Page 7 of Not Another Christmas Movie

She found her way into what was now a completely unfamiliar living room. Gone were the couch and its crumbs and in its place were two red velvet chairs draped with white, fuzzy throw blankets. They both had decorative, cringe-worthy pillows, one reading “Snowflake Kisses and Christmas Wishes” and the other “Believe in Magic.” Annie found herself physically pained by the dorkiness. But she soon found the mounted “artwork” to be even worse. In one corner was a large wooden sign with the quote “Christmas is more than opening presents, it’s about opening your heart,” and she couldn’t help but gag at the too-sweet sentiment.

Annie caught sight of a front window and screamed. Outside, everything was blanketed with snow. Well, everything aside from the brick-lined path leading to the sidewalk, which also looked completely devoid of the presence of winter weather. She ran to the front door to see if her car was still in the driveway. It was. At least, something resembling a car was there underneath a mountain of fresh white snow. Annie searched her pockets for her phone and came up empty. She frantically paced around the entryway, where she found a phone on a small, decorated table next to a nativity display.

“Help me, baby Jesus,” Annie, never a religious woman, offered the tiny infant. Annie swiped it open, the phone recognizing her face, and was greeted with a beautiful picture of a lit Christmas tree as the wallpaper. None of her apps were on the home screen, though, and she couldn’t open her contacts to text. Instead, a “no service” banner filled the top of the screen. When she couldn’t access the internet or call out, Annie shook the phone and blew a puff of hot air into the charging port, hoping something would change. She turned it off and back on again, only to get the same result.

“No, no, no, wake up now, Annie!” Annie said, pinching her arm. “This dream sucks! You haven’t even had your bagel or first iced coffee of the day yet,” she whimpered. With each passing second that she didn’t wake up, her heart rate accelerated.

The front doorbell rang out, playing an aggressive electronic version of “Feliz Navidad” and Annie yelped in surprise. It played again and she trembled, gripping the gold knob, unsure whether it was smart or safe to open the door.

“Annie?” A familiar voice called out. She couldn’t place where she knew it from, so she opened the door to peek out. “Annie,” the voice said again. Annie scrunched up her face. It was Nick.

“Nick!” Annie exclaimed, trying to figure out how to ask for help. “Something’s going on—”

“I know,” Nick said grimly.

“Know what? Why is the house decorated like this? The Christmas quote decor is killing me! And who made a huge pot of Folgers coffee?”

“I have a feeling we’re not in Simsbury anymore,” Nick said, cutting her off.

“What?”

“I think we’re in a made-for-TV Christmas movie.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“What are you talking about? Nick, what’s going on? Was this you? Some kind of dumb prank or something?” Annie asked, her voice sounding more stretched and thinner the longer she spoke. “Ew, wait, did you change me into these pajamas?” Annie asked reflexively, crossing her arms across her chest.

“Absolutely not!” Nick scoffed. “And I could ask you the same thing, since I’m also wearing a pair!”

Annie realized now that he, too, was in pajamas—his marked “NL.”

“The quality of the silk is exquisite, isn’t it? Clearly, they’ve been handmade by a skilled designer,” Nick told her, his eyes studying his sleeves in appreciation.

“Yes, they’re incredible, and I’m in my Nancy Meyers postdivorce heroine era, get on with it already!” Annie scowled, gesturing for him to continue.

“I assumed it was the effects of that ‘special cookie’ last night,” Nick started. “But when I woke up, the entire house had been decorated and warm cookies were cooling on the counter.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, go back—” Annie demanded.

“To which part? When I woke up?”

“No—”

“The decorations?”

“No, the cookies,” Annie hissed in annoyance.

“Huh?” Nick asked.

“I woke up to fake freaking Folgers coffee. I need a cookie,” Annie said.

“Sorry, what? Like right now?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes,” Annie said seriously.