Page 99 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

“Kennedy,” Rowan says, his voice sad, resigned. “I can’t do that.”

Panic weeds through my arms and legs, my head. When he shrugs his arm off me so he can scrub his beard with both hands, I feel the loss of his touch, and my panic grows.

“It’s the only way,” I tell him. “It’s the only way we can be together now, without me pretending—”

“Don’t you see?” he asks, his tone beseeching. “The thing I hate most about this town is the way people talk, the way they’ve always looked at me—like they know everything about me because they know about my past. If we did this, they’d never let it go. I’d always bethatguy. Worse, people across the country would be looking into our business, our lives. You think my mother would let this go? She’d see it as her chance for the spotlight, and she’d find someone to interview her about it.”

“So you want me to choose one of the guys?” I ask, horrified. “If I did that, I’d have to pretend—”

“No,” he says emphatically. “No. Can’t we just…”

“What?” I ask, pushing away on the bench, suddenly pissed. Partly at him, and partly at this situation we’ve backed ourselves into. “What? You want me to shut down the show so we can be together? Don’t you see what a big F-U that would be to Leto’s Hands? To Harry? To all the people who have poured themselves into this production? You wouldn’t only be screwing your grandmother, Rowan. You realize that, right?”

“I—”

But I’ll never know what he was going to say, because there’s an epic crash close to us, followed by a slew of swearing. I look over and see a tray full of food has fallen to the ground, creating an enormous mess, and Ivy and a guy at the table closest to us, who had a sheaf of papers in front of him, are standing in the middle of it. His crisp white shirt has ketchup and some liquid splashed over it, and several of the papers have scattered across the floor. He’s handsome, I realize, the kind of good looks that are hard to miss—dark eyes and tousled dark hair—but I didn’teven notice earlier because my attention was so thoroughly fixed on Rowan. I’m unmoved by this stranger, just as I am by Marcus’s beauty.

Ivy looks apologetic, until the man turns on her, his full lips pursed. He removes his glasses and sets them on the table. “You screwed up my manuscript.”

“Excuse me,” she says, putting a hand on her hip. “You tripped me. Who puts a bag out in the middle of the floor?”

“It was next to my chair,” he says wryly. “I figured I was allowed to set things down next to my chair.”

Rowan gives me a slight nudge and, taking the hint, I get up and let him out. He approaches the guy like a bear who’s been poked. “Don’t talk to my sister like that,” he grumbles. Then, “I don’t like the way you were looking at her earlier and watching me and my girl.”

My heart does a stupid little flip…because he called me his girl.

I’m not sure how much longer I’ll get to keep that title.

He asked me to move to Highland Hills with him, but he won’t do any of the things that will make that happen. He wants me to change my life for him—without him changing anything for me.

The guy lifts his hands to indicate he’s no threat. “I heard you saying your last name, is all. I wondered if you were related to someone I know.”

Rowan shoots me a look as if to saythis is what’ll happen, Kennedy, don’t you see?But the guy continues, “Willow.”

So it’s not Rowan’s grandmother or mother this guy knows about. He’s not here because of the show.

Rowan flinches. “You know our sister?”

“I’m Lou,” the man tells him, his gaze shooting from Ivy back to Rowan. “You’re her brother and sister.”

“Yeah, but your name doesn’t clarify whoyouare,” Rowan says. “She’s never mentioned a Lou.”

“You and I have crossed paths before,” the guy insists. “I’m a friend of her fiancé’s. I was there when he proposed to Willow back in the spring. They told me about this place, you know. Highland Hills, I mean. Not the brewery. They said small town folk are nicer.” There’s a dryness to the remark.

“Why didn’t Willow say anything?” Rowan asks suspiciously.

“She doesn’t know,” Lou says. “I’ve been trying to keep a low profile. Keep to myself. It’s just…I heard your name, and I wondered if you knew her.”

“Well, let’s pick up this food,” Ivy says, giving Lou a dirty look that suggests he’s at fault for the whole thing. To be fair, his bagisjutting into the aisle between the tables, and something tells me she was watching the fight between Rowan and me more than she was the ground at her feet.

“I’m going to go back to the inn to change my shirt,” Lou says, his mouth in an expression of distaste. He starts stacking his papers, even grabbing the few saturated ones on the floor. There’s something a little jumpy about his movements, like he doesn’t want anyone to take too close of a look at those pages.

“It would be the gentleman-like thing to help,” Ivy tells him.

“Good thing I’m not a gentleman,” he says. “Plus, as far as I can tell, you’re the one who works here.”

Rowan glowers at him. “You say you’re a friend of Willow’s. Willow would stay and help.”

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