Page 107 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

We hang up, and one line keeps running through my head—It’s almost over.

She’s right, but what will my life look like once it’s done? Should I call Rowan and ask to talk this through? At the same time, he knows what I want—I’ve made that very clear—so it’s on him to reach out to me, isn’t it? Still, I find myself looking through Harry’s contacts to find his number.

A knock lands on my door, and I shove the phone under my pillow.

“Are you ready?” Harry asks from behind the door.

No. Yes. As ready as I’ll ever be.

I give my stuffed pony a pat, feeling a pinch of nostalgia for last night…before the fiery doom that engulfed Labelle Manor, obviously. Then I grab the phone, get up, and open the door.

“That dress is fantastic,” Harry tells me as I glance around and then hand him the phone. He sounds like he means it, but I don’t miss the way his face catches on mine. Despite turning me orange, which we now know was Rowan’s fault, the makeup artist is very good at what she does, but she couldn’t totally conceal that I’d spent half the night crying instead of sleeping. “This is going to be good…great. This show is going to blow everyone’s expectations out of the water.”

I nod because I don’t trust my voice not to waver. “Are we still going on the skiing trip tomorrow?”

“Some people will be going, yes,” he says enigmatically. Maybe he put it that way because I haven’t told anyone who I’m planning to cut. To do that, I’d have to know myself. I’m stillon the edge of quitting, of telling them I can’t do this. Because even if I can’t have Rowan, even if he doesn’t want to be at the center of this shitshow with me, I’m still in love with him. Isn’t it morally wrong of me to pretend that I could have feelings for someone else? Shouldn’t I at least talk to the other guys openly about it so they know that I’m not interested in them? I’ve made no promises, and Nana Mayberry told me I flirt as badly as a block of ice, but even so, I don’t want to disappoint anyone.

“It’s going to be okay, Kennedy,” Harry says kindly, his eyes warm. “It really will. Just don’t ask Jonah to make cookies.” He makes a face. “That was my error.” Then he glances behind me into the room. Maybe it’s my imagination, but I think his gaze lingers on the pony. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Let’s go, then,” he says.

The couple who run this place have half a dozen wonderful rocking chairs, each equipped with its own thick plaid blanket, arranged around the lobby, so that’s where we’ll be sitting instead of the thrones from Labelle Manor. There’s a big screen TV mounted to the wall across from them, near the tree, and the sweet lady who runs the place told me that they’re going to be playing holiday movies every night. She even offered to fix me hot chocolate and cookies if I’d like to join her. Better yet, there’s a little reading room next to the lobby filled with hundreds of books.

“Most of them are romance,” she’d told me with a conspiratorial look. “Something tells me you won’t mind that a bit.”

I love it here.

I wish I were here under different circumstances.

I wish I were here with a different person, no offense to Harry.

He leads me downstairs, neither of us talking.

A cameraman is waiting at the foot of the stairs, taking footage of me descending.

I can see that someone has set up a little bar down below, near the fireplace, and there’s a tray of champagne glasses, another nod toward where we began.

The guys are all dressed in ill-fitting suits, which Harry tells me was the cause of much consternation earlier today. While Tina lent me one of her dresses, the guys weren’t so lucky. (My brother, understandably, felt no interest in lending his nice things to the production, and no one else came forward with any offers.) There are only two suit shops in Highland Hills—one of them run by a man who claims his artistry would be offended by attempting to fit suits to four men in a matter of hours, and the other a discount shop. The producers opted for the latter. They say it will add to the shock value of the fire, although I’m unclear on why the fire needs to seem more shocking.

Colton and Jeff are sitting on the rocking chairs, rocking and chatting as if they could care less about the outcome of this Rolex ceremony, but Marcus and Jonah are each putting sticks in the fire from the collection gathered next to it, as if to prove to each other that they’re capable of being outdoorsy. Nana Mayberry is watching them with pursed lips, standing a distance away from everyone. She’s wearing a red sweater and a skirt with green stripes, but she couldn’t look less merry if she were wearing a Krampus costume. A few of the production assistants are hanging around too, and a couple of them are having an intense whispered conversation. Maybe they’re worried about Jonah being so close to the flames.

“Should he be allowed near the fire?” I ask hesitantly.

Harry blanches. “Away from the fire, Jonah,” he shouts. “Step away.”

“But Marcus and I have a little—”

“Away.”

Surprisingly, he listens. Maybe even Jonah Highbury the Fifth is capable of being chastened by the fact that he just singlehandedly destroyed a mansion.

When we get to the bottom of the steps, Harry nods to the fast-talking PAs, and one of them beams back at him and pulls a laptop out of his bag. Harry nods for me to take a seat. I do, and Marcus and Jonah sit down too, one on either side of me. I’m freezing despite the fire but I suppose that’s the downside of wearing formal wear in the winter.

Harry, still standing, waves to the flat screen TV mounted on the wall across from the rocking chairs, and I’m vaguely aware of the cameras, soaking us all in.

“We have a special surprise prepared for you,” he says, and the way Nana Mayberry sharply cranes her head, like one of those velociraptors inJurassic Park, tells me that she’s had no part in this. Even though I still want to be anywhere but here, my interest is piqued.

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