Page 71 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

If I’m in trouble, and I’m pretty damn sure I am, I can’t bring myself to care. Kennedy is like an elixir restoring me. A balm to my wounds. When I’m with her, it’s easy to forget all my failings.

She looks up at me from where she’s nestled in the crook of my arm. “You said you’d show me your cars earlier,” she says. “I’d like to see them.”

Something warm unfurls in my chest, but I tell myself I’m just pleased she remembered. Many people wouldn’t.

I get up and locate my pants, pulling out my phone.

I’m not surprised to see I’ve missed texts from Holly and Bryn, but I’ll look at those later. I pull up photos of my two latest projects and pass the phone over.

“You made those?” Kennedy asks, her eyes widening. I can tell she’s actually impressed.

That warmth in my chest spreads, feeling dangerously like pride, but I insist, “It’s just a hobby. I work on them when I have time and donate them at Christmas.” Delight fills her gaze, and I laugh as I slip back into bed beside her. She burrows into me, and my smile widens. “I know what you’re thinking. It’s definitely not because I have a thing for Christmas.”

“Then what is it, you pretend grinch?” she asks, still beaming at me.

I draw the blanket up and over us, not wanting her to get cold. It’s an old house, drafty even when I’m not messing with the radiators. I pick up a lock of her long, glossy hair and run it through my fingers. It’s grounding in a strange way. “I know what it’s like, is all. To live in the house where Santa doesn’t stop. I might think it’s bullshit now, but it’s not bullshit to those kids. I don’t want them to feel like they don’t matter because Kris Kringle didn’t stick the newest iPad in their stocking.”

Her face stricken, she puts an arm around my waist, her grip stronger than I’d expect. “Oh, Rowan.”

I laugh. “No need toOh, Rowanme. It’s bullshit that kids are taught they’ll get gifts if they behave a certain way, when the truth is, some kids aren’t going to get them at all. It makes them think they’re no good. That’s why I do it. They shouldn’t have to think they’re worth less than anyone else.”

“That’s beautiful,” she says, but a crease forms between her eyebrows. “Is that a problem here?”

This time my laugh is harsher. “Poverty? Last I checked, it’s a problem just about everywhere, but yeah, there are a lot of families below the poverty line in Heber County.”

A look of determination steals over her face. “I’m going to talk about it on the show. There must be a local organization that I can get the producers to donate money to.”

I don’t like her mentioning the show. It sours my mood like milk left out too long. Because as much as we’ve been pretendingotherwise, our situation hasn’t changed. She can’t be my woman, and I sure as hell can’t be her man.

“We can’t let my grandmother get away with this shit.”

“I agree,” she says. “I have some thoughts about what we can do.”

I should let her tell me, but suddenly the truth is pressing at my lips, demanding to come out, because fuck, if ever there’s a time for honesty, it’s now. “I’m going to do what I can to stop this show from happening, Kennedy,” I blurt.

“What?” she asks, pulling the blanket up. I feel a pang of regret, because I can tell I’ve damaged something between us. “Why?”

I start to get a little pissed. “You’re seriously asking why I want to stop the show?” I ask, sitting up abruptly. “For one thing, I don’t want those assholes following you around, trying to lure you into—”

She lifts her eyebrows.

“Well, I don’t. You said you understood that.”

“I do,” she says with consternation.

“And for another, my grandmother has obviously lost what little sense she was born with. For fuck’s sake, she basically poisoned Harry.”

“That’d be twice now,” she says with a nod.

“He told you about the sweet tea incident, huh?” I run a hand through my hair, then grab my shirt off the floor and tug it on.

“He did.”

Kennedy’s watching me with these sad eyes that make me feel like I punched a puppy, but it feels wrong to be naked for this conversation. I don’t want her to feel vulnerable too, so I hand her the cutesy nightshirt she had on, which is a desperately sexy thing for a grown woman with curves to wear, it turns out. The way it clings to her breasts and hips makes it a masterpiece.

She takes it without comment, pulling it over her head as I locate my underwear and work jeans and pull them on.

“I guess there’s something I should tell you,” I say, shoving my phone into the pocket of my jeans.”

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