Page 17 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

“He thinks he’s hauling a tree home on that thing?” Oliver asks with a laugh.

“He’s not allowed to get one for the Labelles’,” I say, thinking of Kennedy and the wistful look on her face when she said the Labelles’ house was the one place Christmas would miss this year. Shit. Maybe Ishouldsend a pine bough home with Harry, except she’d probably interpret it as a taunt. Maybe she’d be right. Maybe not. I don’t have time to consider it, because Harry’s parking, and my lips part with surprise when the back door of the car cracks open.

She’s wearing a beanie and large sunglasses, but it’s her—my princess. I instantly correct myself for the absurd thought—she isn’tmyanything. Itisher, though. She doesn’t have the kind of face a person can forget, with her long, dark hair, big blue eyes, and small, pointed chin. I’m not saying I want her. I’m saying what’s obvious: she’s beautiful. My mother was a beautiful woman, too, and she used her beauty as a weapon, taking down one man after another—using him up and then moving on. I know not to let good looks blind me.

Still, she’s the kind of gorgeous that hurts, and I’d be an imbecile if I didn’t notice. It would be like failing to notice that the sun has risen over the mountains.

“She’s not supposed to be here,” I say, lifting a hand to my jaw.

Harry gets out of the driver’s seat, practically humming with nervous energy, and herds Kennedy toward us.

“Didn’t know this was going to be a prison break,” I say as I nod to them in greeting. Oliver stands up from where he was leaning against the truck, his gaze on Harry, whose cheeks have turned red.

Yup, something definitely happened between them.

Kennedy wraps an arm around Harry’s back and squeezes before letting her arm drop. “Harry knows I’ve been missing Christmas, so he was sweet enough to ask me to come along.”

“It’s been a while,” Oliver says to Harry. “Why don’t we go inside and get some hot choco—”

“No dairy for me,” Harry says. “No dairy for Harry.” Then he lifts a hand to his mouth. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“Because it rhymes, and it’s funny,” Kennedy says encouragingly.

If she says so.

“There’s cider too,” Oliver says, seemingly not put off by my roommate’s verbal missteps.

“And whiskey,” I say, because if ever there were ever an occasion for a drink…

“You want to drink whiskey before you use an ax?” Kennedy asks, her tone a little judgmental if you ask me.

“Yes, Princess,” I say. “I’m an ax-toting lumberjack. I’m the person the Christmas trees have nightmares about at night. Should you really be seen out here? Won’t Harry get fired if you are?”

Harry removes his hat and scrubs a hand through his short hair. “You wouldn’t tell your grandmother, would you?”

Kennedy’s giving me a look as dark as if I just shot an uppercut into Santa’s jaw and suggested serving up his reindeer as venison.

“I try to talk to her as little as possible,” I tell Harry. “Your secret’s safe with me.” Then, to Kennedy, I say, “Just keep your hat and the glasses on.”

She’s unlikely to get recognized anyway. Her photo hasn’t been released to the press yet. And yet…

I don’t really want her to put the full princess effect on display. I’m not sure I can handle it, on top of whatever Oliver–Harry drama is going on.

“Well, okay,” Oliver says, as if he’s the one normal person in this sea of awkwardness. Actually, I think heisthe one normal person in this sea of awkwardness. “Let’s get some drinks—” his gaze goes to Harry, who looks down, “—of whatever variety we choose, and we can go check out the trees. Rowan was saying you guys can’t bring one back to the Labelles’?”

“No, but we were thinking we could watch,” Harry says.

You want to watch us chop down trees?” I ask in disbelief.

“I’ve never seen someone chop down a tree before,” Kennedy says staunchly, lifting her jaw slightly.

Well, I believe that.

“Used to having other people do your dirty work for you?”

“What is yourproblem?” she hisses, and I have to admit, that was a bit harsh. To be honest, I’m pretty sure I didn’t mean it.

Oliver smirks at me. “Do you have a notepad? Because it might be a long list. Cupid here isn’t known for his cheerfulness.”

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