Page 65 of Rebel Without a Claus
“I want it,” I say quickly, my heart rate pounding so hard, I fear she might hear it through my phone’s speaker. “But I want to do the jobhere. In Holly Ridge. Not back in Los Angeles.”
My words hang in the frosty air for a beat. Then two beats. After three seconds of silence, I start to worry that maybe we lost connection with her entirely. But just as I’m about to ask Kelly if she’s still there, her voice cuts through.
“You want me to move an entire production, crew and all, to some tiny town in the middle of nowhere?”
“Not the middle of nowhere,” I correct her. “The Christmas capital of the country.” I had no idea if that was a factual statement or not, but we are certainly in the running if such a title existed. “Holly Ridge was, after all, the inspiration for the show, right?”
“It was,” she says carefully.
“Well then what is a better place to work on a production about holidays in small towns than the small town that inspired it?”
Mayor Shelby elbows his way to the front, practically yanking the phone out of my hand before I can stop him. “Ma’am,” he says, puffing up like he’s about to negotiate world peace. “This town can offer you tax incentives like you’ve never dreamed of. We’ll write it into the books—heck, we’ll call a meeting and vote on it today even though it’s a holiday. That’s how much Holly Ridge wants this partnership.”
Kelly blinks, startled, clearly not used to mayors inserting themselves into contract negotiations over FaceTime. “That’s… generous.”
Mom gently nudges Dad, who is leaning heavily on his crutches, but somehow looks every bit the innkeeper king on his snow-dusted throne. “And,” Mom cuts in, peeking around Mayor Shelby to wave at the camera, “my husband and I would be happy to provide lodging for the cast and crew. Discounted, of course. With the exclusivity of being the official host of Holly Ridge productions.”
Dad grins, raising his finger to add, “Free hot cocoa in every room.”
The crowd chuckles. Kelly blinks again, her lips twitching like she might actually be amused despite herself.
Before I can say a word, another voice pipes up. “I’ve got warehouse space!”
I turn to see Mr. Jennings, the town’s grumpiest landlord, shuffling forward with his thick plaid coat and a face as red as Santa’s suit. “Used to rent it to a lumber distributor, but it’s just sitting there now. You want soundstages? Green screens? Whatever the kids are using these days? Dirt cheap compared to anything you’d rent out in Hollywood. Consider it yours.”
Kelly narrows her eyes at the camera. “And what about accessibility? Aren’t you in the middle of the mountains? The nearest city is hours away, isn’t it?”
Her question just shows how little she knows about the mountain states.
Luke steps forward before I can answer. He’s dusted in snow, rugged and solid, and when he opens his mouth, the entire town quiets like the mountains themselves are listening.
“An International airport is just twenty minutes down the highway,” he says simply. “Easy in, easy out. I bet it takes longer to get to LAX even when you live in Los Angeles.”
Kelly tilts her head, studying him. “And you are?”
“Luke Dawson,” he says. No hesitation, no grandstanding. Just steady, certain Luke. “Reindeer farmer.”
Kelly stares, and then—unexpectedly—smiles. “Of course you are.”
“If you have any reindeer needs, I’m your man. Or if you’re filming elsewhere on location, I can help you scout an ethically sourced reindeer farmer wherever you’re going. We’re a small network of people.”
The crowd bursts into more chatter, and before I know it, voices are overlapping everywhere:
“We’ve got carpenters for set design!”
“My cousin’s a caterer!”
“The local college kids could intern for school credit!”
The energy snowballs so fast I can hardly keep up, a tidal wave of charm and enthusiasm sweeping Kelly through the screen whether she likes it or not.
I watch her face carefully. She started out skeptical, arms crossed and lips thin. But now—her eyes are softening, her posture loosening, her lips quirking at the edges like she’s trying not to smile.
For the first time, I think this might actually work. She might actually be considering it.
The laughter dies down, and I can tell Kelly’s wheels are turning. She’s not the type to be swept away easily, but she’s not immune either. Her gaze lingers—not on me, not on the mayor or my parents, but on Luke.
He hasn’t moved, hasn’t said another word. Just stands there in his flannel and snow-dusted boots, solid as the Rockies behind him.
