Unwrapping Archie

By EmKay Connor

Archie Caddel and Anabelle Cypress have been best friends since the first day of elementary school when they had to line up in alphabetical order. Over the years, there were a few snafus thanks to shared initials, joint birthday parties since they were born one day apart in June, and co-mingled holiday celebrations as their two families became closer.

 

So, it's no wonder everyone assumes Archie and Anabelle are a couple who will one day reveal their engagement. When years go by with no announcement, the close-knit townsfolk of tiny Joy Ridge, Pennsylvania, decide to give them a nudge in the right direction when they come home for their annual Christmas visit.

 

Archie and Anabelle never intended to keep up the pretense of a fake relationship after escaping their small mountain town for the glitz and glamour of L.A. They dreamed of making it big and coming home with tales of riches and success…but year after year, their lie spirals out of control until the truth catches up with them.

 

Will the magic of a small-town Christmas turn their pretend romance into something real, or will Archie and Anabelle lose everything that matters most, including each other?

 

Unwrapping Archie is an over-the-top, holiday, instalove escape read. Curl up with a mug of hot chocolate—don't forget the marshmallows and candy cane—for small town shenanigans as friends and family in Joy Ridge launch a yuletide campaign to convince these best friends their fake romance is very, very real.

 

*****

 

This story was previously published as part of the Holiday Fake-Out box set (2021).

• Language: English
• Publisher: EmKay Connor
• Release date: Nov 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201134105

Book preview

1

Anabelle

Archie was late. As usual. Normally, I don’t mind, but our flight was scheduled to leave in ninety minutes and LAX was a madhouse.

Which was to be expected, four days before Christmas.

I leaned against a cement column outside the departure area and looked for my best friend’s distinctive reddish-blond hair. Since the guy stands six-two, spotting him in a crowd isn’t usually a problem.

What a relief that was one thing I didn’t have to worry about. God knew, there were plenty of other concerns on my list.

Getting through security in under an hour.

Trying to sleep on a red-eye squashed between Archie and the window.

Posing as a celebrity reporter who scooped all of Hollywood’s most salacious gossip to impress the folks in my tiny hometown.

And, most worrisome of all, coming up with yet another excuse as to why Archie and I weren’t engaged yet.

I knew that last one was on his list, too.

We’d been leading our family and friends on for, oh, almost ten years now. What had started out as a fake relationship of convenience—it kept folks from asking about our respective dating lives—had morphed into a big, hairy, audacious lie we had no clue how to climb out from under.

Come on, Archie, where are you? I went up on my tiptoes to peer past the mass of people unloading suitcases and hugging goodbye along the curb as far as I could see. No wonder he was late; every single lane was bumper-to-bumper traffic.

I checked my phone and tapped out an agitated message.

Where r u?

Right behind you.

Archie’s husky voice, tinged with humor, tickled my ear as he pressed close against me from behind, curving his arm between my breasts for a one-armed hug. I whirled in his embrace and flung my arms around his neck.

I’m so glad to see you, I squealed, a rush of pleasure zinging through me at the sight of his familiar face—vivid blue eyes accented with laugh lines, neatly trimmed beard a few shades darker than his strawberry-blond hair, and an easy smile that turned strangers into friends without a word. "It’s been weeks!"

It’s been nineteen days. He mocked my effusive greeting with a scoff but squeezed me tighter for a long, wonderful moment.

Archie Jacob Caddel was my very best friend. Always had been, always would be. Since the day my family moved in next door to his and his mom made him hold my hand as we walked to Joy Ridge Elementary School, he’d been a constant in my life. Even though he dumped me on the playground and dropped my hand like I had cooties, we were once again thrust together when the kindergarten teacher lined us up alphabetically.

Patty Albert

Tony Branson

Archie Caddel

Anabelle Cypress

Miller Duncan

As we moved up through the grades, I wasn’t always in front of Miller, but no one ever came between me and Archie.

Twenty-one years later, we were still bosom buddies. We’d left Joy Ridge to make our mark on the world—Archie as a freelance photographer and me as a journalist. L.A. was the extreme opposite of Joy Ridge, the tiny Pennsylvania town we grew up in, so we’d headed for the big city on the opposite side of the country before the ink was even dry on our high school diplomas.

Almost a decade later, I was writing for a community weekly newspaper in La Jolla, and Archie worked as a photographer’s assistant doing mostly weddings and family portraits in the Irvine area.

Not quite the glamour and wealth and notoriety we’d dreamed of, but we loved SoCal.

I can’t believe how many people wait until the last minute to schedule a holiday photo shoot, I groused, pulling away and snapping open the handle on my roller bag. You’ve been working sixteen hours a day for the last two weeks.

Just part of the job. He grabbed my hand and carved a path among the throng of travelers, completely unaffected by the crazy hours he’d been putting in. His easygoing personality was the complete opposite of my easily excitable nature.

You didn’t wrap any of your gifts, did you? I jogged behind him, my stride so much shorter than his long-legged gait. TSA will make you unwrap everything, and we don’t have time for any delays.

Not my first time flying, he reminded me as we joined the line to be screened by airport security.

A loud rumble sounded on the opposite side of the crowd, signaling either a shift change, which would add to the wait time, or a celebrity sighting. Contrary to popular belief, not all entertainers traveled by private jet. Quite a few booked first class seats on commercial airlines.

Wassup? I asked Archie, quelling the impulse to steady myself on his shoulder and pop up like I had springs on the bottom of my Uggs.

Kim K. He shrugged like it was no biggie to spot the woman best known for her ability to balance a glass of champagne on her butt.

What’s she wearing? I hissed.

I needed specifics because we wouldn’t be home half an hour before someone was asking me about L.A.’s stars as if I routinely bumped into Brad or Ryan or Channing or Scarlett or Mila at Starbucks or CrossFit.

Black leggings, short boots, a red cashmere tunic, and black Givenchy sunglasses. Archie knew the drill, and his eye for detail didn’t miss a thing. Her hair is pulled up in one of those messy buns.

We scootched forward an inch, and I made notes on my cell as the crowd’s response to Kim Kardashian rippled like a ground tremor until it faded away when TSA escorted her into the recesses of the airport.

If we got you a pair of oversized shades, everyone would think you’re a movie star, too. Archie tugged on a blond strand that had fallen out of my own sloppy topknot.

"The most I can balance on my behind is a