Page 80 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

I’m…here.

None of the things I’ve done have made me stop thinking about Kennedy— what she’s doing, what she’s wearing, who she’s talking to, and whether she loves the puppy.

Of courseshe fucking loves the puppy. She’s probably knitted it hats and written it sonnets. Am I jealous of a dog?

Iamjealous of a dog.

Which makes me have even more mixed feelings about the fact that I’m holding a letter from Kennedyin my hand.

“I need to read this,” I say.

“Yes,” Harry nods, then frowns and scratches his head again. “You do.” He studies me for a long moment. “I have something to say.”

I give him a pointed look. “Okay. You can talk to me.”

He looks around, and I realize he’s searching for somewhere to sit. There aren’t many options, because every available surface is covered in tiny car parts. There’s no system, no order, and the look on his face suggests this is his own personal horror story. I’d laugh if I weren’t so hung up on the letter in my hand.

Harry settles for leaning against the wall. “Did you set me up with Oliver? Kennedy thought you did.”

Well, shit. I don’t particularly want to cop to it, but I don’t want to lie to him. “I thought Oliver was interested, and he’s had a shit time of it lately. So yeah, I invited you to the tree farm hoping you two would hit off. I was just trying to help him out. And you.”

He nods as if this is what he expected me to say, and I’m glad that I didn’t piss him off. I don’t need another person I care about to be pissed at me.

“Thank you for that,” Harry says, studying me.

“Seems to be going well,” I say evenly, feeling suddenly embarrassed. I know they had a late dinner last night, after Harry was released from his duties with the show. They both made it to the restaurant this time, and Oliver told me he owedme a bottle of whiskey, which suggests he’s happy with the way things went.

“It is. Finally,” Harry says, giving his head a scratch. “I was starting to think I was cursed. But no animals jumped on my head last night, I avoided dairy like the poison it is, and everything went okay. Better than okay.”

I only understand half of what he said but nod anyway. “Good. I’m glad. You know, Oliver’s like a brother to me.”

“He’s said the same about you,” he tells me, and a warmth spreads through my chest. I knew as much, but Oliver and I are both the kind of guys who’d tell someone else that but not each other.

“Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?” I ask when Harry makes no move to leave. “Yeah, but not just that. You like Kennedy.”

I could object, but we both know it’s true. Even if I hadn’t admitted as much in front of him and everyone in my family, they would have known. I wouldn’t ask a favor of Rory for just anyone. I like her. It’s an established fact.

“I meant what I said. I’m not going to mess with the show anymore, Harry,” I tell him with a sigh. “I shouldn’t have done that in the first place. Especially not without talking to you.”

He nods. “If you’d told me, we could have worked on it together.”

I nearly drop the letter in my hand. “What do you mean?” I ask when I’ve recovered enough to speak. “Youlovethe show.”

“Yes,” he says, his expression souring. “That’s exactly why I don’t want to see it ruined by your grandmother. She’s carrying on with one of the contestants. She’s recording Kennedy’s private conversations. She’s a menace. A disgrace to reality television!”

A laugh slips out of me. “You really think most people on reality TV have higher moral fiber than Nana?”

“They should!” he says crisply. “Everyone should!”

I don’t disagree with him, so I settle for a shrug. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at there, bud.”

“We need to take Maeve Mayberry down,” he says firmly. “We need to make sure she’s never allowed within ten feet of a camera. Ever. I’m staging a coup.”

I can’t deny that I like the thought. Harry staging a coup. My grandmother booted off her own goddamn show. She deserves it.Hedeserves it—if anyone can pull off working in reality TV while not being a garbage person, it’s him.

“Okay,” I say, tapping the letter against my hand. “I’ll bite. What do you need me to do to help?”

“Can we sit down in the house and talk?” he asks. “It’s cold out here.”

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