Not Another Christmas Movie

Cole looked up from his desk and grinned. "That can be our code word for 'it's doughnut time.'" He practically bounded out from behind his desk. "Come on. Let's get there before the sprinkled ones are all claimed."

On Thursday, Cole asked how I took my coffee.

"Black, like my soul," I muttered.

His surprised laugh startled me and I jumped, realizing I had answered without thinking.

"That's a good one," he said. "You seem more of a purple soul to me, though."

"Indigo is the lightest I'll go."

"Indigo it is. Want me to grab you one? I was just getting myself a refill."

"That'd be great. But actually, can you add some cream and sugar?"

His laughter echoed down the hallway and I couldn't help but join in.

The next week, we were eating lunch together almost every day. The week after that, no one could figure out why he was calling me Martha, and I didn't care to explain how Cole had teased me about constantly taking negative press and telling everyone "it's a good thing." And the week after that, we were officially dubbed office spouses by Karen from Legal, despite me rolling my eyes at the ridiculous concept of being a work wife.

I liked Cole as a person, I really did. It wasn't just the gloriously broad smile or his musical voice or those strong, soft hands. It wasn't just because I wanted to run my fingers along that scar on his cheek until my hands met his chin, tilting his face up to kiss me. He was quick-witted and funny, but also one of the nicest people I had ever met. The chemistry between us was indisputable, despite the fact he was annoyingly cheerful all the time, and I tended to take a more cynical view of things.

More often than not, I could be found rolling my eyes at Cole's enthusiasm for something and he could be found laughing in surprise at some dark joke I'd made. As the weeks went on, I found it harder and harder to follow that good life rule of not developing a crush on the fucking HR manager. More than once, I caught myself staring at Cole. And definitely more than once, I caught him staring back.

The nice thing about being a contract employee is that there was a clear end date. So while it was my own personal credence not to fuck anyone I worked with, there was a set deadline on my employment there, after which Cole and I would no longer be working together.

I didn't think Cole was the kind of person I'd end up doing anything besides fucking, but that was all right with me. Relationships were a pain, especially when I moved around so much, and I couldn't deny that my attraction to Cole had started off as a solely physical thing. Sometimes, though, when I caught myself staring at him before he did, I thought maybe there was something more. It was a terrifying thought, and I pushed it from my mind with a vengeance.

I say all this so that it's clear just how jarring it was when Cole walked up to my desk on the morning of December third wearing a Santa hat and a sprig of holly pinned to his suit jacket.

It was like the start of a crappy Hallmark Christmas movie. There I was, the rough-around-the-edges heroine, hilariously funny and super hot, of course. Sitting at my desk, minding my own business, when the joyful and wholesome, incredibly handsome male lead entered the hallway. I could almost hear the promo playing over us.

Cole loves Christmas. He would celebrate every single day, if he could. But a tragic incident in Nicki's past has left her with a hole in her heart where her Christmas spirit should be. What happens when these two unlikely friends must face their differences? This year, Nicki might just get some Cole in her stocking and save Christmas in the meantime.

"Ho ho ho!"

"No."

Cole laughed. "What?"

"No Christmas stuff. This is a Christmas-free zone."

He leaned against my desk. "I would have thought this is right up your alley."

"I don't celebrate Christmas."

It was one of the few times I rattled Cole. His eyes widened and he cringed.

"Shit, sorry. Am I being insensitive?"

I shook my head. "Nothing like that. I'm not religious or anything. I just don't like Christmas."

"You don't like it? What's not to like?"

I tried to laugh, but it was definitely forced. "It's kind of obnoxious, you know?"

Cole clutched his chest. "Obnoxious? Spreading Christmas cheer, far and wide for all to hear? It's glorious!"

"Hmm. Count me out." I turned back to my computer and pretended to type up a press release.

"Not a chance. You wait, Martha. Like you always say, 'it's a good thing.'"

I smiled in spite of myself. "You do you, Cole. I'm not a Christmas person."

"Challenge accepted."

"That wasn't a challenge!"

"Too late, it's accepted. By the end of the week, you'll be dripping with Christmas spirit."

He sauntered down the hallway like an oversized elf, and I rolled my eyes. Thoughts of Cole often had me dripping with something, but it sure wasn't Christmas spirit. Despite his insistence, I assumed he would drop the issue.

I realized very quickly that I had underestimated Cole.

When I arrived at work the next morning, there was a small red box on my desk. Frowning, I picked it up, opened the lid, and immediately rolled my eyes. A small ornament was inside, shaped like a chimney with a set of legs poking out the top. I put my purse and coat away, picked up the box, and walked to Cole's office.

He was sitting at his computer and did an awful job of pretending to look casual when I walked in holding the box.

"No," I said.

"Good morning to you, too."

"Cole, I don't do Christmas. Take this back."

He blinked up at me. "Take what back?"

"The gift! I don't want it."

"Gift? I didn't bring any gift. Must have been Santa."

I glared at him. "Okay then. Cole, somebody left this box with a decoration in it on my desk. I have no use for decorations because Christmas is stupid. Would you like it?"

"Nope. You should hang onto it, just in case you realize that Christmas isn't stupid."

"You're obnoxious," I muttered, and stormed out of his office.

The next day, I was hunched over my keyboard typing furiously when I heard squeals of excitement coming from down the hall. Larissa's voice drifted from her reception desk.

"Of course I love Christmas! Thank you so much, Cole! This is the perfect afternoon pick-me-up."

"Enjoy! It was my mom's recipe."

I glanced down the hallway out of the corner of my eye. Cole was walking towards me with a large white tray, the bobble on his Santa hat bouncing as he came my way. I steeled myself and continue typing.

"Afternoon, Nicki!" he exclaimed. "I didn't see you at lunch today."

"Couldn't get away," I muttered.

"You must be hungry. Cookie?"

He held the tray towards me and I stopped typing. The tray was filled with soft gingerbread cookies, and I could smell the spices from where I sat. My mouth betrayed me and began to water. I'm not joking when I say that they were the most delicious looking cookies I think I had ever seen. Deep brown, with glittering sugar sprinkled all over the cracked tops. Between the intoxicating scent and the fact that I hadn't eaten since a quick piece of toast at breakfast, I couldn't help myself.

"Yeah, actually."

As I reached for one, Cole pulled the tray back. "One caveat. You have to say 'I love Christmas' to get a cookie."

Normally when Cole grinned, I melted a bit. At that moment, I wanted to slap him.

"Fuck off." I opened my desk drawer and grabbed a bag of baby carrots, glared at Cole, and bit one.

"Oh, come on," he protested. "You can't just say that you love Christmas? Not even for my famous gingerbread?"

I threw the other half of the carrot at his head and returned to typing.

His insistence continued, and my mood didn't improve over the next few days. I stopped greeting Cole when I saw him, and didn't go to the break room to grab anything unless I was sure he wasn't there. Maybe it was petty of me, but I didn't want to celebrate Christmas. It was a miserable time of year, and I was upset that my friend wouldn't drop the damn issue.

On Monday, Cole came in carrying a large Crock-Pot and dropped it off in the break room. I couldn't tell what he was doing until about an hour later. Larissa had dipped into the room to grab a refill of coffee, and when she walked past my desk after leaving, the scent of chocolate and peppermint followed her.

They don't say that scent is the strongest memory trigger for nothing. The second I inhaled, I was transported back to my old living room, watching my world shatter around me as the tree from my Christmas village hit the mantel. I bit my lip, willing the bile that had jumped into my throat back down, and pushed memories of Frank from my mind.

My mood declined as the scent of hot chocolate permeated the office more and more. It was lunchtime when Cole finally went back to the break room. Voices rose in delight as he served up peppermint hot chocolate to everyone—"real hot chocolate, not that garbage made from powder," he kept saying—and people hurried to and from the break room to get in on it. I caught sight of the treat more than once. People carried festive red and white paper cups topped with whipped cream, red and white sprinkles, and a mini candy cane.

I refused to admit that it both looked and smelled delicious. Peppermint hot chocolate used to be one of my favourite things in the world. I hadn't so much as sniffed it since that horrible Christmas three years earlier and I was determined that it wouldn't sway me. Christmas was stupid. Christmas was obnoxious. And peppermint hot chocolate was not worth admitting otherwise.

The break room quieted down and people returned to their desks and offices. Slowly, but surely, the aroma of hot chocolate faded until it was just another distant memory. I used the lack of distraction to bury myself in the project I was working on, and it wasn't until the aroma began to strengthen again that I realized Cole was standing by my desk.

He was holding a mug, still steaming, a glob of whipped cream on top. There were no sprinkles, no candy cane, and the mug was just one of the regular break room ones.

Cole opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

"What am I supposed to do to get a cup of hot chocolate? Sing you a carol? Suck off Santa?"

He looked embarrassed and shook his head, placing the mug on my desk. "I'm sorry."

I hadn't been expecting that, and I'm sure my face showed how suspicious I was.

"Really, I am," he said. His hand flitted to the side of his face, almost unconsciously touching the scar there. "I know you're busy with work, but I also know you're avoiding me. I'm sorry I pushed the Christmas thing on you so much."

He seemed sincere, but then again, he always seemed sincere. It was up to me whether to trust him or not. Sighing, I nodded.

"Thank you, Cole. I accept the apology. I'm sorry I threw a carrot at you."

He snorted and within seconds, we were both laughing. After he went back to his desk, I stared at the mug for a long time.

One sip couldn't hurt, I reasoned. Just to try it. He'd gone out of his way to make sure it was as un-Christmassy as possible. It was just a nice thing for one friend to do for another. Besides, if I didn't drink it, I would have to get up and go to the break room to dump it out. What a waste.

I took a sip and my eyes closed involuntarily as I nearly shuddered. The damn thing was fucking delicious.

**

Things didn't quite go back to normal after Cole's apology, but they didn't get worse. We ate lunch together the next day, and he didn't bring up Christmas at all. It was tense, at times, but at least we were friends again.

Not that it mattered much. While my contract was technically until the end of the month, the office was closed between Christmas and New Year's. I would be on call for emergencies, but it was just a matter of days until I was done at the firm.

I thought I was home free. No more Christmas cookies, no more nagging to get into the spirit. Just me and Cole, hanging out at lunch, making bad jokes and blowing off steam.

Little did I know that it was a ruse. Cole started pushing again the very next day, even without bringing it up to my face.

I didn't really respond to it at first. I managed to put up with the fact that someone set up a Christmas tree near my desk. Placement wise, it made sense. The break room was right there, lots of people used the hallway... really, it was justified.

The day after that, garland went up on the walls around my desk. I gritted my teeth, but ignored it.

When a strand of twinkling lights appeared surrounding my desk, that was a line. As soon as I walked in that morning, I took the lights down and shoved them under the Christmas tree. After the weekend, they were back up, and someone had put a set of elf figurines on the edge of my desk.

Something inside me snapped when I saw them. It was my last week at the firm, and I was done with Cole's bullshit. I took the lights and the garland down, picked up the figurines, and marched into Cole's office.

He was on a call and frowned as I stormed in, but his face changed when he realized what I was holding.

"Sorry to cut this short, but let me call you back later, okay?"

He hung up the phone as I closed the office door behind me and dumped the decorations on his desk.

"Stop it," I said.

"Nicki—"

"No. Just stop." My heart pounded as I stood in front of him. "Next time, I'm throwing them in the garbage."

He had the decency to look ashamed. "I'm sorry. I didn't think it was that big a deal. I was just trying to cheer you up about the season."

"You don't know anything about me. Drop it."

"So tell me. Let's unpack this." He leaned forward and put his chin in his hand, mimicking a thinker's pose. His fingers grazed the scar that marred his otherwise-perfect cheek as he stroked his smooth face. "Why do you hate Christmas so much, Nicki? You don't seem like the Scrooge type."

Now, if this was one of those gloriously cheesy Hallmark movies, things might have gone a little bit differently. My mouth would drop open and I'd sputter for a moment, before collapsing in the chair across from Cole and bursting into tears.

He would be immediately concerned at the out-of-character reaction. The slightly cynical but strong and adorable female lead, crying?! What kind of trauma could she have faced to do such a thing here, at a workplace, at Christmas?

I'd spill the story out to him. Slowly, as I explained the actions of my ex, I'd regain control of my breath, my sobs only coming at convenient points in the dialogue so that the viewer could understand what I was saying.

"And that's it," I'd say in a shaky but clear voice. "I just can't stand any of it anymore, Cole. How could I possibly be happy again?"

"Oh, Nicki," he'd murmur. He'd rise from his chair, moving around the desk to kneel beside me. "How could anyone treat you so horribly?"

"I don't know," I'd sniffle.

"Let me help you," he would whisper. "Let me show you that Christmas can bring good things, too."

And then, of course, he'd kiss me. Very politely and with no tongue, because come on—kids might be watching! And it would be super clear that I was into it, but for dramatic purposes, after a moment I'd pull away and gasp.

"I have to go!" I'd say, rising from the chair and bolting from the room.

But that's what happens in movies, not real life. In reality, I was definitely adorable, but this slightly cynical and strong female lead wasn't about to start crying. No, crying would mean that I was sad. And I wasn't sad.

I was pissed.

My heart raced faster, heat rising in my cheeks. "Not that it's any of your business, because it isn't, but something shitty happened to me at Christmas and I don't like being reminded of it."

"What happened?"

"It's none of your business."

"Maybe I can help."

"How could you possibly help?" I kept myself from shouting, but just barely. "Put a candy cane on it and some tacky decorations and say it's better?"

"That's not—"

"Not what? Not what you've been doing this whole month?"

"I just thought that maybe if you told me what happened, you would feel better."

A dry laugh barked out of my throat. "You want to know? You really want to know? Three years ago, I was just like you. Only worse. I loved every stupid thing there was to love about Christmas. I was the jolliest motherfucker you'd have ever met. And I was so jolly and so obsessed with Christmas that my boyfriend got sick of it and fucked another woman. And told me about it. On Christmas Eve."

"That's—"

"The idea of Christmas makes me sick. I broke everything, I got rid of it because he was right. It's obnoxious. It's stupid. And I want you to stop trying to make me think otherwise."

Cole nodded, his eyes wide and face serious. "I'm sorry, Nicki."

"Good for you. That's just fucking great. I don't care." I turned to leave, then whirled back towards him. "I'm glad that Christmas is a happy, fun time for you. But I swear to God, if you don't stop, you're going to have another PR disaster on your hands when it gets out that I'm being harassed by someone in HR, of all things. So leave me alone."

I flung the door open, meaning to slam it behind me but thinking better of it just in time to let it close quietly behind me.

There was no one in the hallway, and I took a moment to regroup before walking calmly back to my desk. Just as I sat down, Larissa came out of the break room.

"Oh, what happened to those cute little elves you had?" she asked. "It was so festive over here."

I know people usually don't literally bite their tongues when trying to keep from snapping at someone, but my teeth were painfully embedded in mine before I could stop myself.

**

The first thing I did on Tuesday morning was call Angela.

"I need a private space for this week. I don't care where, I just can't handle being in this hallway while trying to finish this up."

"Give me half an hour, and we'll find something."

When she came to my desk twenty-five minutes later, she had an empty box with her.

"I have the perfect solution," she said, handing the box to me. "There's not a lot of meetings this week, so you can take over the HR boardroom. I had Larissa move anything that was booked, and this way you don't have to go too far."

It wasn't the perfect solution. I had hoped to be moved further away from HR, but at least the boardroom had a door I could shut and I wouldn't have to see Cole's stupid face thirty times a day. Less than an hour later, I'd moved into the boardroom and was surrounded by blissful quiet for the first time in weeks.

Despite my annoyance with Cole, I was disappointed to lose him as a friend. I was sad that I'd never get to explore whatever there had been between us. Whether it was just a quick hook up, or that "something more" that terrified me so much, it wasn't going to happen.

We had spent three months flirting and joking around and getting to know each other. Three months discovering there was definitely a spark between us. That was all gone. Yet another Christmas loss.

It wasn't an easy week. It was long, and busy, and frantic in trying to get everything accomplished. It was lonely, and dejecting, and while everyone else was looking forward to the break and spending time with their families, I had nothing to go home to. My next contract was in the same city, but didn't start until February. I would have an entire month of nothing.

By Wednesday afternoon, I had started feeling guilty for yelling at Cole. I replayed my words over and over in my head. Each time, it became more and more apparent that the words weren't mine. They were words that had been spoken to me, words that had scarred me, and I had thrown that pain back at Cole.