Page 49 of Happy After All

“The very same.”

“What about him?”

“He’s going to help raise a lot of money for the town. By being here. By existing. He doesn’t love this place, he doesn’t care about it, he’s just famous. Ish. And handsome.”

“Okay,” he says, fixing me with a gimlet eye, obviously suspicious about what I’m going to say next.

Rightfully so, in fairness to him. He should be suspicious of me.

I have ulterior motives.

“It occurs to me,” I say, “I also know someone handsome and famous.”

His gaze narrows. “Surely you don’t mean me.”

“I do,” I say.

“What exactly do you think me being famous and ... handsome is going to accomplish?”

For a full second all I can think is ...You’d make him so jealous.

That’s the stupidest thought. I don’t want to make Chris jealous. But the truth is ...

I feel like I landed myself in the middle of a weird Christmas movie with all the possible clichés. Except Nathan doesn’t own a Christmas tree farm, and Chris would never ask me to go back to the city.

I wouldn’t want him to.

I wouldn’t want to move to Nathan’s Christmas tree farm if he had one.

It’s been established that the man doesn’t want me, and also that he’d be too big of a project for me even if he did.

“I want you to consider doing a book event. At A Very Desert Christmas. If we can advertise that you’re going to be there giving a literary talk ... I think you would be a real draw.”

“Right,” he says.

“I know you don’t love to do things like that. You’re very private, you protect your identity. I get that.”

“Yes, and you realize that everyone at the motel knows my actual name.”

“Well, maybe half of them know your first name. Almost none of them use the internet. I’m pretty sure Albert is on the run from the law.”

“Albert?” he asks.

For a moment, I’m about to explain who Albert is when I realize he’s not actually asking, he’s questioning the logistics of what I just said.

“Yes. Ruth told me.”

“What did he do?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he was a contract killer.”

He shakes his head. “No. I’ve met contract killers. Albert is no contract killer.”

“Point is,” I say, “you don’t have to worry about them going in broadcasting your identity. Probably anyone psychotic enough to look hard could connect the two.”

“True enough.” He shrugs. “I find that I give enough information that no one seems interested. They don’t seem to realize that author me isn’t ... the rest of me.”

“I don’t do author events, so I don’t know what that’s like. Honestly, no one is interested in me. So I’m actually not trying to step on your privacy. I care about that.”

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