Chapter 2
If Nick Kinsley never saw another red-suited man with a white beard, he’d be happy.
He fought the urge to press the Delete key on the entire jewelry project as he adjusted the font size down.
The client had demanded they incorporate five golden rings along with Santa in the new campaign, which made Nick’s left eye twitch.
They wanted social media graphics, billboard mock-ups, a new campaign logo…
It all screamed Christmas, which made Nick want to scream back.
Everything was due tomorrow, and Nick’s co-worker and friend Ryan Sinclair had passed the template to him before lunch for his “sharp eye” to look over the samples one last time before submitting.
Which meant Ryan was sucking up.
Which meant Ryan needed something.
“See? What’d I tell you? So much better.” Ryan clapped him on the shoulder, jostling Nick’s hand holding the computer mouse. “I knew you’d know what to do,” he said and slurped the soda from his to-go cup from his favorite sandwich shop down the street.
Nick spun in his chair to face him as Ryan rested on the edge of his desk.
Brand Blizzard opted for open workstations rather than cubicles, which had its pros and cons.
Though lately, everything about marketing felt like a giant con.
“Uh, I went from Garamond twenty-two to nineteen, man. I’m not a genius—you did the work. ”
Ryan shifted his weight, hooking one leg over the other.
The motion revealed his Buddy the Elf socks, ones he’d probably wear year-round if his new wife would let him.
The faint strains of “Jingle Bells” drifted from the overhead speakers, adding to the tension headache climbing up Nick’s neck. “Well…it made all the difference.”
“Okay, what gives? You’ve been weird since you got off the phone earlier.” Nick tossed him the yellow stress ball that he always kept in reach of his computer.
Ryan snagged it with one hand and gave it a few pumps. “No weirder than usual.”
“Yes, weirder.” Nick caught the ball Ryan threw back, then paused. “It’s nothing with Lydia, is it?” The two had been married six months now, but the way Ryan talked, you’d think it had been six hours. “Don’t tell me the honeymoon stage ended already.”
“As if.” Ryan scoffed. “She’s obsessed with me, man.” He flexed one arm as if to explain why.
Nick raised his eyebrow.
Ryan managed to hold his straight face for about three seconds before his lovesick smile broke free. He shoved his glasses up on his nose. “And the feeling’s mutual, as you know.”
“As the entire office knows.” Nick threw the ball again, this time aiming at Ryan’s head. It ricocheted off his temple and bounced onto Nick’s keyboard. Thankfully, he’d already saved the template.
Though honestly, nothing about this campaign would feel like a loss. If it had been his ad, he’d have tried to get the client to veer a different direction. Less cheesy, more genuine. Less commercialism, more family oriented.
But what would he know about that?
Ryan returned the ball to its designated spot by Nick’s keyboard, between his AirPods charger and his favorite SHH, NOT YET coffee mug.
“Three more days, and Lydia and I will be going home to Point Bluff for our first Christmas together.” He spread his hands wide.
“Freshly fallen snow, Dad’s secret-recipe sausage balls, fifty rolling acres of my childhood. Lydia’s going to love Christmas there.”
“Nice. You got a good gift in the works?” Nick gestured to his monitor, which was probably the only one in the office that got dusted regularly. “I know where you can find a sale on jewelry.”
“Funny. We just did the ring thing at the wedding. But I’ve got the gift covered, don’t worry.” Ryan took the last drag from his paper cup. “What are you doing for Christmas?”
“Good question.” Nick leaned back in his chair. “I’m trying to decide.”
“Oh yeah?” Ryan’s voice pitched with way too much casualness, which meant he was up to something. Which meant Nick’s assumption was correct—Ryan was sucking up.
Ryan cleared his throat. “Decide between what, exactly?”
“Which TV show to binge while I eat ramen noodles.”
“Man, I know you’re not into Christmas, but that’s taking it kind of far.” Ryan’s forehead scrunched. “It’s just one day a year. Family, good food…what’s so bad about that?”
“Nothing, if that’s your experience with the holiday.
” Nick snatched a sharpened pencil from his desk and twirled it between his fingers.
He and Ryan had become better friends the past year.
Ryan had even gone so far as to connect his parents with Nick about potentially investing in his dream—one outside of the advertising industry.
But that didn’t mean Nick had to explain why he morphed into the Grinch one month a year.
“So tell me”—Ryan tossed his cup into Nick’s wastebasket, then hopped up on the edge of his desk as if settling in for story hour—“what’s your experience?”
Guess they were doing this.
Nick hesitated, craning his neck to glance around. The rows of unoccupied desks, laden with twinkle lights and mini desktop Christmas trees, proved most of their co-workers were still at lunch—or already using well-earned vacation time to start their holiday early.
“My Christmas experiences…” Nick settled back in his chair. “Let’s see. Last year, I played sick in order to avoid my parents, if that tells you anything.” He cringed as he remembered getting sick for real a week later, which felt like a sign from God about lying.
Ryan crossed his arms, as if waiting for more.
“Okay, the year before that featured eating at a Chinese buffet alone while my parents were with a client in England.” Nick snapped his fingers.
“No, Ireland. And the year before that, I made it through ‘family’ dinner”—he made air quotes with his fingers—“but decided to bail about the time my mom, wearing pearls, mind you, toted ‘homemade’ cream puffs from the kitchen.” More air quotes.
Ryan blinked a few times. “I don’t get it. That sounds delicious.” He leaned in from his perch, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I’m hoping Lydia grows into her baking ability. Don’t tell her that.”
“I’m sure they were delicious. The clients my parents were trying to impress at the time sure thought so.” Nick grunted. “Probably wouldn’t have if they’d seen the bakery box in the trash can like I did.”
Ryan shrugged. “Doesn’t every mom try to pass off baked goods as her own at some point in her life?”
“Sure.” Nick returned the pencil to the holder on his desk, pausing to align it evenly with his calendar. “Once or twice. But every holiday meal for my entire childhood?”
Ryan winced. “Yeah, that’s a flag.”
“I couldn’t relax in my own home. Christmas for the Kinsleys was just another photo op, strategically arranged to help them climb the corporate ladder. Everything always had to be perfect.” Nick swallowed. Including him.
Until the one year he wasn’t.
The sheriff’s firm grip on his shoulder, the echoing ring of the doorbell.
It all lived in Nick’s head rent-free, when he let it.
Ice crunching under his boots on the porch step, waiting for his parents to open the door.
Mom’s horrified face when they finally did.
Nick’s pacing in front of the decorated mantel as Dad created a verbal symphony of curse words and threats.
The snow globe Nick spun around in his hands, desperate to look anywhere but at the disappointment and anger on his father’s face.
Even now, fifteen years later, when Nick closed his eyes, he could still see the floating orbs of snow drifting around the globe. Tiny scraps of his epic failure.
He shook off the dark memories. “Long story short, I don’t have any cozy, come-home-for-Christmas memories like you do.”
He hadn’t mentioned the deeper reason for his hating the holidays, but that wasn’t anyone’s business.
The point was, Nick had learned his lesson and intended to give back, so long as he could find investors for his dream.
Ryan’s parents, Thomas and Grace Sinclair, had expressed interest—so much so, they’d called him privately last week after the conference call with Ryan and told him they were praying about a big opportunity that might be just what Nick needed. Then they asked him to do two things.
Pray about it too.
And not tell Ryan.
“So, anyway, Christmas Eve ramen noodles it is.” Nick turned to his keyboard, busying himself with uploading the revised campaign files, hoping Ryan would take the hint and head to his own desk.
Nick hated keeping secrets, especially from a friend, but he wasn’t in a position to argue with potential investors.
Besides, the Sinclairs seemed like wholesome people.
Surely they had a good reason for their request. Maybe they just preferred keeping financial matters private. Nick could respect that.
“Dude!” Ryan shouted suddenly, startling Nick. “You should totally come home with me for Christmas.”
“Aha!” Nick spun to face him, pointing. “That’s why you were acting weird earlier!”
Ryan scoffed. “I wasn’t weird.”
“Fine. What are the kids saying these days? Cray-cray ?”
“First of all, never say that again.” Ryan slid off the desk, his pants finally covering his stupid socks. “And secondly, that phrase is already outdated.”
Nick spun back to his computer. “Thanks for the update.”
“I’m serious, man.” Ryan’s face, lit up like the overly decorated tree in the corner of the office, popped into view in his peripheral. “You should come.”
Nick dragged both hands down his cheeks, feeling his five o’clock stubble emerging several hours early. Did hair grow faster under duress?
“Nobody wants to be alone on Christmas. Not even you.” Ryan spun Nick’s chair back to face him. “Admit it.”