Laurel Grant works as the social media manager for Buckeye State of Mind, an Ohio tourism magazine and website. She most definitely does not run a farm . . . but one tiny misunderstanding leads her boss, Gilbert, to think she owns her twin sister Holly’s farm just outside of Columbus. Laurel only handles the social media for the farm, but she’s happy to keep her little white lie going if it means not getting fired—she cannot be jobless again.

And keep it going she must when Gilbert, recently dumped by his wife, invites himself over for the farm’s big Christmas Eve Eve dinner (as advertised on Meadow Rise Farm’s Instagram, thanks to Laurel herself). Laurel immediately goes into panic mode to figure out how she can trick Gilbert into thinking she’s basically the Martha Stewart of rural Ohio and keep her job in the process.

Laurel and Holly come up with the perfect plan—all Laurel has to do is pretend to own the farm for one dinner. But Laurel shows up at the farm to find an unwelcome guest is waiting: Max Beckett, her nemesis since Holly’s wedding. The annoyingly attractive man she hates will be posing as Laurel’s husband just for the evening, but when a snowstorm traps them all for the entire weekend, Laurel is going to have to figure out how to survive with her job and dignity intact. Whatever the case, this promises to be the most eventful Christmas in ages. . . .

My Rating:

Favorite Quotes:

 

I have one of those faces that people tend to talk to, so I’ve consoled my fair share of drunk girls in bar bathrooms. I’ve learned a lot about the cheating boyfriends of Columbus and ended up with mascara stains on many of my best shirts.

My twin sister, Holly, is the one who runs Meadow Rise Farm, because she’s one of those infuriatingly self-sufficient people who would probably get along fine if the apocalypse happened. (I, meanwhile, would cease functioning when the Wi-Fi went out.)

I’d passed the point where being unable to hold down a steady job was simply an adorable quirk. In your twenties, it’s fun to be kind of a mess— that’s why there are so many sitcoms about it. But once you hit your thirties, it starts looking a lot less cute and a lot more “we’re worried about you, Laurel.”

I’m certain Max was never boyish, not even when he was really a boy. He probably popped out of the womb and immediately complained about his mother’s breast milk and the air conditioning in the hospital.

Maybe I can go back to sleep and have a less awkward dream to overwrite this one. You know, like the recurring one where I’m walking topless through the Short North and I only realize I’m not wearing a shirt when I run into my tenth grade Algebra teacher outside Prologue Bookshop and she says, “Young lady, put some clothes on.”

My Review:

 

I absolutely, unequivocally, and positively adore this author and want to read every cleverly amusing word she has ever penned. She has given us an early holiday treat by turning her attention to the power of Christmas and featuring a character who is a total hot mess but believes in the sanctity of Mariah Carey’s Christmas music and Hallmark movies. The storylines sparkled with humor while laced together with witty observations, sloth pajamas, Lego, goats, wry banter, and brilliantly paced chaos. Who wouldn’t love that?

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