Page 8 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

Indeed. I’m not surprised by her hypocrisy. I’m used to it—my mother and her friends make an art of saying one thing and meaning another. I’d rather not be comfortable with this kind of discourse, but I’m definitely familiar with it.

Harry gives me a quick glance, like he’s wondering if I’m going to flip out on her. But I don’t. I give her a sheepish smile and say, “Well, heisa little clumsy, and he seemed thrown by my self-tanning mishap, but so was I! I couldn’t believe it when I looked in the mirror.” I tap my chin. “Still, there’s something charmingly straightforward about Jonah. He certainly says what he’s thinking.”

There’s a choking sound, and I look over at Harry, alarmed.

“It’s okay,” he stammers out, lifting a hand. “I’m just choking on my own spit.”

We continue the discussion, and I tell them that I have concerns about Deacon and Meathead. Deacon, because he’s still clearly not over his ex-girlfriend’s betrayal. Meathead, because he comes off as judgmental and got into a physical altercation the night before filming. After a few minutes, I segue the conversation into a longer discussion of my job, which Nana tries to cut short with a sour look on her face, but I make sure to deliver our mission statement in full.

We return to the ballroom, and while the guys filter back in, having been summoned by some signal, Harry presents me with a glossy wooden case, which I open dramatically for the cameras.

“This is it,” he says, glowing, once the men are all seated in their thrones, which have been wheeled back into position. “The Rolex ceremony.”

I unclasp the case, revealing six glossy watches, the sale of which would probably keep Leto’s Hands running like a well-oiled machine for months.

As I try not to feel bitter about that, the electricity goes out.

CHAPTER THREE

ROWAN

This isn’t going according to plan.

Then again, I don’t have a specific plan. I only know that I can’t let this travesty masquerading as a TV show get renewed.

One season? Sure, it’s embarrassing to have our family name dragged through mud again—the way it was the last time someone had the dumbass idea of giving my grandmother a power trip and a platform for her bullshit. But if it’s a one-season wonder, it’llgo away. Any longer than that, and my mother will come running back to Highland Hills for her chance at a sliver of the spotlight.

No fucking thanks. Our family doesn’t need any more spotlights on it, picking up all the dirt and dust that isvery muchthere. And if you ask me, our town doesn’t need more tourists barreling through it, looking for small-town charm like it’s something they can package and bring home in their suitcases. My friend Oliver’s always quick to let out a world-weary sigh when I say things like that. “You don’t complain when a new bar opens, Rowan, or when there’s a new restaurant. Not all change is bad.”

Of course, we both know that’s bullshit. Idocomplain when new bars and restaurants open. My sisters call me Old ManRowan, and maybe they have a point, but even so. Highland Hills needs a hit dating show as much as I need to go antiquing with my twin sisters, Holly and Bryn, this weekend. (Yes, they actually invited me, but I’m reasonably sure it’s a joke. Holly’s been pulling at least one practical joke a week on me ever since she moved in with me last summer.)

So I take my time going downstairs to look at the breaker that I tripped. I don’t want them to finish filming tonight. The longer it takes to film the show, the more expensive it will be. The more expensive it is, the less likely the producers will want to throw more money at my grandmother.

When I come back upstairs, the camera guys have their cellphones out, using them as flashlights—none of the bachelors are doing this, of course. Or Kennedy. They’re not allowed to have their phones during filming. Actually, based on what Harry told me, their devices are literally under lock and key, which sounds fucking brutal. Not that I’m the kind of guy who’s always texting or calling people—no thank you. But what if they want to sneak out for a night? What if they want to watch YouTube to figure out how to break a heating system—or fix one? There are plenty of TVs in the house, but Harry says those are cut off from the internet, and although the Labelles do have some dusty DVDs stashed in the basement, there’s nothing but a box set of the showDallasand several Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen movies. No need to mess with those. If anyone tries to have a movie night, the DVDs themselves will do the tormenting.

I doubt these guys will be jonesing for YouTube fix-it videos, anyway. That one guy, Jonah, had clearly never used a broom in his life. They’re not the fix-it-up types.

My gaze sticks on Kennedy, who looks fine as hell despite the tanner mishap.

I don’t like that Number Six put his jacket on her.

Because I’m as capable of hypocrisy as the next asshole, I also don’t like that it took six guys to pony up a single jacket.

Of course, I’m not allowed to have an opinion on that, being that I’m also the one who messed with the thermostat.

My grandmother sees me in the low lighting and bustles over. She’s in her eighties, but there’s nothing frail about her tonight. Her ego certainly hasn’t taken any hits. Still, she’s getting old. That’s why I answer her calls for help, even though she’s not the kind of grandmother who’d knit me a blanket or send me a birthday card. Or do anything for me. The fact is, she’s family—and if I’m not the one answering her calls, those calls will be made to my sisters, who are not as immune to her bullshit as I am.

“Rowan, why aren’t the lights on?”

“I’m a handyman, Nana, not an electrician. I’ll have to call one of my buddies to come take a look in the morning.”

“But we’re filmingtonight,” she hisses. Her hair is still perfectly contained by her bun, and if she’s agitated by the shitty bent the night has taken, it doesn’t show in the glow of the phone flashlights. Then again, she’s never been one to show emotion—or feel it. When she gathered us kids together to tell us our mother was leaving because she’d decided to get married to her fourth husband, who wasn’t keen on taking in her five kids from three different men, she said, and I quote, “I’m in the unfortunate position of being stuck with your mother’s mistakes, but youwillbe allowed to stay here, so long as you do your duty.”

That’s not the kind of thing a teenager forgets.

My sister Bryn took it to meanshewas in charge of us, but I’ve always felt the gut-deep need to look after my sisters. Call it sexist if you’d like. They probably would. But it’s my duty to take care of them, and I go about it in my own way. This is part of that. I’m going to do my damnedest to protect them from this TV show.

“Not anymore, you’re not,” I tell Nana. “You need someone to come in and look at the heating system too. That’s above my paygrade.”

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