Page 60 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

I give her a pointed look. “Most people, not including you.”

“Correct,” she agrees. “Being too nice is a definite failing, but it just makes her more loveable.” She gives me a sly look. “Cole and Jane are coming over in twenty minutes to decorate the tree. Are you going to stay and help? I made cookies.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. No one taught us how to cook or bake when we were kids, so only the motivated ones learned how. Holly and I did not. “You don’t know how to make cookies.”

She laughs with me. “Okay, fine. So Cole made them. What’s the point of dating someone if you can’t take credit for their hard work?”

“Iwilltake a cookie, since you had nothing to do with making them, and then I’m going to clear out,” I tell her. “I acquired the tree, and it’s on you and your crew to make something of it.”

She gives me a naval salute, which seems particularly wrong since we’re in Western North Carolina, a good seven hours from the water, and says, “Aye-aye, Skipper.”

I’m about to complain about the whole naval thing, when my phone rings. My heart instantly starts racing in my chest, but a quick glance at the screen reveals it’s Harry’s number.

“Harry,” I say, lifting it. “You think he got lost?”

“Surely he has GPS on his phone.” She makes a face. “Unless he’s still in that thought spiral about people using it to track him.”

We’ve learned Harry takes dips into the toxic waters of conspiracy theories now and again, especially the ones related to possible misuses of technology. It seems to happen mostly when he’s stressed, and he’s understandably very stressed working with our grandmother. And living with us.

Nodding to my sister, I lift the phone and answer. “What’s up, man? You get to the restaurant okay?”

“It’s me,” a woman’s voice says, and it takes me only half a second to register that it’s Kennedy. She says her name, but it’s unnecessary.

“Shit, did Harry lose his phone?” I ask.

“No,” she says softly. “He lent it to me. I’ve been feeling a bit lonely, so he figured I might want to call someone.”

I hate the thought of her being lonely. She’s someone who exudes light. She’s a bit like Willow, actually—too sweet for a world that likes to throw people around just for fun. I shouldn’t like that about her, but I do. In fact, I’ve spent more timethan I should admit searching for bulldog puppies in the county because (a) she doesn’t even live here, and (b) I’m not certain she’d be allowed to keep a dog in the Labelles’ house.

“You should have called Olive,” I say, like a dick. I can feel Holly watching me, so I get to my feet and pace into the kitchen. Sure enough, there’s a big tub of cookies that look much too good for a Mayberry to have made them. My only hope for avoiding uncomfortable questions after this call is that Holly might think I said Oliver, not Olive.

“Probably,” Kennedy says. “But I wanted to call you. Have you been avoiding me?”

There’s something so sad in her voice when she says it, and I instantly feel like the biggest jerk on the planet.

“Yes,” I admit, grabbing a paper towel. I take one cookie, pause, and take another. They’re decorated to look like Santas, which would normally make me roll my eyes, only it’s obvious that Jane, Cole’s daughter, must have done the decorating. “But to be fair, I’ve been avoiding everyone. I’ve made an art of it.” I head outside to the car, ignoring Holly’s searching gaze. I’m on call tonight, anyway, so I figure I’ll go hang out at the firehouse.

“That’s not the kind of thing you should brag about,” she says. “I take it you haven’t told anyone about Jay?”

I sigh as I slide behind the wheel of my truck. “No. I don’t really know what to say.”

“Maybe you don’t have to say anything,” she says, warming to the subject. “Maybe you just need to tell them and let them say what they want.”

Something inside me knows she’s right. It’ll come out at some point, especially if my mother has decided it might get her some of the attention she craves. It would be better for me to do the telling.

“We’ll see,” I tell her. “You throw Jonah out yet?”

“I don’t get to cut anyone else until Friday,” she says. “Are you going to come back?”

“Do you really want me to?” I ask, placing the cookies on the passenger seat.

“I really do,” she says. “I know it’s not a great situation that we’re in, but I want to get to know you better. I want to spend more time with you.”

My heartbeat kicks up, because I can’t deny that sounds fucking great. There are just two problems with her plan. One, if I have to watch those assholes romance her, I’ll lose my mind. Two, I felt on the verge of losing control with her, and I’ve seen what happens when people let themselves lose their minds for someone. I want no part of it.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” I tell her.

“Oh,” she says. It’s such a simple word. Not even a word, really, but it carries the weight of the world. And I feel like complete shit for having put it there.

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