Honkers Under the Holly (The Cocky Kingmans)

8. Tinsel and Tatas

TINSEL AND TATAS

“ S ir Honksalot, that wreath is not a snack!” Mac’s voice came through my phone as I touched up my lipstick in the Crown of Curves reception area. “No—don’t you give me that look. We talked about this.”

An indignant honk, followed by a crash made me wince. “Everything okay there?”

“Oh sure. Our goose just thinks he’s an interior decorator now. Apparently, the wreaths would look better on the floor. All of them.”

I bit back a laugh. We’d only been officially together for a week, but hearing Mac say “our goose” still made my heart do funny things. “You knew what you were getting into when you agreed to goose-sit while Tommy was a practice and I was in Colorado.”

“Yeah, well, next time you have a meeting with April de la Reine, you’re taking the chaos machine with you.”

“Somehow I don’t think they want a goose at their brand launch meeting.” I checked my reflection one last time. The emerald green wrap dress with the fur on the cuffs and hem hugged my curves perfectly, making me feel confident despite my nerves. “Though he does have more InstaSnap followers than their current spokes model.”

“Speaking of social media...” Mac’s voice turned cautious. “Have you seen the latest?—”

The receptionist appeared. “Ms. Bauer? They’re ready for you.”

“Got to go. Love you. Don’t let Sir Honksalot eat Santa.” I would never tire of saying that. The love you part, no the eating Santa part. Unless, of course, Mac was dressed as sexy Santa when I got home.

“Too late for that warning,” Mac sighed. “Love you too, Liebling .”

Aww, he remembered the german pet name I’d called him at the airport. He was too cute for words.

I followed the receptionist down a hallway lined with gorgeous photos of plus-size models. My heart nearly stopped when I recognized April de la Reine’s iconic lingerie campaign from five years ago—the one that had made me believe curves could be more than just “brave” or “controversial.”

“Sara Jayne.” April herself emerged from the conference room, absolutely glowing in a designer maternity dress. “I’m so glad you could make it. Thank you for flying out to Denver. I’m a bit too far along now and Bridger said no more flying. Oh, and congratulations on the engagement. I always knew that goose of yours would lead to romance.”

Right. That. “About that?—”

“Everyone’s obsessed with IS’s video and the cover of the magazine,” she continued, ushering me into the room. “The spontaneity, the joy—it’s exactly what we’re looking for with Crown of Curves new line.”

The conference room held several executives who all looked at me with that same excited recognition. Great.

“Now,” April settled into her chair, one hand resting on her very pregnant belly that had seemed to have grown about a million times over since I saw her a month ago, “normally I’d be the face of our launch campaign, but baby Kingman number eight has other ideas. Which is actually perfect timing, because you’re exactly what this brand needs.”

“I am?”

“A fresh face in the plus-size world, already trending on this social media thing, America’s new sweetheart thanks to that adorable photoshoot...” She grinned. “Not to mention you’ve got that natural confidence we want to showcase. Magda told me all about the way you handled that photoshoot disaster with the hockey player? Pure genius.”

One of the executives—Janet, according to her nameplate—nodded enthusiastically. “We love how you’re changing the conversation about plus-size modeling. No more ‘brave’ or ‘controversial.’ Just beautiful, confident, and so... authentically real.”

“If we’re lucky, because we’re bidding late to get in, but we’re shooting for a spot during the Bowl,” April added. “Assuming the Bandits continue their winning streak, Tommy could be playing in that very game.”

My stomach dropped. The Bowl. As in the championship of professional football? Where Tommy might be playing? Of course they would want that. Because everyone thought we were engaged.

“We’re thinking a whole series,” Janet continued. “Women from all walks of life, not just models. But we’d like to start with yours—the plus-size model who captured the heart of America’s favorite bad-boy athlete.”

April looked at Janet funny and then back at me, giving me a look that seemed to express she was sorry Janet was being so weird. “Maybe we can even include Sir Honksalot. The internet loves that goose.”

My phone buzzed with a text from Mac.

Update: Santa has been rescued, but the wreath is a lost cause. Also, you and Tommy are trending again. Something about #RelationshipGoals?

I looked around the table at all these people ready to believe in me, in what I could bring to their brand. Then down at Mac’s text, proof of what was real in my life.

Sometimes the best opportunities come wrapped in complicated packages.

“So,” April leaned forward, “what do you say? Ready to help us change the fashion world?”

I thought about all the girls like me who needed to see themselves as beautiful. About Mac, who loved me exactly as I was. About Sir Honksalot, who had somehow turned our chaos into something magical.

“I’m in,” I said. “But you should know?—”

A chorus of excited voices drowned out my attempt at honesty. As April began outlining their vision, my phone buzzed again.

Don’t worry about the trending stuff. We’ve got this. Also, Sir Honksalot says hi. At least I think that’s what he meant. He might have just been asking for more treats.

I smiled. We did have this. Somehow.

Even if “this” now included a national fashion campaign built on a misunderstanding about my love life.

When the car from the airport dropped me back at the mansion,I found Mac on the front porch, watching Sir Honksalot arrange tinsel in the little evergreens on the steps with surprising artistic flair. Red and gold strands draped elegantly over the branches. There was also a brand new wreath hanging above the door.

“Is Sir Honksalot wearing the scarf and Santa hat from the photoshoot?”

“Your goose has opinions about holiday outfits and home decorating,” Mac said, pulling me into his arms.

“Our goose,” I corrected, loving how his chest rumbled with laughter. “And apparently he’s developed a signature style.”

“How was the meeting?”

“They want me as the face of their launch campaign.” I snuggled closer, breathing in his familiar scent. “It’s amazing, Mac. They’re featuring women of all different careers and backgrounds who happen to be plus size. Athletes, executives, artists... showing that curves aren’t something to overcome, they’re just part of who these incredible women are.”

“That’s perfect for you.” He pressed a kiss to my temple. “But I’m sensing a ‘but’ coming.”

“The Bandits’ PR lady called while I was at the airport waiting for my flight back.” I pulled back to meet his eyes. “They want us—me and Tommy—to do some public appearances. Play up the ‘romance’ angle.”

“Ah. Yeah, they called me too.” His hands stayed warm on my waist. “And how do you feel about that?”

“Weird? I mean, everyone thinks I’m engaged to Tommy, but I’m actually in love with you, and it feels wrong to?—”

“Help both our careers?” His smile was soft. “Sara Jayne, I know who you come home to. Who you love. If playing along with this misunderstanding for a while helps launch your modeling career and gets Tommy the sponsorship deals he deserves... I’m okay with that.”

Sir Honksalot chose that moment to present us with a perfectly arranged piece of tinsel, looking ridiculously proud of himself.

“See?” Mac took the tinsel and draped it around my neck like a sparkly scarf. “Even our goose agrees. And he’s very particular about his tinsel gifts.”

“You’re sure?” I wound my arms around his neck. “Because I don’t want to do anything that might hurt us.”

“The only thing that could hurt us would be passing up opportunities we’ve both worked so hard for.” He kissed me softly. “Besides, Tommy’s like my brother. If I have to pretend my girlfriend is engaged to anyone...”

“Your girlfriend, huh?”

His eyes darkened. “Well, I was thinking more like ‘love of my life’, but I didn’t want to sound too cheesy.”

“I like cheesy.” I rose on tiptoes to kiss him properly, only to be interrupted by an indignant honk.

Sir Honksalot stood watching us, head tilted, another piece of tinsel held expectantly in his beak.

“I think,” Mac laughed, “our goose is trying to tell us to focus on his artistic vision.”

“Clearly, he gets his diva tendencies from Tommy.”

“Speaking of Tommy...” Mac’s phone buzzed. “The team wants us at the Christmas Day game. Owner’s suite. It’s kind of a big deal.”

“Fancy.” I accepted another piece of tinsel from our feathered decorator. “Think they’ll let us bring Sir Honksalot?”

“Let’s not push our luck.” Mac watched as our goose waddled back to his bushes, clearly planning his next masterpiece. “Though I have a feeling the suite could use his decorating expertise. Christmas at the game isn’t exactly festive.”

I leaned into him, watching Sir Honksalot work. Sometimes the best plans are the ones you never meant to make. And sometimes the best love stories start with a little chaos.

Even if that chaos currently involved explaining to our goose why he couldn’t wear the Christmas tree star as a hat.

The owner’s suite at Bandits Stadium was about as rich and luxurious as I’d expected. Although, Mac was right and there was only the bare minimum of holiday decorations. A wreath on the door and some twinkle lights. Boring. Mac squeezed my hand as Violet Wolfner, the Bandits’ owner, waved us over.

“The dynamic duo ala Tommy Frayzer.” She air-kissed my cheeks. “I have to tell you, that Illustrated Sports shoot was genius. Tommy’s Q score is through the roof.”

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I could see the Bandits warming up on the field. Tommy was easy to spot, playing to the crowd as always. The Denver Mustangs’ defense looked considerably less festive about the whole thing.

“Mac,” Violet turned to him, “the way you’ve handled Tommy’s image transformation is impressive. From karaoke disaster to America’s sweetheart in two months? That takes skill.”

“Sara Jayne deserves the credit,” Mac said, his hand warm on my lower back. “She’s the one who understood how to make Tommy relatable.”

“By using a goose as a social media influencer?” Violet laughed. “Speaking of which, my granddaughter insisted we put one of those decorator geese on our porch. Apparently it’s the must-have holiday accessory this year. Who knew?”

I bit back a smile, thinking of Sir Honksalot in his heated doghouse, probably reorganizing his tinsel collection. If they only knew he’d accidentally started L.A.’s hottest holiday decorating trend. Every house on Magda’s block had a porch goose, and it appeared to have spread from there. Maybe they’d keep them out after the holidays and dress them up for all the seasons? Or would that be weird? I kind of liked the idea. We should send one to Mac’s parents after the new year for their new house.

“Now then,” Violet gestured to the catering spread, “help yourselves. And Mac? During a lull in the game, I’d like to discuss representation for some of our other players. They’ve got some shit agents, and I’ve encouraged a few of them to talk to you.”

Mac’s eyes widened slightly. This was huge—the opportunity he’d been working toward for years. “Yes, ma’am. That would be great.”

She nodded and turned back to me, taking my arm in hers and walking us both toward the buffet. “Now, I’d like to know just who dresses you. I have the hardest time finding anything in a size sixteen or eighteen in L.A. and I refuse to kowtow to the diet industry and culture. Heroine chic might be chronic, but my ass is iconic.”

Oh, I think Crown of Curves was about to get a new fan, and maybe a tagline.

The game itself was a blur of excitement. Tommy played like a man possessed, breaking through the Mustangs’ defense like they were standing still. When he scored the winning touchdown with seconds left on the clock, the suite erupted in cheers.

I screamed and wrapped Mac in an enormous hug, but then jumped back, catching myself from doing more and giving him a big kiss. “That’s our Tommy!”

Violet’s knowing look made me wonder if she saw more than she let on.

Later we all went out to Club Midnight, where they were having an all night long Christmas celebration. While I was on Tommy’s arm, I watched Mac chatting with some players who’d approached him about representation. He caught my eye across the room and smiled that smile that still made my knees weak.

“You two are terrible at hiding it, you know,” Tommy said, handing me a glass of champagne with little bobbing Santa candies floating around in the bubbles.

“Hiding what?”

“The fact that you’re stupid in love with each other.” He clinked his glass against mine. “Don’t worry, though. The rest of the world is having too much fun with our ‘romance’ to notice.”

He grinned. “Speaking of which, want to dance with your fake fiancé? Give the paparazzi outside something to talk about?”

I laughed, letting him pull me onto the dance floor. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Hey, my best friend is finally happy. I’m playing the best football of my career, and there’s a decorative goose wearing my jersey number on Violet Bidwill Wolfner’s front porch. Life is good.”

It was. Just as long as nobody found out all of our not so little secrets.

I found Mac in a quiet corner in the VIP section, his expression adorably confused as he scrolled through his phone.

“Hey you,” I said, sliding next to him. “Everything okay?”

“I think I might have a problem.” He showed me his phone. “Three different players just asked me about getting them a goose. I mean, Sir Honksalot is one of a kind, and I’m not sure I’m equipped to handle an entire roster of clients with waterfowl. The fountain budget alone would be?—”

I burst out laughing, drawing curious looks from nearby partygoers. “Mac, Liebling , they’re talking about porch geese. The decorative ones?”

“The what now?”

“It’s the new holiday trend. Everyone in L.A. has them. Fake geese wearing seasonal outfits?” I bit my lip to keep from giggling at his bewildered expression. “You seriously haven’t noticed that every house in our neighborhood has one?”

“I thought they were just really into Sir Honksalot.”

“Well, technically they are.” I curled into him, lowering my voice. “Our goose apparently started a movement. I showed him my phone, where #PorchGoose was trending alongside photos of increasingly elaborate goose displays. “Want to tell Sir Honksalot he’s a style icon?”

“Absolutely not. He’s impossible enough about his tinsel arrangement as it is.”

Mac’s laugh rumbled through his chest. He glanced around quickly, and seeing no one paying attention, pulled me deeper into the alcove. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“Mmm, not in the last hour.”

His kiss was soft, sweet, and over far too quickly. But the way he looked at me after—like I was everything he’d ever wanted—made my heart go flippity floppy.

“I love how you thought you needed to source emotional support geese for professional athletes.”

Another quick kiss, this one with a promise of more later. “I love how you make everything in my life better, even the chaos.”

We rejoined the party, maintaining our careful distance, but I caught Mac watching me throughout the night with that soft expression that made me forget about fake engagements and viral trends. This—us—was real. Everything else was just decoration.