again. Stopped once more for good measure.

“You’re what?”

“In love with you.” He leaned closer, his breath warm against my lips. “I’m completely, head over heels?—”

I cut him off with a kiss, pouring everything I couldn’t say into it. His hands slid into my hair as he pulled me closer, and suddenly the pretense of the past weeks melted away. This was real. This was us.

“I’m in love with you too,” I whispered against his mouth. “So much.”

Our kisses grew more frantic and Mac drew me into his lap. I straddled him and traced the strong line of his jaw, his shoulders, remembering all the times I’d wanted to touch him like this but held back. Not anymore.

This day was crazy and chaotic, and somehow also incredibly perfect. Knowing Mac loved me just made it all the better. It was like everything I’d ever wanted was coming to me all in one giant present of a day.

Mac’s hands slid down my back, leaving trails of heat through the thin fabric of my camisole. He whispered against my neck. “I know we’re taking it slow, but fuck you feel so good.”

“I only wanted to take it slow because... I was worried you thought I was crazy for getting us into all of this. We’d only been on like one and a half dates before we moved in together.” I ran my fingers through his hair, loving how he shivered at my touch.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been crazy for you since you asked me to trust you and announced our engagement. Probably even before that, if I’m being honest. Today... when Tommy got down on one knee, I almost jumped onto the set to punch him in the face.”

“I’m sure that’s supposed to be a red flag, but I’m finding it a ridiculous turn on that you wanted to beat someone else up over me.”

He stood, lifting me with him like I weighed nothing. “Oh god, Mac, be careful. I don’t want you to strain your knee injury.”

Mac laughed and squeezed my butt. “I may not be able to play ball anymore, but I promise I can carry my girl to bed. Now wrap those long legs around my waist so I can take you to our bedroom and lay you on our bed.

And wasn’t that a thought that made my heart race? Our bedroom.

No more pretending.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he murmured, laying me on the bed with infinite care. The moonlight streaming through the French doors painted silver shadows across his face as he looked down at me. “I’ve wanted this—wanted you—for so long.”

“Show me,” I breathed, pulling him down to me. “And let me show you how much I’ve been wanting you.”