It's a universally known truth that the probabilities you might get a nice present in a gift exchange are as slim as having a warm, sunny Christmas Day in Toronto. Especially a family gift exchange. They're the worst. Or at least, mine were. So, when Mom called me a few weeks ago, saying we were doing the traditional gift exchange at Christmas Eve, I wasn't jumping up and down.

Quite the opposite.

Memories of Christopher's last year gift dampened my mood. My stupid brother thought it was hilarious to give away a yearly gym subscription in Chicago where he lives. He had to use my freaking subscription since there wasn't any franchise in my city. So, not only had I been present-less, I'd also spent over a hundred dollars in a gift-card from Amazon.

I think he felt bad for like a minute, so he told me he'd make it up for me. One year later, and I'm still waiting. Honestly, sometimes brothers suck. Yet, the worst part was that Mom made a fuss about my gift because it was impersonal and I hadn't taken the time to think about our lovely family.

So yeah, there are some serious injustices going on in my family. I got a huge speech about family traditions, while Chris got off the hook with the whole, I'll make it up for you.

For this year's gift exchange, Mom came up with a new plan. We both loved Stephan Moretti, an Italian celebrity chef. She stated that we would all get his latest Christmas Cookbook that would be released on December 22nd. Which didn't sound too bad, considering that would be a gift I'd appreciate. I also knew Chris didn't cook, and I knew that Mom was still pissed at him for last year's fiasco.

I gladly accepted the challenge and smiled for a week after I got a message from my brother ranting about the injustice of it all.

What I didn't take in mind was I'd be overwhelmed with work and I forgot about the exchange until the last day. I tried to order it online, not caring that the express shipping cost might be higher than the actual book, but it was unavailable.

"Shit, shit, shit." Mom would have a fit if I didn't bring the stupid book.

I finished my suitcase before I grabbed my purse and went to every bookstore I knew about, praying to God and Dad I would find it. If Dad were still alive, he'd understand the problem, you didn't mess with Mom or her traditions. He passed away five years ago, and I knew Mom still had a hard time every Christmas. It was one of the reasons why both Chris and I complied in any little scheme Mom came up with. And just like Mom, these were the moments when I missed him most, too.

One thing was clear, this little cookbook incident, was the first of many ways that Mom would find to make Chris pay because he never made it up for me. I wasn't sure what would be worst: Chris' fiasco or the fact I wouldn't show up with it. And I really didn't want to find out.

For the last few hours I had before the flight home, I went to six bookstores around the city and the book was sold out everywhere. It would be. Tonight, was Christmas' Eve and everyone wanted to cook something from Moretti. Damn. I guess I never realized that the guy was so popular to other people but Mom and me.

My last hope was the bookstore in the airport. On my way, I called them and I almost cried out of joy when the clerk confirmed that they had the book. Not wanting to waste a second, I asked the cab driver to step on it. It was a matter of a year's sanity.

I stumbled across the airport until I got to the bookstore. There was chaos everywhere and people were buying books as if this was a black Friday sale. It was insane.

Pulling my suitcase, I made my way to the cooking section, and for the first time in the last seven hours, I could finally breathe. The book was there, at the end of the hallway. There was just one, and it's shiny cover glimmered under the artificial light at the exact time the Christmas carol on the background chanted Hallelujah.

Hallelujah, indeed.

Another man entered the small corridor, and I fastened my pace to get to the book, but my suitcase got stuck with the corner of a shelf. I pulled the thing out and looked up just in time to see the stranger holding my cookbook in his hands.

"Hey! That's my book!" The man turned and my heart skipped a beat. He was hot. Like really, really hot. He had the whole Christian Gray look going on, with the soft caramel hair, prominent cheeks, and gray eyes. The guy was even wearing a suit, like Christian himself.

He raised an eyebrow as I approached him. "Excuse me?"

I forced out a smile. "I called in advance and the clerk confirmed me they had this cookbook, the one you're holding in your hands." The stranger seemed unfazed. He can't get it. Time to step up the game, Sam. "Okay," I took a deep breath, "here's the deal. If I don't get that book, my mother will make my life hell for the next year. Imagine an older version of me stomping her feet around the room, ranting about how important it's having gestures within our small family and watching the disappointment in her brown eyes."

The lips of the stranger man twitched as he suppressed a smile and my shoulders sagged. I got this. Grinning, I extended my arm to get the book. "It's Christmas' Eve and you can save a girl from spending a miserable Christmas right now."

His lips tugged up, but he held the book tighter to his chest. "Sorry, but I need this, too. I'm helping out a friend," he shrugged as my lips parted in surprise. He didn't seem apologetic at all. "Merry Christmas."

He left as I pressed my lips together, clenching my jaw. What. A. Moron.

I gazed at the empty place where the book had been and sighed. "Fuck."

This will be the worst Christmas ever, I knew it. I wasn't exaggerating when I said Mom would dishonor me. She took all this stuff too seriously. "Fuck, fuck." I leaned my forehead on the shelf and saw last year's Christmas cookbook from the same chef. Better than nothing, I guess.

I was still sulking when my flight was announced and I had to board the plane. Mom will surely overlook Chris' stupid gift now. I reached my seat and the whole line behind me stopped as I stared at the man blocking my window seat. The same man that destroyed any hopes I had of spending a nice Christmas at home.

"You have got to be kidding me."

His lips tugged up. "Oh, but isn't Miss Sunshine here?" He stood up so I could get to my seat. I didn't thank him. I tried to pull away as much as I could in the tiny space we had. I also tried not to breathe in the stupid scent of his cologne. Because not only was he hot, he had to smell good too.

All douche bags were the same. Good looks, nice, intoxicating smell, and awful attitude.

"Where in Colorado are you going?"

"Far away from you."

His laugh echoed inside the plane as everyone took their seat. "I'm sorry if I had to get the book, but apparently, it was a matter of life or death."

I huffed, still not looking at him. "Well, my miserable year will rest in your conscience."

He chuckled again, and I rolled my eyes to the window. "I am sorry. I could try to make it up by inviting you a drink." I turned to him with narrowed eyes. "Or a coffee," he shrugged, trying to appear innocent, but it was clear my whole situation amused him.

"I can't believe you have the nerve to ask me out after that stunt you pulled out there."

His gray eyes glinted as he suppressed a smile. "Has anyone told you you look incredibly hot when you're angry?" His words stunned me for a second. I couldn't help the way my stomach tightened or how my cheeks felt warm as I turned away.

"I'm Mike Summers."

"And I couldn't care less." I tried to sound angry, but I wasn't anymore. He's good.

I heard his chuckle again before I heard a woman greet us. She was the last passenger on our row. I glanced at her and offered her a smile before glaring at Mike and turning away once more.

We didn't speak for the rest of the flight. Or at least, I didn't. Mike tried to make conversation and ended up chatting with the woman next to him the whole flight. I couldn't help but eavesdrop, and I learned that Mike was living in Toronto, working for a publishing company called Wattpad. He explained that it was all run through the internet and how people could publish stories through and app or the website. He was in the public relations department. No shock there.

I listened to their whole conversation, and I made a mental note to download the app to see what the whole hype was about. Especially when the old lady commented that her granddaughter knew about it and that she loved it.

Finally, the plane landed. As soon as I got off, I tried to stay the hell away from Mike, but it was almost impossible since we were headed to the same place. We passed immigration and then got the suitcases. I could feel someone staring at me, and when I looked up, I found him gazing my way. He smiled and bobbed his head as I pressed my lips together and turned away, ignoring the way my heart raced.

Trying to get away from him, I got my suitcase and made my way to the exit. Chris or Mom would pick me up. Even though my brother acted out like a complete idiot, my lips tugged up at his sight. He was two-years older than me and we were complete opposites, but we cared for each other, even if we made our life miserable to one another.

Today, he was wearing one sweater Mom knitted for him, and I knew she was making his life miserable because he hated those. Gosh. That will be me, in a few hours.

"Hey poop-face!" I smiled as he rolled his eyes, engulfing me in a hug. His hair was longer, he was wearing a day's stubble, and he was warm and cozy like a giant teddy bear. "Where's Mom?"

"She wanted to get everything ready for tonight and apparently, I'm her slave." His brown eyes slid behind me and a wide grin drew on his face. He patted me on the shoulder and walked forward. Confused, I turned around to find him hugging Mike. They did that weird handshake as my bottom lip fell to the floor.

What the hell?

Mike's gaze met mine. He looked as bemused as me as they both approached me. "You're Samantha?"

Chris's bushy brows furrowed. "Do you guys know each other?"

"We met at the airport," Mike clarified, rubbing the back of his neck.

He was probably regretting that he'd asked me out, and part of me wanted to rub it in. By the way he was acting, he knew Chris was a possessive big-brother. But my stomach felt tight because a part of me wanted to say yes. A tiny, minuscule part of me, but still...

Chris' eyes narrowed for a moment as he glanced at us. "Okay, let's get going then." His tone wasn't as cheery as usual and I had to bite my cheek not to smile at how overprotective he was.

We were reaching Mom's red van when Chris turned to Mike. "Did you get it, man?"

Mike's eyes slid for a second before looking back at my brother. "Yeah..."

Chris patted him on the arm. "Thank you, I owe you."

I sat on the back while Mike took the front. My brows creased as I put two and two together.

Holy crap! Mike got Chris the cookbook! My cookbook!

Sliding to the front, I hugged my brother's headrest. "You stole my book for him?"

Mike bit his lip before he grimaced. "I didn't know he─"

"Hold on," Chris interjected as the car roared to life. "Are you telling me you don't have the Italian dude's cookbook?" He gazed at me through the rearview mirror and I clenched my jaw.

Silently, I leaned back and crossed my arms. "No, no, no. This is priceless! Priceless!" He laughed maniacally while I tapped my feet against the car. "What did you bring? A gift card?"

"I got last year's Christmas edition," I muttered through clenched teeth. Chris laughed harder. "You're an idiot, Chris." I kicked his seat, not caring how immature I was being.

He didn't stop chuckling. "This will be the best Christmas ever!"

Twenty minutes later, we arrived home. Mom had gone all the way with the decorations, much as she always did. There was an inflatable Santa pulling his sleigh and little sparkly white lights all over the roof, windows, and front door. I tried to ignore the way my stomach rolled, knowing full-well all the drama that would surely come.

Chris grabbed my suitcase and sporting that annoying smirk on his face, made his way inside the house. My feet were slower as I followed his steps when Mike grabbed my arm. "I'm really sorry. I had no idea you could be Chris' Sam." His tone was honest, and he seemed concerned.

"Chris' Sam?" I frowned. What does that mean?

"He talks so much about you guys, that I feel like I know you." He shook his head, a faint smile playing on his face.

This was news to me. I could have sworn that Chris didn't talk about us, at all. He was all bravado then, sporting that alfa-macho stance with us.

Mike hadn't let go of my arm. His gaze was intense, and my heart pumped inside my chest as he opened his mouth to say something else when I heard Mom's voice coming from the door.

"Samantha! My dear!" The warmth radiating from Mike's touch faded as he pulled away. Mom tackled me in a bear-hug. "Come on, let's get inside, dinner is almost ready and I guess you guys might want to rest before our little party!" she wriggled her eyebrows, beaming at us.

My eyes teared up at seeing her so happy. She was a tiny little woman with a strong will and a huge heart. And every time I came home, I got emotional on the first day. It didn't matter that I'd probably end up pulling my hair out and more stressed by the end of the holidays. Seeing her always made me feel warm inside.

She leaned her head on my shoulder for a second. "I made marshmallows, your favorites!"

"Thank you, Mom."

We had an hour to get rest and get ready for our little gift exchange party. I couldn't relax for the life of me. I knew what was coming and right before dinner, too.

Ten minutes before the exchange, I finished the last touches to my wrapping. I'd included a heartfelt letter about how much family meant to me and how sorry I was, hoping to warm Mom's heart.

"Can I come in?" My big brother's voice sounded from the other side. "I mean, you're dressed, right?"

I rolled my eyes. "What do you want Chris?" The door opened, and he came inside the room as I added, "To gloat about the fact that Mom will have a fit?"

His mouth quirked. "I'm not," he raised his left hand in mock surrender. His right one held the infamous cookbook. "I came to give you this." He raised it.

I stared at him in silence. "What's the catch?" I raised an eyebrow, grabbing the book before he thought better.

Chris shrugged. "I'm making it up for you."

"For last year?" My tone was skeptical.

"Yeah. Just make sure you tell Mom." He smirked.

Shaking my head and with a smile of my own, I peeked inside the book. Mike's name and phone number were scribbled above the title. I blinked at it twice before gazing up. "And you're also giving me your friend's number?"

Chris' expression fell. "What?" He snatched the book from my hands before I could say anything else. "That little fucker," he muttered under his breath before pacing to my desktop.

Baffled, I followed after him. "What on earth are you doing?"

"I'm striking it out," he murmured as he searched for a black pen, holding the book close to his chest, so I couldn't grab it again.

A warm feeling ran through me. He wants that date!

"Are you going to cross out Mom's book?" I raised an eyebrow as my brother cursed.

Groaning, he glanced at the desktop where I'd left wrapping paper and tape. "I'll wrap it then."

"Wow, Chris, you're so mature."

"I don't give a shit. Just wait until I see him and he'll know he can't mess with my─" I wanted to talk to Mike before my brother scared him off, so I hurried to the hallway before he noticed that I wasn't there.

I skipped through the stairs and I didn't have to search long for Mike. He was standing on the front porch. When our eyes met, we both smiled like idiots. He reached out his hand for mine and I gave it to him. Chris shouted my name, and we both ran. We ran until we got to the nearest park.

"Are you trying to hook up with my Mom?" I asked short of breath when we finally stopped in front of the children's area.

Mike had leaned on his knees, out of breath. He gazed at me, already smiling. "I didn't know which book you'd get, so I sort of talked to your Mom about it and my phone is in hers too."

I swooned. How could I not? That was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for me.

"Why would you do that? You don't know me."

He took a deep breath before standing up straight. His eyes were glinting mischievously as he stepped closer to me. "But I do, Sam. Your brother talks about you all the time. I've been crushing on you for the last year or so. And when the beautiful, feisty girl from the airport turned out to be the Sam I'd been dying to meet... I couldn't let the opportunity pass."

"Even if my brother hates you?"

Chuckling, he shook his head. "It'll pass. Eventually." His brows creased. "I hope. He said he owed me."

Despite the crisp air, my heart was warm. Mike was right in front of me and even though I didn't know him at all, I wanted to. His hands reached out for mine and little tingles played from our interlocked hands to the pit of my stomach. "I even wrote it inside the brownie recipe, just in case you missed it on the first page."

I couldn't help the silly smile that spread on my face. "There's a brownie recipe?"

He nodded. "It has sour cherries, too." Our faces were almost touching and I was already feeling dizzy from his spicy cologne and the way his whole body felt like it buzzed with energy. "So," he raised an eyebrow, "What do you say? You, me, and those brownies in New Year's Eve back in Toronto?"

We gazed at each other for a moment and my grin widened. "You can't say no to brownies..."

Mike cracked up. "Exactly."