Page 56 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

“Uh, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Why don’t we carry on with our game?” I scrunch my lips to the side. “Let’s see, do either of you have pets?”

“No,” Jonah says instantly. “And I don’t think any civilized person would willingly pick up someone else’s waste.”

Marcus huffs a laugh. “I don’t,” he tells me. “But my friend has a Great Dane.”

“Disgusting,” Jonah says, and he clearly means it.

I think again of that dog I wanted as a kid—still want—the little imagined bulldog with its underbite and rolls of furry flesh.I feel a pang of longing, although it’s not just for the dog, but for the innocence of the girl who thought she could ask Santa for her dearest wish and get it.

Mind you, my needs were always met, and my parents would have given me anything I wanted, as long as I wanted the things they wanted for me.

The problem was that I almost never did.

“You like dogs, don’t you, Kennedy?” Marcus asks.

“I do,” I admit with a small smile. “Love them.”

Jonah has such an obviousI just messed up lookon his face that I almost laugh.

“You seem like a dog person,” Marcus says.

A smile crosses my face, because I feel seen for the first time all day. When Marcus forgets about the TV show, he’s a nice guy. “How’d you decide that?”

“You’re warm and kind. Compassionate.”

“I’d get a small dog if you wanted one,” Jonah says quickly. “We could hire a dog walker. And a pooper scooper.”

“That’s an implement,” Marcus says. “Not a person.”

I take another sip of champagne. “Are you guys up for a dare?”

“What would you dare me to do, Kennedy?” Marcus asks, his eyes on my lips. He’s such a beautiful man, all golden hair and big blue eyes, but I wouldn’t askhimto go skinny dipping. That thought inevitably leads to another—who told Nana about Rowan and me? Because I’m fairly certain she didn’t know we were at the pool the other night. She must have found out after the fact.

I consider for a moment and then snap my fingers, because as ideas go, it’s pretty much perfect. “Why don’t both of you make a PSA about Leto’s Hands? We can have a contest for who does it best.”

“Do we get to judge?” Harry asks with obvious delight.

Nana snaps into a dry cracker, shooting me a look that suggests she’d prefer it if she were snapping my spine.

“Youdo,” I say. I give Nana Mayberry a smile that would give a person sugar shock. “His nickname is Sweet Tea. Seems like he’s the right audience.”

She chews, swallows. “A bleeding heart, you mean?”

“The best kind,” I say brightly.

“Am I supposed to know what Leto’s Hands is?” Jonah asks with confusion. Then he nods to my untouched plate of caviar. “Are you eating that?”

I give it to him without comment.

Marcus stares at him in disbelief. I’m pretty sureheremembers where I work. I’ve talked about my job every day, even on most of their sick room visits. His gaze shifts back to mine, his bright blue eyes turning mischievous. “What about you?” he asks. “Do we get to giveyoua dare?”

Discomfort uncoils inside me. Rowan didn’t ask me to do anything I might not want to—even though Ivery muchwanted to. But do I trust Marcus and Jonah to do the same?

No, especially not Jonah.

Still, I want them to do the PSAs. This could be exactly the funding breakthrough we need.

“Sure,” I say, waiting until Jonah has a big mouthful of caviar. “What did you have in mind?”

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