Molly Why, Santa, why? I’ve been so good this year and yet here I am, snowed in with the most grumpy, gloomy – and admittedly, gorgeous – man I’ve ever met. Instead of blissfully sledding down an Alaskan mountain during my work trip, I have to listen to the guy complain about how much he hates Christmas. Not to mention the fact that he’s in the running for the same writing award as me. Too bad throwing someone out into the snow isn’t considered very Christmassy or it would’ve been good riddance for sure. Derek Carolers, gingerbread, hot cocoa, tinsel, mistletoe… The list of Christmas torture goes on and on. And as if it’s not bad enough that I have to endure this holiday cheer for a work trip, I’m now stuck at The Royal Reindeer with a true Christmas freak. I’d love for her to back off, but I can’t exactly tell her why I hate the holidays this much. My best bet is to avoid her altogether, which is quite the challenge when you’re forced to share a cabin. But if I don’t want to be around her, then why am I doused in glitter, helping her make Christmas cards?