“Hey.”

Helen jumped in her boots.

“Sorry, I just overheard earlier …”

Helen’s eyes flashed to the face of the man speaking. It was square, but seemed soft at the edges. His brown eyes glittered with pinks and greens from the lights hanging around the wall. Uneven stubble laced his jaws, the same dark shade of brown as his hair. It was kept short but had just enough length near the front to lightly mousse. He had a wide neck, and a sturdy body, but was neither really fit nor unfit.

“Didya still need a pretend boyfriend?” he asked, his voice like a raspy reed. “I could use the money.”

He would do.

“Yes,” she said.

“Your name was Helen, right?” asked the man.

Helen nodded as she stepped to a booth not too far from the jukebox. She waved him over to discuss business. Before they settled in, a waitress came over to ask if they needed anything. Seeing as how she had a reason to stay now, Helen opted for another Arnold Palmer to finish the night. The man put in an order as well.

“Helen Haliday.” She neatly folded her hands on the tabletop. “And your name?”

“Joaquin Quartermain.”

Helen stifled a crackle of laughter. “That sounds made-up.”

“Yeah, my parents thought of it,” said Joaquin. “Well, my dad’s last name is Quartermain, but you know …”

“ID please!” said Helen with a wry smile.

To her surprise, Joaquin dug into his pocket to produce a ratty wallet. The fabric-thin leather held his personal effects seemingly by sheer posterity alone, unwilling to admit the failure of a genuine leather product. He showed her his driver’s license. The DMV appeared to have caught him with a sunburn. It seemed real enough. It also revealed Joaquin Gareth Quartermain to be a few years her senior.

The waitress returned with their drinks as he pocketed his wallet. Helen took a long sip from her glass, still in disbelief that she had found someone. Joaquin grabbed his mug of pilsner and guzzled some down. He cleared his throat, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

“So how much are we talking about for the whole charade?”

“For three whole days, I am willing to part with six-hundred, cash. If you can’t make it for the first half day, Christmas Eve Day, Christmas Day, and then the morning after when we leave, I will only pay for the time you are there.”

Joaquin whistled. “You’re just sitting on six-hundred bucks?”

Helen sighed. “I was saving up for a tattoo but I thought this would be a better treat for myself.”

“You like parading around with a man on your arm?”

“Look, it’s complicated with my family.”

Suddenly a familiar sweater passed by their booth. A hoot shot Helen in the heart. “Ohhh! Looks like you found your man!” Max teased on his way out. He quickly leaned toward Joaquin. “Stay away from this one, buddy. She’s a little—” Thus, he whistled and twirled a finger by his ear. He cackled once more before leaving the establishment.

Slumping forward to hide her beet-red face with her hair, Helen shuddered a sigh. “I just want one Christmas to show I’m not some social screw up.”

Joaquin nodded.

She gripped her drink in her hand, letting the cold gnaw her fingers. “Year in, year out it’s ‘Oh! When are you getting a boyfriend, Helen?’ or ‘Have you been talking to anyone lately?’! And lemme tell you, I’ve tried! I went on more dates than I can remember just this year alone. But no one seems to stick for more than two dates.”

Helen gulped down her mixture of lemonade and iced tea, ignoring the straw. The rigid plastic poked her in her cheek. “I think my family’s beginning to think I’m a social degenerate. It’s not like I have very many friends to begin with either …”

Joaquin nodded again, taking another swig.

“So, you know, I’d like one year where they think ‘Oh! Helen can get along with someone! She’s no longer the weird loner kid.’ Plus my cousin got married in February—on Valentine’s Day, obnoxious I know—so I think the pressure would be doubled this Christmas.” Helen heaved a long sigh before quaffing more of her drink. Her eyes slid to the man across from her as she patted her lips with her sleeve. “Um, right. Are you in?”

Joaquin’s small mouth widened into a grin. “Hell yeah. I’ll do the entire time! My schedule’s pretty free.”

Helen relaxed and rubbed her face with her frigid hands. “Thank you.” She scratched her chin, meeting eyes with her new partner in crime. “So what are you planning to do with the money after?”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something. Six-hundred would get a pretty sweet tattoo …”

Helen smiled. Joaquin had a subdued way of speaking. His mouth barely moved. She was sure some people would find it unsettling, but she thought it was interesting. It kept his face ready for photos at any time, even candid ones. A thought flashed through her mind.

“Ah! Would you mind taking a photo with me right now? You know, in case people want to see us together, hanging out, not just at their house for Christmas.”

“Right, gotta make this look convincing.” Joaquin scooted over toward Helen, his rear making awkward noises against the vinyl seating. He leaned in toward her shoulder, grinning at the digitally reflected display of themselves in Helen’s phone as she held it up to snap a few photos.

Helen smiled at the awful flash lighting in the produced images. Bad photography made it seem more genuine, she thought. A hint of affordable deodorant greeted Helen before Joaquin shuffled back to his side of the booth.

“That’ll be a buck, please.”

Helen quirked an eyebrow.

“Jus’ kiddin’,” he said with a tiny grin.

Helen smirked. “All right. Well, it’s getting late. You have e-mail, right? I’ll send you more detailed instructions in a couple of days.”

“Sure.”

He gave her his e-mail address. She planned to contact him with her junk account. Should her better senses kick in, she could easily break off their arrangement before they were in too deep and not compromise her more sensitive information. Helen mentally patted herself on the back for her foresight.

She checked the time. A bus would soon be arriving. Helen bade Joaquin farewell and left him at the table to finish his beer. With one quick glance back and a wave of her hand, she bravely entered the unknown future unfolding at her feet. The bar door slammed shut behind her, her decision sealed by the wind. The cold night air slapped her face, seemingly in an attempt to convince her this was a stupid idea. But Helen ignored it, pressing on toward the bus stop. They were the first steps toward a, hopefully, good Christmas.