By Kline Brooks
About a week ago, I received a package in the mail from Max and Monroe.
The wrapping was sloppy at best and torn at the edges—no doubt a rush job by one member of the lovable duo while they steered with their knee and pulled their coat tighter to hide the fact that they’d forgotten a bra while cruising down the highway. But inside—an area they’d obviously crafted with more care—lay a manuscript for a novella entitled Sleighed It, an oversized pink Post-it note stuck haphazardly to the top. A bad feeling washed over me instantly.
Kline,
We know you said you preferred to stay out of the limelight, and that you told us all about your most recent holiday adventures in confidence, but we couldn’t help ourselves.
This one was too good not to share with our readers.
And since you are our swooniest male lead and a reader favorite, will you pretty please write the Foreword?
Just think about it, okay? No pressure.
Well, some pressure. Because we know our readers would love-love-love to hear from you.
Did we mention you’re our favorite?
So, just read it, and then get the foreword to us by the end of this week. We’ve got a tight publishing schedule with this one, and our editor needs it soon. Oh, and promo started today.
But very little pressure.
Lots of love,
Max & Monroe
P.S. We went ahead and scheduled a photo shoot for you for the cover. We’ll email you the details, but you should know we already paid the deposit, and some of us aren’t billionaires.
P.P.S. Your masseuse told us you like light pressure, so really, you should thank us. It’s like we’re massaging you.
Needless to say, I wasn’t left with a lot of options. When Max and Monroe want something, they’re pretty demanding. It’s like a prison camp filled with comedians, and the jokes keep coming until you come to heel or die. The fact that I just got back to the office from that fucking photo shoot is proof of that.
Fucking hell, Thatch is going to have a field day with this cover once it’s released.
So now, here I sit, trying to figure out what in the hell to write for a Foreword.
I’ve read Sleighed It, in an effort to stir some sort of flow into my creative fountain for this thing, and despite the fact that I’ll be on this cover strung up in Christmas lights and red velvet boxers, I enjoyed every second of it—maybe even more than when I was living it.
Probably because reading about it makes it easier to pretend it isn’t me.
Max and Monroe spared no detail and provided no complimentary rose-colored glasses in their portrayal of me, my family, and my friends, but I assure you, after I read this novella, when my sheer disbelief and the PTSD from this year’s holiday adventures dissipated, there was nothing left but a whole lot of love.
Life is a roller-coaster ride, but when you find that one person—or in my case, a whole group of batshit crazy people—to spend your days and nights with, the bumps and curves only provide you with more appreciation and thankfulness for the ride itself.
My wife, especially, is my world. Every day, I strive to be good enough for her, to be the man she deserves. Believe me, Georgia Brooks deserves a man who epitomizes good and honest and noble and kind.
I don’t know that I’m all those things naturally, but she sure makes me try to be them for her.
My adorably awkward funny girl. The most loving, caring, and awe-inspiring mother to my two girls. A strong, ambitious, career-driven woman who can and will accomplish anything she sets her mind to.
And most importantly, my soul mate, my person.
Is it obvious I love her?
I sure fucking hope so. Because now that I’m done listing all the qualities she’d love to hear me list, I’m going to get real.
She is a fucking lunatic.
One with the sexiest ass and most show-stopping smile I’ve ever seen, but a lunatic all the same. Manically organized and anally hyper, she’s an apple from her family’s tree whether she likes to admit it or not.
And between keeping up with my wife’s whims, running Brooks Media, raising two spunky and precious girls, and Max Monroe writing the stories of our lives into their books, life has been crazy these past few years. Not to mention, Georgia’s family splashed into the media after her brother Will starred in the popular reality docuseries The Doctor Is In and was dubbed Dr. Obscene to millions of viewers and never fully climbed back out.
It has been an absolute whirlwind, and recently, during this holiday season, my adorably zany wife craved peace and quiet and to spend a perfect Christmas without the added shenanigans of her family.
But what is a perfect Christmas?
Is it Georgia’s meticulously planned-out dinner with flawlessly wrapped presents and the ambiance of a fire and softly playing holiday music?
Or is it merely spending the holiday season with the ones you love most?
I’d go to the ends of the earth to ensure my wife’s happiness—insane, minutia-driven schedule or not. But for those who aren’t so devotedly betrothed, the feeling might not be mutual.
My dear, beautiful, amazing readers, I invite you to turn the page and dive into another story of our lives. One that will no doubt bring you laughter and leave you with that deliriously happy and full-heart feeling Max Monroe is so good at giving.
The people you’ll read about aren’t perfect—but they’re mine.
Happy Holidays, everyone.
All my love,