Page 1 of You Can't Ruin Christmas

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, watchingIt’s a Wonderful Lifeand 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 iswaymore 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 can 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 seenmyInstagram lately?”

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