Page 98 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

I feel the corners of my mouth lift. “So you’re gonna be Jay?”

“If you want.”

I don’t, not really. I’d rather sit here with her, eat a burger, and enjoy being with her out in the open. Of not hiding how I feel. But she’s right. I do need to confront this thing with Jay head-on, and I don’t know how to do that. Maybe practicing will help.

“Okay,” I say. “How do we start?”

“Rowan, I am your father,” she says, her expression deadpan.

I laugh again, but it cuts off when I realize it’s my turn to speak.

“Yeah,” I say. “I got that part. I can even understand, I guess, why you started seeing Mom while she was still married. Love makes a man to do stupid things. The part I don’t get is why you left me when you thought I might be yours. Why you never told me about any of it until now.”

“Maybe I was scared it would change things,” she says softly. “Maybe I was scared you wouldn’t look at me the same way if you knew about the affair. That you wouldn’t respect me anymore. And even if a part of me suspected you were mine, I didn’t know for sure. I wanted it to be true, and I worried it wasn’t.”

“You stopped treating me like a son after you divorced my mother,” I say, my voice trembling. “You may have still asked me to hang out now and again, but I didn’t feel like I was family to you anymore. I felt like an afterthought.”

Fuck, it feels like something inside me is tearing open. Like all my fears and worries and inadequacies are tumbling out and biting into me. I don’t like it.I don’t like it.

Kennedy reaches across the table and takes my hand, squeezing it.

“I didn’t know what to do,” she tells me. “Your mother made it clear that she didn’t want me around you kids, except for Ivy, so I honored that. Because I worried she’d take you away from me completely if I didn’t keep my distance. Whether you were my son or not, my name wasn’t on your birth certificate. She had all the power.”

“Kennedy,” I say, her name jagged on my lips. “I don’t think…”

“We’re practicing how it might go,” she says, squeezing my hand again. “And remember that I’ve met Jay. I’ve spoken with him. Helovesyou.”

I feel someone staring, and when I look up, the guy with all the papers is watching us. I scowl at him. He looks away.

“He loves you,” Kennedy continues. And then, looking into her bright blue eyes, so intent in their desire to make me feel better, I do something truly stupid.

“AndIloveyou,” I say.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

KENNEDY

“Wait,” I say, “are you talking in character?” But I already know the answer. Everything in me is hot and gooey, like the middle of a barely done chocolate chip cookie. I want nothing more than to fold into this man and this moment because this is as close to perfect as real life gets.

“No, Kennedy,” he says, lifting my hand to his lips and kissing it. “I’m not. I’m an idiot, and I don’t know what I’m doing at least three quarters of the time, but I love you. These past weeks…the only reason I haven’t fallen apart is because of you. Because I want to be the kind of man who’s good enough for you.”

“You don’t need to try to be that man,” I say, my heart pounding, a ball of raw emotion lodged in my throat. “Youarehim.” I’m suddenly not nearly close enough to him, and I get up from my side of the booth and move over to his, sliding in next to him, and his arm slips around me, cocooning me in his warmth. “You gave me the best day I’ve ever had, Rowan. The best…and playing Santa Claus for those kids tonight…” I feel tears pushing at my eyes. I know he did it for me, but he enjoyed it too. I could see the goodness in him tonight, from handing the pony to that little girl’s mother to giving out those gifts to passersby. I leanin, taking in his woodsy scent, and kiss the rasp of his bearded cheek. “I love you too.”

His eyes glint with warmth, withlove, and he leans in and kisses me, soft and sweet. “Thank God for that,” he says, cupping my cheek. But his hand falls too soon. “Kennedy, would you ever consider…would you consider staying in Highland Hills?”

I think of Gayle, of my job at Leto’s Hands, of Olive and Nanny Rose. I don’t want to leave all of them, but I don’t have to, do I? I’m pretty sure I can work something out with Gayle, and I have the resources to visit Olive and Nanny Rose or fly them out here whenever I want. Plus, there’s an idea I’ve been working on in my head, something Rowan and I could work on together if he has a mind to. A project we could both pour ourselves into.

I’d also be with Zach and Tina, with Harry. Iwantthat. I want this little town that I’ve experienced tonight, with the caroling, and Christmas all year, and people working together even though they don’t always like each other.

“I think so,” I tell him, and the joy in his face is so real, so potent, I almost weep. “But, Rowan,” I say. “We need to talk about the show.” I start telling him about Harry’s idea, about how we can hijack the narrative of the show and make it our own, but his lips set in a hard line, and the softness that was there moments ago is fading. Panic grips me.

He’s going to say no.

What will I do if he turns me down?

This is the only way I can finish the show without pretending to get engaged to Jonah or Marcus or Jeff. (Let’s be honest, Colton’s poetry and obsession with stomach conditions sealed his doom.) It’s the only way we can be together now, on our own terms.

It’s the only way I can still help Leto’s HandsandHarry.

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