Page 35 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

I find that long-sleeved T-shirt in the front seat, the one from Ralph’s. After I bring the tree inside, I go to the bathroom and pull it on. I’m wearing it while I sit in my chair. I’m wearing it while I pour myself the first drink. I’m wearing it when I push the bottle away.

Because it’s not the kind of comfort I want.

CHAPTER TEN

KENNEDY

Harry is basically running on adrenaline as he drives us back to Labelle Manor. The ambulance pulled into the parking lot literally seconds after we turned out of it.

“This doesn’t feel good,” I say to myself. I keep thinking of the look on Rowan’s face—the way he was trying to come off as stoic but wasn’t quite managing it.

“Which part?”

I give him a look, and he sighs. “My anxiety is at about eleven right now. I’m trying to repress everything.” He pauses, and then his lips tip up slightly. “Well, maybe noteverything.”

I turn in my seat to face him. “I could use some good news, so tell me Oliver kissed you.Please.”

“He did,” Harry says, slapping the wheel. He jumps when the horn goes off. “And it was after that squirrel tap-danced on my head, so I know he actually likes me. He said life certainly seems more exciting with me around.” He frowns. “I don’t know what could be exciting about the whole gas thing. That was just embarrassing, but everyone always tells me to stop over-analyzing things, so I decided to let it go.”

“Was the kiss good?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says. “But the whole time, I had this phantom itch on my head from the squirrel. When he pulled away, I started scratching it like I was infested with lice.” He grimaces. “Can you get lice from a squirrel?”

“No,” I say. “You can only get head lice from another person.” I shrug in response to his questioning look. “Despite what my mother thinks, infestations do happen at private schools.”

He gives a full-body shudder as he continues to drive.

“Do you think Jay’s going to be all right?” I ask in a small voice. “That was awful.”

“He seemed all right. I mean, he was still moving and talking.”

“Yeah,” I say, but my mind is firmly fixed on Rowan. I hated leaving him like that, even though it had to happen.

“How’d it go with Rowan?” he asks, swiveling his head to study me quickly before returning his attention to the road. There’s hardly anyone out, but Harry’s a fastidious driver. “I mean, before his stepfather had a heart attack.”

I almost laugh, mostly because Harry didn’t say it as a joke. But my mind summons Rowan again. There was a moment, before Jay came up to us, when I thought…

Of course, it’s stupid to think any such thing. Rowan has made it pretty clear that I’m not his type, and I’m supposed to be dating several other men. Truthfully, I don’t feel anything for any of them, but wouldn’t it be unethical to pursue anyone else? Besides, while I might have a month off work, Idowork in Chicago, and Rowan’s life is very firmly rooted in Highland Hills.

“Kennedy?” Harry asks, and I glance back at him, lifting my fingers to my lips.

“He’s different than I thought,” I say, because I don’t want to make Harry worry. This show’s success is important to him—and to me, although for different reasons.

“I told you he takes some warming up. He comes off as a grumpy jerk…” He pauses. “And heisgrumpy. But he’s not a jerk. At least not most of the time.”

I laugh. “A beautiful attribution.”

I consider telling him about Kerry and the incredibly awkward phone call I had with her, but Rowan wouldn’t want any gossip going around. While I trust Harry, he’s someone who enjoys sharing good stories so much he might not be able to help himself.

Once we get back to Labelle Manor, Harry sneaks me upstairs to my room, where I’ve been supposedly holed up all day with my food poisoning complaint. It feels strange to be alone right now, with five thousand thoughts pounding through my head, but Harry doesn’t stay. I know being around me is probably ratcheting up his nerves after everything that happened at the Christmas tree farm, and I’m supposed to be sick. I’m there for all of ten minutes before someone knocks.

Rowan, my mind supplies, even though logic dictates that it’s much too soon to expect him. I fly over to the door, but as soon as I start opening it, the person on the other side pulls it shut with such force I nearly fly into it face first.

“Excuse me?” I call out with plenty of attitude.

“I’m sorry, my peach,” says a voice that very clearly belongs to Jonah. “I wanted to bring you some gifts, but I don’t want to get too close in case it’s something other than food poisoning. You might be infectious, and I’m very sensitive to gastric complaints.”

I make a face at no one, but at least this means I don’t have to open the door and talk to him.

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