Love, Laughter & Happily Ever After: A sweet romantic comedy collection

by Ellie Hall

  I arch an eyebrow. “I do too.”

  “Funny, I never noticed.”

  The flight attendant sashays down the aisle. She places her hand on Max’s arm, bats her eyelashes, and says, “Sir, please take your seat.”

  “Sure thing, Chanel.”

  As he winks at her, I roll my eyes. This chick might be named Chanel, but her perfume doesn’t smell anything like those classic scents. Instead, her fragrance is a cross between bubblegum and doggy doo-doo—definitely not a winning combination.

  Why would Max be interested in someone like Chanel? Oh, yeah, he flirts with every woman, no matter what kind of perfume they wear.

  I stand and indicate the window seat. He looks me up and down slowly, then says, “You do have long legs.”

  After we’re seated and buckled in, he tosses me a candy cane. “Merry Christmas.”

  I wrinkle my nose and toss it back. “I don’t like candy canes.”

  Okay, we both know that’s not exactly the truth. I adore candy canes. Candy cane cheesecake, candy cane cookies, candy cane fudge . . . you get the idea. But there’s no way I’m telling Max about my obsession.

  “I thought everybody liked candy canes,” Max says.

  “Not this girl,” I say. “Why don’t you give it to that flight attendant, Chanel?”

  “Actually, she gave it to me.”

  “Let me see if I’ve got this right,” I say, shaking my head. “You’re trying to re-gift a candy cane?”

  “Lighten up, Zoe. It’s just a piece of candy. It’s not like it means anything.” Max offers it to the little boy sitting in front of us. Then he leans back and gives me a lazy smile. “You’re not going to try to kiss me on this trip like you did in Germany, are you?”

  I fling my in-flight magazine at him, then jam my earbuds in and turn up the volume on my phone. While I listen to Eartha Kitt sing Santa Baby, I remind myself that I’m a professional. I’m flying to Finland to do a job. I can put up with Max Guerrero for a week. Right?

  I have never been so relieved to close a hotel room door in my life.

  Okay, to be honest, I slammed it. Right in Max’s smug little face.

  Actually, is it relief that I feel? No, that doesn’t quite describe it. Satisfying? Maybe. Rewarding? Kind of. Pleasurable? Hmm . . pleasurable . . .

  No, no, no! Max Guerrero and the word “pleasurable” are two things that do not go together. Ever. Stop thinking about how your body tingled when his hand brushed against yours on the airplane. Stop thinking about how your stomach did flip-flops when his dark brown eyes held your gaze for a moment too long. Just stop it.

  I go into the bathroom and splash cool water on my face. As I dab my face with a hand towel, I analyze how I’m feeling. Being able to label your emotions is important. At least that’s what the in-flight magazine said.

  I straighten my shoulders and look at myself in the mirror. I know exactly how I feel about Max. Indifference with a splash of disdain.

  With that all cleared up, I get busy unpacking my suitcase. Then I collapse onto the bed and take in my surroundings. Birch paneled walls, muted colors, sheepskin rugs, and large windows looking out at snow-covered trees. I’m not sure how you’d describe the decor—contemporary Scandinavian, perhaps?—but what I do know is that it’s snug, comfortable, and so relaxing I drift off to sleep.

  A banging on the door wakes me up, interrupting a strange dream about Max dressed up as Santa Claus and surrounded by hedgehogs in elf costumes. It’s kind of funny because Max hates wearing costumes. At the annual company Halloween party, he’s the only person who doesn’t dress up.

  I check the time on my phone. Crap. I’m late. Jumping out of bed, I run my fingers through my snarled hair. Knowing who’s on the other side, I take a deep breath before yanking the door open.

  “Max, what a lovely surprise,” I say. News flash: it isn’t.

  “We're late.” Max asks, pushing past me. “The welcome dinner started five minutes ago.”

  “Oh, wow. Five whole minutes. How will we ever live down the shame?”

  Max doesn’t seem to notice my sarcastic tone. He taps his watch. “Six minutes now. This is why I didn’t want to work with you again.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “And you think I want to work with you? Fat chance.”

  “Let’s find you something to wear,” Max says as he opens my closet.

  “Hey, get out of there,” I say. “In fact, get out of my room. I know how to dress myself.”

  Shaking his head, he says, “I’m not leaving here. If I do, by the time you get downstairs, we’ll already be on dessert.”

  Yanking a dress off a hanger, I storm into the bathroom to change. I poke my head out and glare at Max. “I’ll meet you in the lobby.” Then I slam the door right in his smug little face again. Boy, did that ever feel good.

  When I walk into the lobby, Max gives a low whistle. “You clean up well.”

  I start to smile, wondering what’s caused this change of heart. Why is he being nice to me? Maybe it’s my dress. Based on the way he’s looking at me, I think he’s noticed how the full skirt and nipped-in waist flatters my curvy figure. Not that I wore it for him. No siree, wasn’t even thinking about him when I put it on.

  My smile broadens. Then Max taps his watch impatiently and the spell is broken.

  Scowling, I follow him into the dining room set aside for our group.

  A middle-aged woman with strawberry blonde hair, a smattering of freckles, and an infectious grin welcomes me. “I’m Lumi, your tour director.”

  “Lumi means ‘snow’ in Finnish, doesn’t it?” I ask.

  “Oh, you speak Finnish.” Lumi beams at me, then proceeds to rattle something off, presumably in Finnish.

  I hold up my hands. “Uh, no. I only know a few words, like how to say please and thank you. And since we’re in Santa’s Village, surrounded by snow, I thought that might be useful too.”

  “Show-off,” Max whispers.

  “It’s called research,” I whisper back.

  Lumi looks back and forth at the two of us, then says, “Ah, you two are, how do you say it, lovebirds?”

  My face reddens. “Um, we’re not—”

  Max puts his arm around my shoulders, interrupting me. “Lovebirds, that’s correct. Sorry for being late. It won’t happen again,” he says to Lumi. Then he turns to me. “Right, babe?”

  “It’s fine,” Lumi says. “We are waiting for . . . Oh, there they are now.”

  As Lumi scoots off to greet the new arrivals, I pull away from Max. “Lovebirds? What’s going on?”

  He shrugs. “She thinks we’re a couple.”

  “And you didn’t correct her misconception?”

  “Nah, it’s more fun this way.” Max grins. “Besides, this is payback for Germany.”

  I stamp my foot. “For the last time, the only reason I kissed you was as a favor for a friend.”

  “Sure, a favor,” he says dryly. “Well, now I need a favor. Pretend to be my girlfriend while we’re on this trip.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right.”

  “No, I’m serious. Pretend to be my girlfriend.”

  I can’t imagine he’s actually being serious. “Listen, I faked liking you for five minutes in Germany. Maybe ten minutes top. Faking it for a week? Please, I’m not that good of an actress. Besides, even if I was, no one would buy it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because . . .” I think for a moment, then say triumphantly, “We have separate rooms. If we were a couple, wouldn’t we be sharing a room?”

  Max puts his hand on his chest in mock horror. “Sharing a room with a girl? What kind of guy do you think I am?”

  Before I can tell him, Lumi calls for everyone’s attention. “Please help yourself to some glögi. Glögi is a traditional Finnish mulled wine made with orange zest, cloves, cinnamon, cardamom, and ginger root. It’s served over the holidays.”

  As a server hands each of us a glass, Max whispers in my ear. “Jus
t play along, okay? Then I’ll owe you.”

  “Owe me what?”

  “Ladies’ choice.”

  I take a sip of glögi and consider my options. After a few moments, the perfect idea comes to me. One that’s bound to embarrass Max to no end. I hold out my hand and grin. “It’s a deal . . . babe.”

  2

  A Deal’s a Deal

  Have you ever had an awkward handshake? We all have, haven’t we? Like the ones where the other person tries to project confidence by crushing all the bones in your hand. (Top tip: When dealing with a bone crusher, casually ask if they have any suggestions for how to cure the rash on your hand. That’ll end the handshake quickly.)

  The opposite is almost as bad—the person who gives you a quick, limp handshake. Either they’re riddled with insecurities or they just overheard you talk about the rash on your hand and want to minimize contact with you.

  Of course, no one likes a soggy handshake. It either means that the other person is nervous or they recently applied some rash cream. Either way, have a tissue at the ready to discreetly wipe your hands.

  All of these thoughts are going through my head while Max stares at my outstretched hand for what seems like forever. What’s going on? Why is he hesitating? Is he concerned that I have some sort of contagious rash? What is wrong with me? Why do I keep thinking about rashes?

  Finally, he takes my hand in his. I expect the brief clasping of hands followed by a normal release. Instead, he lightly caresses my hand, tracing his thumb along the back of it. “Tell me, Zoe, what will I owe you?”

  “You’ll see,” I say, my voice cracking slightly. Stupid voice.

  He arches an eyebrow. “I don’t have that kind of patience. You have to tell me before we agree.”

  Max starts to pull his hand away but I increase my grip. Not in a bone-crushing sort of way. Because, trust me, I’m not feeling at all confident in this particular moment. I hold his gaze and say, “Nope, no can do. See, we’re already shaking hands. We have an agreement.”

  I glance down horrified, realizing it’s now me caressing Max’s hand. Shuddering, I try to end the handshake. Max laughs—a deep throaty laugh that makes me tingle from head to toe—then pulls me toward him. I can’t tell who’s caressing whose hand now. Maybe we both are.

  “Okay, but don’t forget your end of the deal,” he says softly. “Convince everyone that you’re my girlfriend.”

  I shrug. “I can do that. I’m a pretty good actress. I had you fooled in Germany, didn’t I?”

  Is it my imagination or did Max’s eyes turn steely for a moment? Nope, must be my imagination. He’s giving me his usual cheeky grin. As he releases my hand, he says, “We can talk about who fooled who in Germany some other time. What you need to focus on now is fooling everyone here that we’re an item.” He points at a stunning redhead across the room. “Especially her.”

  “Oh, Max, what have you gotten yourself into?” I ask dryly.

  Lumi asks for everyone’s attention before Max has a chance to tell me what’s going on between him and the redhead.

  Once everyone quiets down, Lumi says, “Before I talk you through the activities we have planned during your stay at Santa’s Village, why don’t we go around the room and introduce ourselves?”

  Our fellow travelers are an interesting mix. A sweet retired couple, a professor of Nordic studies and her husband, a military couple based in Germany, and a few families with kids of varying ages. One of those kids just happens to be Christopher, the little boy who was seated in front of me on the plane.

  But it’s the two girls who are doing a year abroad at the University of Helsinki who get my attention. Georgia is tall and willowy with those chiseled facial features that can pull off a pixie cut. Her friend, Barbie, is a petite curvy girl with a tousled mane of red hair. Yes, that redhead. Could she make it any more obvious that she has the hots for Max?

  When Lumi turns to us, she tells the group that we work for a travel magazine. “Zoe and Max are here to do a story about what it’s like to spend Christmas in Santa’s Village.”

  The redhead waves her hand at Max. “You can interview me, if you want.”

  Max puts his arm around my waist. “My girlfriend is the writer. I just take the pictures.”

  “Even better,” she purrs. “I’d love to do a photo shoot with you.”

  Oh, gag me. I’m sure her idea of a photo shoot with Max isn’t exactly PG-rated.

  Max shifts uncomfortably. He looks relieved when Lumi launches into an overview of our itinerary.

  “We have an exciting week planned for you. Tomorrow, we’re going to go dog sledding.”

  One of the kids pipes up. “Can we pet the dogs?”

  “Of course. We’ll have a chance to visit the husky kennels,” Lumi says. “Then after dinner tomorrow, we’re going to do an Arctic Circle crossing ceremony. Everyone will get a certificate presented by one of Santa’s elves.”

  “Are you on Santa’s naughty or nice list?” Max whispers to me. When I elbow him and tell him to shush, he says, “Based on that, I’m going to guess you’re on the naughty one.”

  Lumi answers another husky-related question, then tells the group that she has a special treat lined up for us on Wednesday. “We’ll be having dinner at the Ice Lodge. Some of you will be staying overnight too.”

  When Lumi indicates that Max and I will be among those spending the night in a hotel made entirely of ice, Max whispers, “Brr. That sounds cold. We’ll have to snuggle up to keep warm.”

  I elbow him again. “Separate rooms, remember?”

  “On Thursday, we’ll go on a snowmobile expedition, and, on Friday, we’re going to visit a reindeer farm and then go for a sleigh ride,” Lumi says.

  Christopher hops up and down. “Will we see Rudolph?”

  “I think Rudolph will be busy.” Lumi smiles. “But you will get to see Santa Claus on Christmas Eve. And then everyone flies home on Christmas Day after lunch.”

  Max gives me a mischievous grin and says loudly, “Aren’t you scared of reindeer, babe?”

  The rest of the group looks at me, and I shake my head.

  “Oh, wait,” Max says. “It’s hedgehogs that freak you out.”

  “You know with the way your hair is sticking up, you kind of look like a hedgehog,” I say.

  Max scowls and runs his fingers through his hair, making it even more unruly. To be honest, it makes him look kind of adorable in an odd sort of way.

  Apparently, Barbie thinks so too. She sidles over to Max and places her hand on his arm. “I have some styling products up in my room. Maybe after dinner, we could try some out.”

  Is “styling products” the latest code for you-know-what? It has to be because based on how she’s looking Max over, I’m pretty sure she has more in mind than just taming his unruly locks.

  Let’s see, I have two options here—watch Max squirm some more or earn myself an Oscar for actress of the year. I opt for the latter. After all, we made a deal. I make it through this trip pretending to be Max’s girlfriend and then he has to . . . well, you’ll just have to wait and see what’s going to happen. I promise it’ll be worth it.

  I loop my arm through Max’s and plaster a smile on my face. “Sorry, I’m the only one who gets to style my boyfriend’s hair.”

  The redhead shoots me a look that tells me she isn’t going to give up that easy.

  Game on, princess.

  After dinner, I corner Max in the lobby. “Okay, spill. Why are you trying to convince Barbie that we’re a couple?”

  Max slumps into one of the armchairs by the fireplace. “Well, it’s kind of embarrassing.”

  Sitting in the chair next to him, I rub my hands together. Max and an embarrassing story—this should be good. “Go on.”

  “Well, after our assignment in Germany, Nicole sent me to do a photo shoot in Sri Lanka. Let’s just say that one of the guests on the tour took a fancy to me.” When I shoot Max a glance, he holds up his hands. “I didn’t do a
nything inappropriate. I was just being nice to her, like I’m nice to everyone.”

  “Uh-huh. Could it be that you were flirting with her?”

  Max rubs the dark stubble on his chin. “Maybe. But that’s all it was, just flirting.”

  “So, what else is new? You flirt all the time.”

  “Turns out she had a boyfriend. He didn’t join the tour group until later . . . and he got the wrong idea about the two of us.” Max stares at the flames flickering in the fireplace for a moment, then says. “In my defense, she never told me about her boyfriend.”

  “Okay, so a jealous boyfriend. Big deal. What does this have to do with Barbie?”

  “I met her while I was waiting at the check-in desk. I didn’t realize at the time that she was going to be on this tour and—”

  “Let me guess, you flirted with her.”

  “I prefer to think of it as being nice.”

  “Whatever,” I say. “But what’s the big deal? Why are you pretending that we’re together?”

  “Because Nicole would fire me if she thought I was hitting on one of the tour guests.”

  I arch an eyebrow. “Nicole said that?”

  “In so many words. That girl from Sri Lanka, her boyfriend called Nicole to complain about me.” Max spreads his hands out in front of him. “I can’t afford to have any more misunderstandings. When I was waiting for you in the lobby, I realized that Barbie was part of this tour group and when Lumi said that we looked like lovebirds, well . . .”

  When Max stares at the carpet, I finish his thought. “And that’s when you decided you needed a fake girlfriend.”

  “You’re still going to go through with it, right?” Max asks.

  I nod. “A deal’s a deal.”

  3

  Snow Angels

  The next morning, the shuttle bus picks the group up at the hotel to take us dog sledding. Max and I grab a seat near the front. I smile as Christopher and his mother board the bus. He bounces down the aisle dragging a large stuffed reindeer behind him. She looks like there isn’t enough caffeine in the world to be able to cope with her son’s energy level.