Page 13 of Not Another Christmas Movie

“I’m taking it to go. I hate to say goodbye so soon, but I have to get back to the inn. Let’s catch up later? They sure don’t make hot chocolates like this in the big city,” Grant smiled. Annie studied his eyes for any trace of the classic Grant spark, but that glimmer of mischief and adventure was lacking, leaving behind a flatness Annie found more than disheartening. Before Annie could grab him and try to shake the real Grant free, he waved and made a swift departure.

“Grant, wait!” Annie attempted, but he had disappeared, and Annie fought the desire to cry (or, honestly, simply scream) with frustration. For a moment, she thought Grant could be an exit out, not another road leading straight back to this madness. She turned to voice this to Nick, but he was locked in another staring contest with Bailey. Annie had no interest in watching them rekindle their love affair; she needed to brainstorm another way out.

“I’m going to go and um, freshen up. Re-tuck my sweater into my jeans, that sort of business,” Annie said, waving two finger guns, but both Nick and Bailey seemed incredibly invested in their intense game of eye contact and didn’t notice. Annie got up from her chair and ran straight into a broad man carrying perhaps the largest wreath in the history of humankind. Or from the props department of a made-for-TV movie, anyway. The collision sent Annie into an uncharacteristically graceful fall to the ground, her arm angled above her head like she was living out some kind of America’s Next Top Model pose, already at peak smize. Above her, a chiseled, handsome face poked through the wreath’s center.

Annie turned her head and blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of the man now standing over her, as if gallons of cold water had been suddenly dumped on her head. There he was, straight from the naughty list, in a well-pressed navy blue suit and wearing fuzzy reindeer antlers with bells, a look of surprise mirroring Annie’s own.

CHAPTER SIX

“Chris?” Annie gurgled, part breath, part bark.

“Annie Meyers,” Chris said, his eyes opening wide before a smile settled over his face, his long limbs striding to her in sweeping steps, his antler ears jingling lightly. Annie jumped up, allowing Chris to take her two hands, while still somehow holding the wreath, to squeeze her fingers.

“Ugh, hi,” Annie whispered as the two of them took a pregnant pause to make quiet, strange eye contact. Annie shook her head and pried each finger back one by one, trying to focus. “Wait, what’s going on? Why are you here?”

“I stepped away from my important business job in the big city to become an elementary school teacher and help out at my family’s Christmas tree farm,” Chris explained, his eyes twinkling. Annie scrunched her forehead in confusion. Chris had a job with some insurance company and lived in Middletown, Connecticut; in no world was it an “important business job” in a “big city.” Annie studied him a bit more, struck that he was looking more clean-cut Canadian cute than the previous hot she remembered. “I’m sure that seems rather boring compared to your fashion background in the big city.”

“What? No, I live and work in West Hartford.” Annie reminded him. But when Chris didn’t recognize the town, she continued, “You know, the one that’s also in Connecticut and like twenty minutes away from here.” Chris didn’t react. “Okay, well, um, I guess you could say I work in apparel …” Annie started, nibbling the inside of her cheek, wracking her brain for any instances in which she had ever talked to Chris about her unconventional start-up. Chris stared back with a glazed look that could only be described as “dumbfounded mannequin.”

“Annie, I can’t believe you’re really here,” Chris said.

“Yeah, I don’t know what to believe myself anymore,” Annie said, examining his features.

“Seeing you again is bringing me back to all the memories and moments we made together,” Chris said with an unfamiliar fervor. “What brings you to our small town?”

“Huh? I grew up here,” Annie said in return, still unable to rationalize the person standing in front of her or any of the words coming out of his mouth. “What’s up with the wreath?” Annie asked after a moment of Chris not saying anything. She tried to keep herself from clapping her hands together to see if Chris would blink.

“We’re delivering wreaths to some of the local spots in town,” Chris said proudly.

“Of course. Well, it smells great and it’s so big. Like, so big.” Annie said.

“Thank you!” Chris grinned, taking the compliment as if Annie had remarked on his own scent and size rather than the outstanding ring of foliage. Annie looked around to see if Nick would step in as backup; she wasn’t sure how to navigate any part of these odd communications. But Nick was still wrapped up in his own Twilight Zone episode.

“I don’t remember your family living in Simsbury. We didn’t go to school together,” Annie said, wondering if this Chris was anything like the one she had known in the real world or if this guy was someone completely new.

“We’ve had the farm for generations,” Chris said, not answering Annie’s question. Instead, he paused and squinted his eyes, like he was trying to fight a fire in his brain. “Now that I’m a teacher, my job is to direct the school’s holiday play … though this year, most of our volunteer crew is stuck outside of town thanks to the big snowstorm. No one can pass Simsbury Mountain,” Chris continued miserably. “As you know, each year the proceeds from the play are gifted to a local family business,” Chris began.

“How would I know that?” Annie asked.

“And this year, there are so many worthy establishments that could benefit from those funds. Including our Christmas tree farm. We struggle sustaining the business in the offseason, which is about eleven months of the year.”

“You’re joking, right?” Annie asked, wanting to laugh. This was more unreal than the snow atop her car.

“I wish I were, Annie,” Chris said forlornly. “It’s a true crisis. The spirit of Christmas is in jeopardy. Especially because now the show is in danger of being canceled.”

“Cancel the town’s Christmas production?” an older man listening to their conversation interjected. “Why, it hasn’t been canceled in over a hundred years!”

“A hundred years? I was never a part of a Christmas show when we were kids …” Annie mumbled.

“The show must go on, Annie. The whole town is depending on us. The spirit of Christmas is in jeopardy,” Chris repeated, his voice urgent.

“The ‘spirit of Christmas’?” Annie asked, furrowing her brow.

“Don’t worry, Chris,” Bailey said, suddenly standing right next to them and making Annie jump in her stilettos. “We’ll all chip in and help.”

“What? No, I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Chris said, his eyes growing misty as he connected with Bailey.

“It’s the town’s Christmas show! We have to do whatever we can! Right, guys?” Bailey asked.