Page 41 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

A smile flashes across my face. “What’s your Christmas wish, Princess?” I’m not sure why I’m asking, other than that there’s something sweet about the way she loves Christmas—the honest and deep joy she takes in it.

She tips her head up a little, giving me a better look at her pink lips, then says, “When I was a kid, I always wished Santa would bring me a puppy. I must have written him two dozen letters about it, like that kid inA Christmas Story, but of course he never brought one. My mother thinks dogs are dirty, and mydad thinks there’s no point to domesticated animals that aren’t eaten.”

A dry laugh pulls out of me. “Brutal but not without logic. We didn’t have pets either. My mother and grandmother didn’t want to have to clean up after us, let alone anyone else.”

“Brutal,” she repeats, her mouth tipping slightly into a smile. “Did you want one?”

“When I was little,” I say, leaning my head back against the shelves. “I used to like Tintin, running around and getting into adventures by himself. He always had that dog.”

“I can imagine you like that,” she says, “rampaging through Highland Hills with a dog. You know, that’s how I knew that there was no Santa Claus,” she adds with a touch of sadness. “Because my puppy never came.”

“Do you have a dog now?” I ask, wondering about her life in Chicago. Is she different there? If we’d met there, would there still have been this strange energy arcing between us?

“I don’t,” she says in a small voice. “I guess I don’t really trust myself. My parents weren’t any good at taking care of us. What if I’m just like them?”

I feel a surge of anger, not at her, but at the assholes who made her question herself. I haven’t known her long, but it doesn’t take a long acquaintance with Kennedy Littlefield to recognize that she’s a nurturer—the kind of person who’d find an injured walking stick insect and try to nurse it back to health.

“They shouldn’t have made you feel that way,” I say. “You’d do great with a dog sidekick. I can see it now.” I nudge her arm, wanting the excuse to touch her. “Here, help me form the picture. You’d want—”

“A bulldog,” she says, laughing at my expression of surprise. “What? I always thought all the extra folds of skin were cute. They look like little aliens. Butcutealiens.”

I can’t help laughing. I’m surprised I’m even capable of laughter after the bullshit day I’ve had, but being with her makes me feel lighter. “Okay, you want a cute alien. I’m getting a really good picture of you now.” My laughter dries up at the look of longing on her face. “You should get that dog, Princess.”

“Maybe I will,” she says, smiling. “I’ve always liked the thought of having one around. It can get so lonely, living by myself. I love the thought

of having a little dog to curl up with when I’m watching movies or reading books.”

I wouldn’t mind curling up with her, although it would be stupid to say so.

“Maybe you should ask Santa for a puppy.”

“Maybe I will,” she says. Her expression serious, she adds, “It would be nice if he could act quickly on it, because this house would feel a whole lot less creepy if I had a little friend to keep me company.”

“You think it’s creepy?” I ask, leaning toward her. I can’t help myself, it’s as if she’s a warm fire in the hearth.

“Absolutely. What would you call it?”

“Self-indulgent and silly. Ugly. Overly large. But not scary.”

She laughs. “I guess it’s all those things, although I’ll be honest, my parents’ house isn’t much smaller.”

“No,” I say. “I don’t imagine it is.” It’s a good reminder of how different our lives are, of how unlikely we would be as any sort of pairing, even for a night of fun. Still, when she looks at me with a pointed challenge in her eyes and says, “Your turn” again, I find myself saying, “Dare.”

Her smile is radiant, and I feel like a god for being the one who brought it out in her—a real smile. The ones she flashes for the cameras are proper and pretty, but they don’t transform her whole face—her whole being—the way this one does. “I was hoping you would say that.”

My blood pumps faster, hotter as I wait for her to choose what she wants me to do—hopefully to her.

So her next words surprise me.

“Did you know there’s a basement pool?”

“Yes,” I say. While I’ve studied the blueprints for this place, trying to think of the best ways to sabotage the show without potentially hurting someone or causing the kind of damage that can’t be fixed, I already knew that bit of information.

“It’s in a heated room,” she says, grinning. “What do you say to a swim?”

I’d rather stay in here, with her, but she seems so excited by the idea, just like she was about my damn Christmas tree, that I don’t want to say no. “I don’t have a suit with me.”

She gives me a look, then blushes and says, “You could wear your clothes, but it wouldn’t be much of a dare if you did. From my understanding, dares usually include the kind of thing a person wouldn’t normally do.” She licks her lips. “Like skinny dipping.”

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