Page 5 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

“Rowan,” Nana Mayberry screams, waving a hand at the cameramen set up around the room. They keep right on filming. According to Harry, the producers have informed them they don’t have to answer to her and her mercurial whims. There’s no sign of Rowan, so presumably he’s off working on the heating problem.

Harry hurries forward from where he was standing to one side of the thrones and flips my veil back into place.

“There’s no rewinding time, Harry,” I say with a laugh, flipping it back. A ring on my finger got caught in the netting and nearly ripped the hat and a bunch of pinned hair off my head. “Yes, Jonah.” I, disentangling it and glancing around as I take in the others. “Everyone. There was a mishap, and I’m currently a lot more orange than usual.”

This is already a nightmare, so I might as well own it.

“Rowan,” Nana shrieks again, as if she’s unaware that he might be out of hearing in this sprawling house.

Miraculously, he steps into the ballroom seconds later. His gaze goes to me first, and his lips tip up. “So, your big secret’s out, huh?”

“Rowan,” Nana Mayberry says with pinched lips, gathering his attention. She points to the pile of broken crystal on the ground as if he’s a paid servant and not her handyman grandson who appears to be helping her out of the goodness of his heart.

“Your wish is my command,” he jests, then leaves again, presumably to get a broom.

“Were you exposed to radiation?” Jonah asks. Based on the way he’s eyeing me, it’s not the first time he’s said it.

I give myself a mental shake. “Nope, no radiation. Bad self-tanner.”

He takes two big steps back, as if bad self-tanner is contagious, and his shoe cracks a piece of the already broken glass, prompting him to jump back farther and bump into Bachelor Number Three, who gives him a disgusted look and shuffles away, nearly mowing down Nana Mayberry. She’d hustled up closer to evaluate the broken glass situation.

Number Three, who callshimselfMeathead, is the most fit and muscular of the contestants—the son of a man who started a hugely successful fitness program—so she doesn’t seem overly upset. In fact, Nana reaches out and touches his back.

“Steady there,” she says, in no hurry to move her hand. “A man like you could knock me down without a second thought.”

There’s a hearty dose of implication behind the words. I’d feel worse for Meathead if he hadn’t already told me that I should cut dairy, gluten, and refined sugar from my diet. I don’t need someone stepping into my mother’s shoes on the first night of filming. The only other thing of note about him is that he’s clearly the guy who got punched in the eye. The makeup artist is good, but there’s a slight purpling of flesh that can be seen through his foundation.

Jonah wipes his face with a kerchief from his pocket, seemingly oblivious that the kerchief is as wet as his suit. He gives a shiver, and it occurs to me that hypothermia isn’t fully out of the question given the temperature in here.

I glance at Harry. “Shouldn’t we get him a change of clothes?”

The words have barely left my lips when Rowan returns to the room with a broom, dustpan, a purple robe, and towel.

I can’t help but smile. He has it more together than anyone else involved in this production, myself included.

He gives everything to Jonah, who is instantly affronted. “I’m expected to sweep?” he asks, as if being asked to clean up after himself is more hideous than any of the demands made on Cinderella.

“And I thought you were stupid,” Rowan quips.

Jonah bristles, then stalks toward Rowan, but he almost immediately retreats, having correctly deduced he’d lose any fight between the two.

“I’ll do it,” I say, holding out a hand for the broom.

“No, you won’t,” Rowan says, his brow furrowing. He seems pissed off by the suggestion. I remember him calling me “princess” and internally bristle.

“I can sweep.”

“Yes, most of us have the ability to sweep,” he says, his expression still severe, like he should be out chopping wood instead of helping on the set of a reality dating show. “But you didn’t make the mess. You shouldn’t volunteer to clean up after other people.”

I’m annoyed by his high-handedness. Shouldn’t I be allowed to volunteer my help howeverIwant? His words remind me of my parents, which probably isn’t fair. They don’t like it when I volunteer my help to people who genuinely need it; Rowan is telling me not to do the dirty work of Jonah Highbury the Fifth.

The stare down between them continues for several seconds, then, to my shock, Jonah shrugs on the robe and starts sweeping.

A glance shows me the cameramen are soaking it all in. This is definitely going to make it into the first episode.

“Well, this is exciting,” Harry says, almost manically, clapping his hands three times. Then he pulls a face. “I guess we’ll have to skip the champagne social though.”

Darn it. That would have been the perfect opportunity for me to talk about my non-profit, although I already know that at leastsix out of eight of the guys would have such little interest in the topic their eyes would glaze over.

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