Chapter 26

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

ROWAN

“I warned you,” I say, glancing at her. She looks so damn happy, it’s like I can’t help but catch some of her happiness and keep it. Except that’s not quite right, because the reason I’m happy is that she is—that I was able to make this happen for her.

Even though the only thing I’ve given her is atonal caroling in the town square.

That’s no exaggeration—one of the carolers is so tone deaf, the screech she issues during “All I Want for Christmas is You” sounds like it’s made by a murder victim. Worse, four of them are in costume. One is, randomly, a bear, another is dressed to look like a nutcracker, a third is wearing antlers with jingle bells (Kennedy says this isn’t a costume, but I argue that if a person were to wear such a thing at any other time, they would be considered eccentric, if not troubled), and a fourth is dressed as Jolly Saint Nick himself.

If left to my own devices, I would only attend this particular event if one of the carolers accidentally lit a fire. Or if someone suffered from a medical emergency, like Jay, and they had to wait for the EMTs to arrive.

But I can’t deny that I’m having fun. Standing here with my arm around Kennedy, both of us holding drinks from Christmas All Year coffee, although I’m the DD, and mine is non-alcoholic, there’s a lightness inside of me. With her, I can watch this absurdity unfolding and be slightly amused and entertained by it, not annoyed by the loud and badly performed music or the mildew-scented costumes several of the singers are wearing.

From the looks Kennedy keeps giving me and the way she snuggles closer, I know she’s enjoying herself too.

Still, there’s only so much a man can take, and when a true asshole shouts out encore for “All I want for Christmas is You,” and they actually start singing it again, I slip my hand down to take hers and nod.

“Next stop.”

She shoots me a sly look, like she understands exactly what I’m all about, and steps away with me.

“You didn’t want to hear that high A again, did you?” she asks in a lowered voice.

“Did you?” I ask, giving her side a playful bump.

She giggles and takes another sip from her to-go mug as I lead her away. I watch as she soaks in the holiday scene—the wreathes hung over the street, the holly and pine decorating each of the old-fashioned lamp posts, the white fairy lights, and the brighter multicolored ones in the shop windows. It’s always struck me as over-the-top, commercialized, and geared toward the tourists who rip through our town like locusts. And to be honest, I still feel that way. But I suck in her joy like it’s the drink in my mug.

She glances around as if worried she’ll be overheard over the sound of the carolers, who are still loud even though we’re retreating from them, then says, “I can’t believe all this has been going on around me, and I didn’t even know. It’s like all the Christmas was stripped from Labelle Manor and brought here.”

I snort. “It’s like this every year, Kennedy. They do it for the tourists.”

“But you get to enjoy it too,” she says, grinning at a small girl who’s stepped up to a shop window to check out the display of stuffed horses. Her mother is beside her, one hand on her hair, but she has a tired look, and I wonder if she’ll be able to afford one of the stuffed animals her little girl’s ogling. “I always liked horses too when I was a little girl.”

“Your father got you a pony, didn’t he?” I ask, unable to help myself.

“How’d you guess?” she asks with a self-aware smile. “Her name was Buttercup, and I regret nothing.”

“Wait here,” I say on impulse, squeezing her hand.

She gives me an inscrutable look but nods and points at her feet. “Waiting here.”

I come out a few minutes later, hand one of the bags I’m holding to the little girl’s mother with a nod and an “it’s from Saint Nick.” Before she can stutter out more than a thank you, I return to Kennedy and give her the other.

“It may be the only pony I can get you,” I say with a half-smile. “But I came by it honestly.” I flinch when I see the tears in her eyes. “Did something happen?”

Was she pissed that I’d been away for so long?

“That little girl,” she says, nodding toward her. I don’t look back, because I’m concerned the girl’s mother might have tears in her eyes too, and then I’ll have made two women cry in as many minutes. “I saw what you did, Rowan. That was…that was so beautiful.” She cradles the shopping bag to her chest. “And I’m going to treasure this forever.”

Self-consciousness claws at my chest. I didn’t do it to come off as a good guy. I did it because I wanted to, but now I feel uncomfortable. I scratch my chest through my coat. “Well, if you react like that to me giving out a couple of little gifts, maybe I should play Santa all night.”

Her eyes light up with excitement, never far off for her, which is one of the things I love about her. “Yes,” she says with emphasis. “Let’s do it. Exactly that.”

Her words surprise a laugh out of me. “What? You want to buy a bunch of gifts at the toy store and give them to people who look like they need a pick me up?”

“ Yes .”

“What if someone thinks we’re perverts for giving presents to kids?”

She considers this for a second, but nothing will put her off now that she’s attached to the idea. “We’ll only give them to kids who have an adult with them. And we’ll give them to the adult.”

I scrunch my nose. “There’s a good chance I’ll know some of these people, and you’re supposed to be keeping a low profile.”

She glances around before saying in an undertone, “I’m not Kennedy. I’m Daphne .”

It’s true that she doesn’t look like herself. I wouldn’t be surprised if her own brother did a double take before he added one and one and got two. Still, I don’t love the idea of approaching a bunch of strangers with gifts. I’m even less partial to the thought of going up to people I haven’t had the misfortune of talking to since high school. But that look in her eyes…

Maybe this will help her fall in love with Highland Hills.

Maybe this will make her want to stay.

I sigh. “Okay.”

“Okay?” she asks, giving a little jump on her feet, like her body can’t contain her joy.

“Okay,” I say, laughing. “How much of that Three Wise Men did you drink, anyway?”

“Enough that it’s empty,” she says with a shrug, and slips the closed canister into the bag with her pony. Mine is in my jacket pocket.

“Let’s go play Santa Claus.”

So we go inside, buy dozens of presents, and ask for them to be wrapped.

One man spat at us, and a woman I vaguely remember from high school claimed that I’d never called her back after we hooked up, an accusation that made my ears turn red. But there’ve also been a lot of smiles, a lot of joy, and so much of it has been from Kennedy that I feel drunk on it.

“We’re running behind schedule,” I say. “But this is what’s next.” We’re just outside the bookstore, and Kennedy lights up when she sees the name on the awning—Read Me—which I’ve always thought was stupid until right this moment. “I’m going to buy you some new holiday romance books so you don’t have to keep reading the same one over and over again.”

She immediately lifts up onto her toes and kisses me. My heart swells in my chest because tonight was supposed to be all about her, but somehow, it’s become about us. She pulls away but takes my hand. We walk in together, and I help her choose several books, laughing my ass off at the descriptions but getting kind of into the whole thing since it becomes a game to see if I can choose something that holds her interest.

When we leave the bookstore, she shoots me a sidelong glance.

“What?”

“What’s next?”

I laugh and put my arm around her. “We’re about to go to the worst place on Earth. Brace yourself.”

Seven minutes later, we walk into Christmas All Year Coffee.

Her gasp is so adorable I can barely take it, even though I feel an equal measure of horror. This place has always struck me as a nightmare tourist trap—somewhere I’d rather not go, thank you very much—but tonight there’s something magical about it. It’s as if I’m seeing it through Kennedy’s eyes.

The Christmas tree is all decked out, there’s Bing Crosby playing over the speakers, and the whole place smells like coffee and chocolate, with a hint of spice and liqueur. The tables are packed with people eating desserts and drinking coffee or hot chocolate or hot alcoholic beverages, but the small square two-top closest to the tree is empty.

“That’s for us?” Kennedy asks with awe as I head toward it. “Who’d you have to kill?”

“Friend of a friend.”

“You killed a friend of a friend?”

I smirk at her. “Smartass. A friend of a friend set this up. It’s no big deal.”

She slowly shakes her head as we sit at the table, the chairs upholstered with red velvet and brass tacks because everything in this place needs to beat you over the head with Christmas.

“This is amazing,” she says, leaning across the table as if she’s sharing a secret. “Rowan…this is maybe the best day I’ve ever had.”

“Me too,” I say, taking her hand, and I mean it. I wouldn’t have chosen to do any of these things on my own, but with her, they were okay. No, they were more than okay. They made me fall a little bit in love with this place too—they helped me see it with the blinders that tourists wear whenever they pop in for their weekends away.

I let Kennedy order whatever she wants for me, with the disclaimer that I won’t be drinking alcohol because I’m her driver, and we end up with hot chocolates covered in so much whipped cream that the sight of one of these suckers would probably give Harry a panic attack from all the dairy. We talk easily, the way we’ve been doing all night. About Highland Hills. Leto’s Hands. And at one point, she laughs herself into near hysterics over the coincidence that my best friend is named Oliver and hers is named Olive.

When we’re done, I take her hand, and we walk to Ziggy’s. “My little sister wanted to meet you,” I say, rubbing a thumb over the back of her hand. I’ve already told her why Ivy’s been helping out at the brewery. “She’s going to bring us some food.”

Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone I know is lying in wait in the tap room, hoping we’ll come in so they can see how it’s going. We’re barely through the door of the modern-industrial style tap room when Ivy descends on us.

“Right this way,” she says, without even introducing herself. She leads us to a booth in the back, where we’ll be relatively tucked away. Once we’re seated, she beams at Kennedy. “The red wig suits you. I loved wearing the red. I got a job at the zoo wearing that wig.” She pats her chest. “I’m Ivy, by the way. I know your name.”

Kennedy’s cheeks flush slightly, then something sparks in her eyes. “You’re the romance novelist! That’s amazing. I’d love to read your books sometime.”

Ivy winks. “I’ll hook you up. Don’t wait on this guy to bring you any. Rowan Mayberry likes to pretend I write children’s books.”

She says it so casually, but there’s a pinch of hurt to it, and I suddenly feel like an asshole. It’s not her fault that the guys at the firehouse are dicks about her writing. Or that someone made a sign with “Cupid” on it on Valentine’s Day and tacked it up on my front door. I’m proud of Ivy, and if you’re proud of someone, it’s best to tell them, isn’t it? I’ve spent so much of my life not telling people how I feel—not even acknowledging my feelings to myself. Where has it gotten me?

I swallow. “I’m proud of you, Ivy. We all are.”

There’s a pleased twinkle in her eyes as she cuts a bow. “Now let me get y’all some food. I’d bring over menus, but let’s be frank, the burgers are the only food worth having here. That sound okay?”

We both nod, and Ivy hustles off. As she leaves, I see a solo man at a table near us look up and watch her, and there’s a frank appreciation in his gaze that makes me bristle. I glare at him; he doesn’t notice. He’s wearing glasses, and there’s a stack of paper in front of him, like he decided a brewery was a good place to get some work done. But he’s a stranger, and the most beautiful woman in the world is across from me, so my attention doesn’t stick to him for more than half a second.

“Have you spoken to Jay?” Kennedy asks, leaning over the table, and I have another moment of discomfort, of feeling like I’ve done something important wrong. I did see Jay at the hospital last week, after I spoke with Ivy and Willow, but we weren’t alone together. He gave me plenty of significant looks, which I ignored. I asked him about his health. He asked me about my toy cars. That was that. I haven’t gone by the house since he was released from the hospital. Nor have I asked him about Kerry and the podiatrist. I need to do those things, but I haven’t felt ready for them.

“No,” I admit. “Not really.”

“Would you like help practicing?” she asks. “Sometimes it helps if you practice all the different ways a conversation could go.”

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. He loves you.”

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.

“And I love you ,” I say.