Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
As a professional matchmaker, my biggest job this holiday season should be simple: find a date for the sexy single dad hockey player—aka my brother’s best friend—for his team’s fancy Christmas Eve gala.
Sure Rowan’s hot as a crackling fire and spicier than a gingerbread man, but he hasn’t just sworn off romance. The Christmas hater has made a bet that I can’t find him a holidate.
What’s a matchmaker to do?
Win, of course. Even if it means fake dating the grinch myself to get him ready for the real thing.
Only…these fake dates at Christmas tree farms and hot cocoa competitions in the snowy small town of Evergreen Falls start to feel a little too real as I get to know the man behind the scowl. Somewhere between kisses under the mistletoe and a snowed-in night in his cabin curled up by the fire (where the stockings aren’t the only thing hung), I realize I’m in over my elf-loving head.
And when Rowan opens up to me at last about his painful past, I’m determined to give my brother’s best friend the holiday he deserves.
But what if the only gift I want him to unwrap this season is… me?
Tropes: Holiday romance, brother’s best friend, fake dating, grumpy/sunshine, small town, Christmas competition, matchmaker romance, workplace romance
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
NUTCRACKER BAN
ROWAN
Two words that should not go together—nut and cracker.
But every November there’s an inundation of that cringey combination. Malls, seasonal decor, and the Nutcracker Auction that I’ve been kicking and screaming to avoid.
Because two other words that don’t play nice? Christmas and me.
I don’t deck the halls, I don’t dash through the snow, and I definitely don’t rock around trees, Christmas or otherwise. Trees are for oxygen, not for smothering with tinsel.
Unfortunately, I can’t stop the calendar or the professional obligations that have brought me to the dreaded Nutcracker Auction once again.
Well, technically, I’ve been dragged to The Resort hotel by two Christmas-loving guys I work with. Tyler and Miles ignored my protests that I’ll be watching the clock the whole time, not the auction. I swore that holly doesn’t make me jolly, but they still insisted I attend. Why have enemies when you can have teammates?
Outside the hotel, the world’s most infernal holiday song blasts its false promise that the season will be only twelve days long and not a torturous month of feral festive-ness.
“What kind of gift even is a partridge in a pear tree?” I ask them as we head up the garland-swagged steps of the hotel in the heart of San Francisco. “And why would anyone want a pear tree? I hate pears.”
With an eye roll, Tyler adjusts his Santa hat. “Of course you do.”
“Do you hate partridges too?” Miles asks, adjusting his red tie, which is covered with illustrations of dogs sporting jingle bells on their collars. “That’s on brand for you, disliking an innocent little bird.”
“No,” I grumble. “Birds are cool. It’s just pears I take issue with.”
“Just pears,” Miles repeats with a chuckle. “If only you hated ‘just pears.’ Your burn book must be as long as Santa’s naughty list.”
I yank open the brass door. “Is this the beginning of your seasonal wordplay?”
“It’s more the beginning of Grinch season, isn’t it?” Tyler asks his brother Miles in a way I’m meant to hear.
We head into the foyer, hung with far too many ornaments and wreaths, which is any number other than zero. “Yeah, well,” I grumble, “the Christmases I’ve had, it’s lucky I’m only a grinch and not something worse.”
The reminder of my ghost of Christmas past earns me a moment of sympathy from my teammates, but it only lasts so long.
“That’s why you’re here with us now, man,” Miles says in an upbeat tone that’s characteristic of the guy. He’s all about the bright side.
“That’s why you’re torturing a teammate who’d much rather be home playing board games with his kid than at a swanky auction rubbing elbows with fancy-ass people?”
“Fancy-ass people also known as our team sponsors,” Tyler points out unhelpfully.
“No need to tell me,” I say. “My agent has done that enough.”
Miles finally answers my question. “We’re here to remind you that Christmas doesn’t have to suck.”
Ah, so that’s their master plan. Too bad I’m out of holiday fucks to spend on what they’re selling.
The lobby is festooned with wreaths, garlands, and twinkling lights, and scented with pine. I bet there’s even mistletoe hanging all over the place, just waiting to trick people into thinking romance and Christmas go together. I’ve got the scars to prove they absolutely do not. “It looks like Christmas threw up in here.”
Miles and Tyler exchange knowing looks.
“Well, it does,” I insist, even though neither brother says anything.
Tyler sighs heavily. “Rowan, are you still trying to wiggle out of this?”
“Yes! Yes, I am. Haven’t I mentioned? I’d rather be—”
They interrupt in unison: “Doing anything else.”
“Oh, so you were listening.” We pass a waterfall sculpture spewing red and green water, two colors that nothing should spew outside of a horror movie.
“We got the message,” Miles says.
“We did,” Tyler echoes. “But now the deed is done.”
We’ve reached the entrance to the auction—a white door with glass etched with snowflakes. Beside it, a shiny brass plaque says, The Snowflake Room.
I stifle a groan and follow the brothers inside, where an attendant hands us numbered paddles. I tuck mine into my back pocket.
“You should bid on something,” Miles says. “The money all goes to charity. Didn’t Jason say that was another benefit of coming here?”
Jason Marlowe is my agent and, more importantly, my best friend since college. I trust him with my career, and, well, my life. But I could have donated without attending.
But like Tyler said, the deed is done. Time to venture into this dragon’s lair.
A holiday party can’t be worse than taking to the ice to fend off an opposing team’s vicious forwards. I train every day to jostle and elbow and, okay, fine, check as many guys into the boards in a game as I possibly can. What’s three hours of holiday-themed auction items and an infinite Christmas music soundtrack?
Miles pats me on the shoulder. “You’ve got this, man. I have faith in you.”