You Can't Ruin Christmas

  You Can’t Ruin Christmas

  Book One

  Snowflake Creek Series

  Copyright © 2019 Olivia Noble

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Thank you for purchasing this book!

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter One

  Sitting cross-legged on the couch, watching the couple embracing on the screen, I wipe the sleeve of my Christmas pajamas over my eyes. This movie always gets me. Every single time. I dig my spoon deeper into the tub of peppermint bark ice cream, my first victim in the wide selection of junk food, candy canes, and cheap sparkling wine laid out before me.

  I am so swept away in the romance of the black-and-white classic playing on the television, whispering iconic lines along with the actors as they deliver them, that I do not notice when my roommate enters the loft. “I’ll give you the moon,” I murmur as hot tears slide down my cheeks and into the container of Häagen-Dazs.

  “Is that my ice cream?” Sven asks, as he drops his heavy gym bag with a thud.

  I jump at the sound and quickly straighten my body, trying to wipe away any evidence of crying from my face. When I see mascara on my fingers, I curse softly, realizing that I must have raccoon eyes. And I have nearly demolished his Häagen-Dazs. “Sorry, I’ll replace it.”

  He squints at me. “Are you okay, Mary?”

  “I’m fine.”

  The massive Swedish man does not seem convinced as he walks forward, examining the selection of sugary treats with a raised eyebrow. His looming figure blocks my view of the screen, and his judgmental gaze makes my cheeks flush. I tried to tell myself that I deserve this carb-bingeing session, but it is only adding an element of guilt to the sadness. Looking at Sven makes me uncomfortable, because of his resemblance to the person who ruined my Christmas earlier today. They are twins—not identical, but similar enough to be upsetting.

  “You never eat this stuff,” he comments. “You always say that if you gain weight you’ll never get any good roles.”

  I am surprised that he has any idea what I eat. Also, I did not want to be reminded of my strained career right now. Sighing, I dig my spoon deeper into the creamy perfection as I ignore him and lean to one side to get a better view of the television. Jeez, this dude sure does take up a lot of space. I find myself trying to peer between his massive thighs, but I can’t get a good view of the screen. Realizing where I am staring, my cheeks darken even more. “Can I please finish watching my favorite movie?”

  He moves away, and I am expecting him to grab his gym bag and head to his room, but instead, I feel a huge weight sink into the couch next to me. Sven and I have been roommates in this loft for years (along with two more people, thanks to the insane housing prices) but I don’t think we have ever sat on the couch beside each other. The other roommates all travel constantly for work, so it’s pretty quiet around here. Sven is usually always at the gym, while I am locked away in the home recording studio where I spend endless hours as a voice actor. Freelance work doing audiobooks has been keeping me afloat in Los Angeles, where the competition is often too fierce to get a decent acting job on film.

  Chances are I’ll never get to star in a magical movie like this one.

  Maybe I just have a face for radio.

  But I am distracted from my gloomy thoughts by the scent of the man next to me, almost more delicious than the peppermint bark. He smells like candy-cane sprinkled marshmallows sitting on top of hot cocoa, gently melting. I can feel that he is curious about why my face is smeared with mascara, and why I am eating enough sugar to feed a small village, but I am grateful that he does not pester me with questions. Leaning forward to grab a bag of white cheddar popcorn, I pull out a generous handful before passing the bag over to him. He takes it wordlessly and helps himself.

  We sit like that for a while, watching It’s a Wonderful Life and munching on comfort food. I’m so glad he sat down. It feels warm and reassuring to have him near, even if we aren’t saying anything. Sven has always seemed like the strong, silent type. We haven’t had many conversations—mostly because of how busy we both are, and how rarely we have hung out. But partially because I assumed that no one with that much muscle could have any room in his body for brains. His body fat percentage seemed too low. And brains are made of fat.

  Perhaps I was wrong. Even in the silence, I feel like there is an unspoken question, or some kind of tension. So I attempt to clear the air.

  “Sebastian dumped me,” I finally tell him. “Over text.”

  “What the hell?” Sven responds, seeming genuinely shocked. “After all these years?”

  “I thought you would already know. I thought you guys were close.”

  His chin lowers, and something flickers in his eyes. “We were. Our whole lives. Until three months ago, when Seb signed that contract to play for Philadelphia. Something just changed about him, and he grew this massive ego overnight. He forgot that he’s my brother. We came to America to play hockey together, just like we always played as boys in Sweden. But I got injured, and now he’s a big-time star. I don’t matter to him anymore.”

  “I’m so sorry, Sven,” I say, feeling my heart break for him. I didn’t know your heart could break twice in one day. I reach out to place my hand on his leg to comfort him, but I forgot that this man does not have ordinary legs. They are way past rock-hard, and closer to the texture of steel. A jolt of electricity runs through me at the connection, and I abruptly move my hand away, and take a small calming breath. He is way more muscular than his brother—I think he has been overcompensating with the weightlifting since his injury. “That’s way worse than how Seb treated me. Didn’t you spend a ton of time coaching him and being his personal trainer, before he got that contract?”

  “Yes,” Sven says with a sad smile. “Every waking minute. He used me, just like he used you. I saw how you took care of him, cooked healthy meals for him, covered his half of the rent so he didn’t have to work and could focus on practice. You should just burn all his stuff, Mary. We should have a huge bonfire.”

  A small laugh escapes my throat. “Oh, I couldn’t. That would be so mean.”

  “Mean?” Sven asks. “Have you seen his Instagram lately?”

  Swallowing, I reach for a bottle of bubbly. I am about to pour it into a glass when I realize I don’t have the energy to pretend I’m not going to finish the whole thing by myself in two seconds. I bring it to my lips and take a long gulp of the liquid. “Yes,” I say softly. “I have been aware of the multitudes of women posing with him in selfies. I thought they were just fans. Now I realize how naïve that was.”

  Sven scowls. Like his face actually twists up in anger, and it’s a little scary due to his size. “I can’t believe my brother is acting like such a dog. He’s my flesh and blood, but he makes me sick. I don’t know how he ca
n even look at another woman. If I had a gorgeous, incredible girl like you, I would never…”

  A funny little feeling creeps into the pit of my stomach. It’s not butterflies. It’s a little heavier, a little more liquid heat. Just the way he’s passionately defending me—it does things to my insides. I have to clear my throat to try to shake the feeling off. It’s a little inappropriate. “You think I’m gorgeous?” I ask him.

  “Obviously, Mary,” he responds with a shrug, like it’s the easiest thing in the world, and I’m an idiot for questioning that.

  “I haven’t… gotten any callbacks lately,” I admit. “I shot a pilot in the summer, but it wasn’t picked up, and… honestly, Sven, I feel so embarrassed of my body right now. I feel like maybe that’s why he left me. Maybe he doesn’t find me attractive anymore, and when he’s partying all over the country and meeting tons of pretty girls… Maybe I’ve just been working too many hours, sitting on my butt in the studio all day, letting myself get out of shape—and jeez, I just ate a whole tub of your ice cream. So that’s really helping the situation.”

  “First of all,” Sven says, holding up a finger. “That’s ridiculous, you’re smoking hot. Second of all—” He holds up another finger. “You just happen to be talking to Hollywood’s newest, elite personal trainer of A-list stars! Have you seen my Instagram lately?”

  My eyes grow wide with awe. “Yeah. You’ve got a lot of celebrities, and a lot of intense booty-sculpting. I’m not sure my body could ever look that good.”

  “Your body already does look that good,” Sven says. “But if you put your trust in me, and give me a few hours of your time at the gym on a regular basis—I’ll have you feeling amazing, too. You’ll gain so much confidence and feel like a million bucks. Seriously, Sebastian will eat his heart out.”

  Hmm.

  A revenge body? Tempting.

  It could also help my career. I ponder over this for a moment as I sip my wine and gaze at Sven’s face thoughtfully. “How hot do you think you can make me?” I ask him.

  “Insanely hot,” he answers without hesitation.

  I lift my eyebrows. “And when can you start?”

  “Bright and early tomorrow,” he answers. “But first, I want to enjoy the rest of this movie with you.”

  I have no complains about this.

  Chapter Two

  Sven has proved to be an excellent movie-watching buddy, and we have opened another bottle of wine. Both too lazy to get glasses, we have been passing the bottle back and forth between us, like comfortable old friends, drinking at a steady pace and chatting occasionally. This has been just what I needed tonight. And he has convinced me that beginning a hardcore workout routine is just what I need for tomorrow.

  My younger sister Clara is visiting soon, and she’s a dancer. Not a naughty-nighttime dancer who gets cash stuffed into her thong, but a legitimate prima ballerina, who will be starring in The Nutcracker in performances all over the world, this year. I already have tickets to her show in L.A.. It’s been her lifelong dream, and she has always been so insanely fit and way slimmer than me. Her body can do things that are so elegant, graceful, and precise, that I feel a little like an elephant beside her. Or a hippopotamus.

  Maybe Sven can help me feel less like an awkward hippo.

  Or at the very least, maybe I could be a hippo with a banging booty.

  “With respect to your personal training offer,” I say to him, “I’m not sure I can afford your fees. Your usual clientele is a little more successful than I am.”

  “Maybe we can work out some kind of quid pro quo,” he suggests, reaching for my bottle of wine and taking a drink from it as he looks at me. “Maybe there’s something you can do for me in exchange.”

  I feel my whole body tense up at this suggestion. Does he mean something like…? A film-reel of scandalous images dance through my head, and I am barely able to squawk out a “What?”

  “I mean my website,” he explains, as a teasing smile transforms his features. “Maybe you can help me redo my landing page so it seems more professional to new clients. Sebastian showed me some of the sites you’ve made in the past, and they were very sleek and clean looking.”

  He is sleek and clean looking. Yeesh. Did Sven put those dirty images in my head intentionally? I swear there was a suggestive lilt in his voice. I shouldn’t be having such thoughts about my boyfriend’s brother. I mean, ex-boyfriend’s brother. Is it wrong to think about him that way? I mean, he’s also just my roommate, and a handsome dude being really sweet, offering to help me feel better after a shitty situation.

  I reach out to take the bottle away from him, letting my fingers ‘accidentally’ brush against his, just to quench my need for a little physical contact. It doesn’t work. I want to touch him even more now, which is greatly annoying. There is a burning question in my mind, that I have been pondering for the past half hour: if I pinch his stomach, is it like pinching a brick wall? Is there an ounce of fat somewhere to be found on his body? If so, where on his body? And by any chance, is he ticklish? Asking for a friend.

  I think I’m just in a vulnerable state of mind right now, and Sven is like the ice cream and carbs. Something I wouldn’t normally indulge in, but today, I really wanted to devour for comfort. And pleasure. I don’t know if I ever thought about him like this before, but I feel guilty for doing so. Still, I don’t think any hot-blooded woman could sit this close to a ripped Viking and not have a few carnal thoughts.

  My eyes drift over his face and his mouth as I sip the wine. I wonder if I can taste his lips on the rim of the bottle. It seems strangely intimate to be sharing it like this, without glasses. Kind of like indirect kisses. I bite my lip a little, and chastise myself mentally for thinking about kissing him. I really need to get a rein on my hormones.

  I think I just had a little too much wine and ice cream.

  Is peppermint bark an aphrodisiac?

  “I’ll do it for you,” I tell him as I savor the wine on my tongue, trying to think of a way to pay him back for the dirty thoughts. “I am sure I can manage to make you really satisfied. With the website.”

  “Then we have a deal.” It is his turn to clear his throat, as he turns back toward the television. “I have always liked this movie.”

  “I was named after the main character’s wife,” I tell him, as I focus on what’s happening to George and Mary in Bedford Falls. “My parents used to put It’s a Wonderful Life on every Christmas, and it just became family tradition. We would all gather together in our pajamas to watch while sipping apple cider and nibbling fresh gingerbread cookies. Those were some of my happiest memories. I thought…” Trailing off, I get hit by the same pang of the sadness that drove me to sugar. All of my previous naughty thoughts disappear as the pain returns.

  “What did you think?” Sven prods.

  I give him a small smile. “I thought that maybe I’d found something like this with Sebastian. I invited him home to meet my family this Christmas, you know. In Snowflake Creek. I found an engagement ring in his sock drawer, and I told my parents and my sisters about it. I thought he was just waiting for the right moment. Can you believe I thought that was for me? I was so insane that I thought he was actually going to propose.”

  “He was,” Sven says quietly. “I helped him pick out that ring. He was excited about it. I don’t know what the hell happened to him.”

  “The NHL happened to him,” I respond dryly.

  Sven reaches for my hand and squeezes it gently. “I’m so sorry, Mary. You deserved better. My brother… something’s wrong with his brain. I was really looking forward to having you as my sister-in-law.”

  His hand doesn’t linger too long, and when it withdraws, I miss the warmth. “I think I would make a pretty cool sister-in-law,” I muse.

  “I probably would have made a cool brother-in-law,” Sven adds. “Never been one before, but it seems like a fun job title. Anyway, you should throw out all the damn socks in that damn drawer, and the damn ring. Or m
aybe sell it.”

  I take a long drink, emptying the bottle before placing it down on the coffee table. “Maybe I’ll just keep it and wear it to remind myself of how stupid I am.”

  “You’re not stupid, Mary.”

  “Yeah, I kinda am. This was a huge screw up. I’m the oldest, and none of my siblings are married,” I tell Sven. “My sisters have been too focused on their careers, and my brother is doing Doctors Without Borders in Africa. I was the only one who had a real relationship. My parents are getting older—they had us all later in life. I thought it would make them so happy to see me get married and have kids. I mean—it would also have made me happy.”

  I stare whimsically at the scenes of the movie. “That’s just my dream, you know, to have a big family and see everyone together for the holidays. Super blissful and happy in magical Snowflake Creek. My parents reading stories to their grandkids, the way they used to read to us. My sisters playing with the little ones in front of the fireplace. Snowball fights and ice hockey on the frozen lake with my brother. I used to imagine Sebastian would teach them to play hockey, and our future kids would look up to him as their hero. Maybe be there to celebrate someday when he’s on a team that wins the Stanley Cup. I thought he would make a spectacular dad—until the way he acted lately.”

  “This isn’t him,” Sven says. “I don’t think you were wrong about him. He was a good person. But it’s like my brother has died, and someone else has taken over his body.”

  “He’s long gone,” I whisper, “and all those dreams became a little less possible. I wasted so many years on that relationship with Seb. I don’t know how to start all over again with someone new. How am I supposed to do that? Use Tinder? How can I just throw it away and find something new? It takes so many years to get to know someone, and I want to stop wasting my years. He said he wanted the same things. We had a plan, and we had a timeline. I tried my best to be good to him, you know? I didn’t screw anything up. I was a good girlfriend. Why was it so easy for him to walk away? Why did he lie to me?” Realizing that there are tears cascading down my cheeks, I place my face in both my hands.