Page 3 of Fake It 'Til You Sleigh It

Ethan stares at me like I’m crazy, his puppy dog eyes wide with faux innocence. “Come on, Chase. It’s a Saint Patrick’s Day movie. A little bottle juggling adds some festive flair.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose so hard I’m sure I’m leaving permanent marks. “The script doesn’t call for ‘festive flair,’ you walking Calvin Klein ad,” I growl. “This scene is about a heartfelt connection between the bartender and his old high school girlfriend. Maybe between your protein smoothie and your latest Instagram thirst trap, you forgot. It’s this thing called acting.”

“A charismatic mixologist like me would impress his girl with tricks,” Ethan argues.

“You know what I find impressive about you? How quickly you derail a scene.”

“My job is to embrace the character, not put the audience to sleep with another clichéd ‘bartender acting as a therapist’ scenario.”

I feel an aneurysm forming. I start counting to ten in my head, but I only make it to six and a half before I imagine all the ways I could “accidentally” injure Ethan without getting sued.

“Look here,Biceps for Brains. That ‘cliché’ scene establishes their relationship. Now do your job. Stand there and look pretty.”

“If you say so.” Ethan shrugs, a little nonchalance lightly sprinkled in with disrespect. “But I still say some improv would spice it up.” He turns to the crew. “Am I right?”

I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Crew members nod enthusiastically. Traitors. Sorry if I’m not all cartwheels and fun, but someone has to wear the fucking mom jeans and make sure shit happens.

“More acting, less thinking, Ethan,” I say, my jaw clenched so tight I could spit out tooth dust. “You’re hired to tell the story as written.”

“All right, all right.” He holds up his hands. “One boring, by-the-book barkeep coming right up.”

“From the top,” I shout, my voice a blend ofI’m so doneandI might commit murder today. “And… action!”

Our leading lady enters the bar again, nailing her melancholy demeanor. Ethan opens his mouth… and out comes the worst Irish accent I’ve ever had the misfortune of hearing.

“Welcome, lassie, to thee Emerald Pub!” he bellows, sounding like a drunk leprechaun with a head cold. “Ever tried a green ale? It’s so good, it’ll make ye think you’ve found a pot of gold!”

He sticks out his tongue, and it’s a shocking shade of green. The crew bursts out laughing.

“If ye think the beer’s good, wait till ye see my leprechaun dance!” He launches into a complete mockery of an Irish jig.It’s like he’s trying to put out a fire in his pants while being electrocuted.

“Cut!” I say for the millionth time.

My assistant Taylor quickly approaches. “The executives want to see you in their office… now.”

I groan, rubbing my temples. Great. More stress on top of my already stressful day. I yell into my megaphone. “That’s lunch, everyone! Be back on set in forty-five minutes sharp.”

As I storm off, Ethan’s laughter echoes behind me—a personal soundtrack to my slow descent into madness.

***

I strut down thefestive hallway of the studio offices, which are engulfed in garlands and fairy lights—Santa’s little helpers have been hard at work. Since I’ve been filming a Saint Patrick’s Day movie on the daily, it’s easy to forget Christmas is lurking around the corner like a creepy elf on a shelf.

For the last three and a half years, I’ve been directing movies for the Cherish Channel—a dream job that still excites me when I’m not drowning in drama. As a kid, these love stories were my obsession. Heartwarming tales of romance and finding yourself? Gimme, gimme, gimme! Especially the Christmas ones. They were my comfort food, my escape from reality.

I’ve never told a soul, but those movies were my lifeline during the holidays. Not all of us had an idyllic Christmas with matching pajamas and Pinterest-worthy gingerbread houses.

Some of us had a dad who drank too much and disappointment became the theme of our family life. But the Cherish Channel was always there, an around-the-clock escape from my unhappy childhood.

Now I’m the one in charge. The only person who can let me down is me. I have no interest in fairy-tale love myself, but I’mhappy to create that dream for others. I’ve learned that make-believe is less painful than reality. You can’t get your heart broken when it’s all pretend.

I pass by the poster for my first film,Jingle Jokes & Mistletoe, and can’t help but smile. That little gem became the most viewed movie ever on the network—so popular that Ethan was dubbed the “King of Christmas.”Gag me with a candy cane.

The movie was so successful that the studio hired me to direct four more movies.

A dream come true… right?

Except they slapped on this one teensy, annoying-as-hell condition. One that has snowballed into a full-blown, life-ruining nightmare: Ethan must be my leading man.

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