Page 9 of The Santa of the Mountain

“I’d love to,” I say, pulling each syllable from my throat like a boot in mud.

Why not? It’s not like this could get any worse for me.

3

KATE

I was wrong.Itcanget worse. Ithasgotten worse. And I’m about five seconds away from launching myself into the next snowbank I see, allowing nature to do whatever it wills to me because I was not prepared for Mr. Christmas.

“Do you think Santa’s okay?” Evan asks as he pulls into a makeshift parking lot next to a ramshackle barn.

“What?” I mutter, shaking my head as I try to regather my senses.

“It looked like he took quite the spill on the ice.”

“Oh, right.”

I’d forgotten about that. Or maybe my brain has attempted to block out everything that has happened to me today. Except, of course, the small detail that Pearl set this up.That, I’ll never forget. Steal my dream wedding and marry my ex? Water under the bridge. Force me to spend the next few days with Father Christmas? Too far!

“I’m sure he’ll be okay. Seemed like a guy who could take a few good hits.”

He looked more like a mountain than Santa Claus. For some reason, the Santa Claus that had been sitting beneath thegorgeous Christmas tree in the park launched himself over the wall of the ice rink, slipped, and then knocked himself out cold.

“Shame,” he says, thumbing the steering wheel. “Thought we’d be able to get a good portrait of us on his lap.”

I wish he were joking but he’s not. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a Christmas list tucked into his coat pocket so he could hand-deliver it.

“Yeah, maybe next year,” I say, sighing.

“Don’t worry, this surprise is going to be great. Do you want a hint?”

No, not really. If the stables, barn, horse pastures, and workers kitting out sleighs didn’t give it away, the drive here did. The man couldn’t stop hummingJingle Bells. A drive that took over an hour in this snow. A drive where we listened to nothing but Christmas music.

But it wasn’t just any Christmas music. It washisChristmas music. His renditions where he plays all the instruments, sings everything, and like the sweater I’m wearing, produced it all by himself. And now, tucked away in my purse, is my very own signed copy to commemorate this occasion. How can one girl be so lucky?

Before I have a chance to respond, he blurts, “A one-horse open sleigh ride. I’m sorry, I couldn’t keep it a secret any longer.”

“Great,” I say. “I had no idea.”

I hate to be a downer, and I hate that I’m so grumpy. This should be fun, and I should be happy that someone else is going out of their way to create a day like this, even if it is a little over the top. I know how difficult and time-consuming it is to schedule everything. It’s exactly what I’ve tried to do with Pearl.

Wait. It’s exactly what I did with Pearl. Am I Mr. Christmas toPearl?Oh.God.I am. No wonder she wanted to spend the rest of the time before the wedding without me. And no wonder she thought that this man would be my perfect match. She thinksChristmas is everything to me, but it’ssonot. Christmas is not my identity—it’shis—and that’s why we’re so incompatible.

As much as I love the holiday, I don’t want to spend every day thinking about it.Singingabout it. Or anything else. And after this holiday season is over, I think I might be taking a little vacation from it. Maybe. Probably not, but I’ll happily spend it on my own so I can celebrate how I’d like to and without being judged by my family for not having settled down.

“And I packed a lunch to share once we get to the gazebo.”

“Did you make it yourself?” I have to ask because it seems like there’s nothing this man doesn’t make.

“Afraid not,” he says, shrugging. “I’m a terrible cook, but I made the eggnog. I’ve been spending the entire year getting it right. I don’t want a repeat of last year.”

I’m not sure I want to ask, although knowing Evan, I think he’ll end up telling me?—

“Caught salmonella.”

Right on cue.

“That’s… not good.”

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