Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

KENNEDY

“How do you feel about the drama between Jonah and Marcus?” Harry asks me. His head is tilted slightly, his expression serious, and I know—because he’s told me—that he’s practiced this look in the mirror. We’re sitting in that same private conversation room off the ballroom with Nana Mayberry and the cameramen. Originally, they’d set up the Mayberry Matchmakers office for our private interviews, but when the deal with the Labelles was finalized, it was decided we’d be sequestered in this cavernous house for the entirety of shooting, other than a skiing trip we’re taking just before Christmas.

It’s Saturday evening, and I’m only slightly orange now, the tint having mostly washed away with a special body wash Harry and the very apologetic makeup artist were able to procure. I’m dressed in a very uncomfortable though gorgeous emerald green mermaid-style dress, and I’d give anything to be in the sweats Olive gave me for Christmas last year—the ones with “Santa Babe” written across the butt. Or one of the other holiday-themed nightgowns I snuck onto set, knowing that nighttime would be my only opportunity to acknowledge the season. If I were home in Chicago, we’d be watching a Christmas movie marathon with hot chocolate and gingerbread cookies from our favorite bakery. Instead, I’m here by myself, dressed like a doll, pretending that I don’t think Jonah is a garbage human being so people won’t suspect we’re only keeping him around for the drama.

I sent Meathead and Deacon packing on Friday, after we painstakingly refilmed the Rolex ceremony.

Even Jonah looked surprised when he was asked to stick around. Deacon, who’d muttered that this was just like the situation with the Washingtons, had agreed to leave without any argument, but Meathead had tried to talk me around.

“You’re giving him the Rolex?” he asked, gesturing to Jonah, who’d had to put on the purple robe again so he’d look consistent, even though he was wearing a fresh suit beneath it. “You want him to stay?”

“Yes,” I said, “I’d like to get to know him better.”

Deacon glowered at me, as if silently accusing me of lying again.

He’d be right.

“What do you like about him?” Meathead asked in disbelief.

It took me a solid thirty seconds to find anything to say. “His hair,” I finally stuttered out.

It is nice—slightly longer than you’d expect in someone named Jonah Highbury the Fifth, chestnut brown and as glossy as if he just got a cream rinse.

“That’s shallow,” Meathead told me with a glare.

I was tempted to tell him the only thing I liked about him was his muscles, but I’d already eliminated him from the show and felt no need to drag him down farther.

Jonah’s been a pain ever since. On Friday afternoon, we had a group date at a nearby vineyard, which the owners closed down for us. They’d even taken down their Christmas decorations, something I found disappointing, other than some delightful fairy lights dangling from the awning of the building.

Despite the lovely setting, the wine all tasted like vinegar, but Jonah was the only one who felt the need to say so. And he felt the need to say so at least four times.

Marcus pointed out the obvious—that he was being rude—and Jonah challenged him to drink a full glass of the spice wine. Honestly, no one would want to do that. It tasted like potpourri smells. Marcus took him up on his challenge and then ran to the bathroom to vomit. The owner begged us not to include that detail in the episode, but I saw the look exchanged by Harry and Nana Mayberry. This was another of those rare occasions when they agreed with each other.

Afterward, the feud between the two guys escalated. We had a fondue social earlier this evening, and Jonah flung hot cheese at Marcus. Then Marcus loudly accused Jonah of double-dipping. Worse, there was a hole in one of the fondue pots, and no one realized it had been slowly leaking cheese onto the floor until one of the contestants stepped in it. The look of disgust on his face suggested he’d stepped in something much worse.

While Rowan’s friends took care of the problems with the heating and electricity, there’ve been other strange annoyances—a beeping noise no one could locate until Colton finally found a CO alarm at floor level in a dusty room on the second floor. A howling sound that proved to be a window that was stuck one fourth an inch open in another little used room. A leaking sink on the first floor.

I haven’t seen Rowan, other than a glimpse of him at the fondue social, standing off to the side with a smirk on his face, his hands shoved into the pockets of his work jeans. There was a slight hole below the knee that looked like it got there by actual work, not the design pretensions of a fashionista.

Something tells me he’s not the kind of man who’d dip bread in melted cheese. He’s probably the kind of guy who likes steak and thinks potatoes are vegetables.

Of course, I shouldn’t care about Rowan Mayberry. He’s been very clear about what he thinks of me. Princess.

After Jonah stomped off from the fondue social, Marcus shrugged at me. “Sorry, he gets to me.”

“He gets to all of us,” Colton quipped. “But I’m starting to think this house is cursed.” His eyes gleaming, he added, “Think about it. The lights, the heat, the weird incidents.”

It was a throwaway remark, but it stuck with me, maybe because it’s lonely sleeping in my huge room, without the use of my cell phone. I miss Olive. I miss Tina and Zach. I definitely don’t miss seeing my mother’s daily reminders of what a disappointment I am, but it’s only been a few days, and it’s already so strange being here, sequestered from the outside world with a bunch of people whom someone else chose for me. Worse, it’ll be six days before I’m allowed to send anyone else home. Two more people will leave on Friday, which’ll leave me with four. Then two more will go home the following week. The final two will go on the skiing trip with me. We’ll all be together through Christmas, and then I’ll spend a weekend with each of them individually before making my final selection.

There’s no filming tomorrow, but on Monday morning, I have a horseback riding date with two of the guys. Of course, it’s Marcus and effing Jonah, which brings me back to Harry’s question… and the cameras are probably documenting my momentary mental break.

What did I think of the drama between Marcus and Jonah? What didn’t I think of it?

“Kennedy,” Harry says softly. “Is this conversation upsetting you?”

I almost laugh. “No, it’s not upsetting. I just wish Jonah and Marcus would be a little more mature about their dislike for each other. Of course, they’re both men who are used to getting their way. It’s natural for there to be some tension.”

“We’ve heard from a couple of the guys that Jonah isn’t well-liked in the house,” Harry says with plenty of sympathy. “How does that make you feel?”

Like they have sense.

I grimace. “I guess they haven’t seen the side of him I have.”

“His hair?” Harry teases.

Nana Mayberry’s mouth purses with distaste. “We all know why you’re jealous, Sweet Tea,” she mutters with plenty of ill nature. Harry has a receding hairline and buzzed hair, although he’s told me that he misses wearing it longer. He lifts a hand to his forehead, his expression dejected, and I feel a surge of dislike toward Nana.

“We’re all jealous,” I say, smiling at Harry. “I’ve heard at least two of the guys ask him about what conditioner he uses, but he’s very closed-mouth about it.”

Harry smiles back at me.

“Did you know,” Nana asks with a slight smile that lacks any joy, “that Marcus has no experience with horseback riding?”

There’s an undercurrent of malice to her words, like she thinks this will tarnish him in my opinion.

“Oh?”

“New money,” she says with a haughty sneer. “He’s one of those bootstraps types.”

As far as I know, she’s not rich at all, despite the premise of this show, but I don’t call her on it. Money doesn’t quantify worth, after all. It only impacts what you’re able to buy. I just say, “I look forward to teaching him, then.”

Deacon could have called me out on that lie too, because it is one. The last thing I want to do is go horseback riding with Jonah and Marcus and listen to them bicker like schoolchildren. Marcus is handsome and occasionally gallant, from offering me his jacket that first night to helping me dip my bread in cheese so it didn’t get all over my mermaid dress. But this little Jonah feud has soured me on him, like he’s a bottle of table red from that winery. Honestly, I wish this whole thing were over, but I signed up for a reason, and I intend to see it through.

“You know,” I say, “one of the things we fund at Leto’s Hands is vocational training.”

“You teach people to be jockeys?” Harry asks in wonder.

“Well, no. But teaching doesn’t stop having value when you age out of school. Our goal is to ensure every woman has a way of earning money for herself.”

“Every woman does have a way,” Nana says crisply. “Marriage.”

That dislike I’ve been feeling curls in around me, tightening its grip. “Marriage is far from the only way a woman can make something of herself,” I say, trying not to let her see that she’s affected me. Something tells me it would only make her dig her heels in harder. “We teach computer skills, and—”

“I think we’re done here,” Nana Mayberry says, standing.

“I have the contractual right to talk about Leto’s Hands in every episode,” I say, getting to my feet too. It takes a lot of effort in this dress, which make me feel like I’ve been swallowed by a boa constrictor.

“And you have,” Nana says. “We need enough material for two episodes per week, dear. No one wants to be bored to death. The men are here to have fun and find love. Which is also why you said you were here.”

“I am,” I say, feeling my heart beating in my throat. I can’t help but mentally tally the men. The only standouts in the group are Marcus and Colton, who are both smart and attractive. But I can’t say that either of them do it for me.

Yet. I tell myself. They don’t do it for you yet. Love needs room and time to grow.

Still, I haven’t felt any zips of attraction. Nothing compared to what I experienced with the one big mistake from my past. Truthfully, I wouldn’t care too much if both of my frontrunners left this week, except then I’d be stuck with the other four. It’s disappointing, because I really did sign up for this hoping something would come of it. That I’d be pleasantly surprised. That I’d be swept off my feet. That—

I can practically hear my mother laughing at me. There you go again, being a Pollyanna. You need to let other people make the important decisions, Kennedy. You’ve got a pretty face, but God didn’t give you enough sense to fill a thimble.

I straighten my spine, because her voice is the last one I want in my head.

Nana Mayberry’s still giving me a look that suggests she also has doubts about my thimble-filling ability, so I say, “Besides, Nana Mayberry, I thought it was your job to find me love. If my match isn’t here, then isn’t it your fault as my matchmaker?”

A gasp escapes Harry, who’s the only one of us still sitting, his eyes as large as marbles.

“Calm yourself, Sweet Tea,” Nana Mayberry says, but her gaze is on me, as if we’re in one of those staring contests Olive and I used to do in high school. Except Olive and I would always break into laughter, and I have a feeling something more sinister will happen if I lose this stare-off with Nana. “Your match is here, Kennedy,” she finally says. “If you’re open to love.”

“Of course I am,” I say in a voice as sweet as spun sugar. “That’s why I’m here after all.”

Then I leave and go up to my room. I’m still wrestling with the terrible zipper of my dress, my cozy pajamas laid out on the bed in the hopes that I’ll eventually get to change into them, when a knock lands on my door. I’m not sure why, but my mind flashes to Rowan walking through that same door a few nights ago. His eyes took me in for a long moment before he looked away, and it felt like it wasn’t just because of the orange tone of my skin.

“Who’s there?” I ask, my mind still lingering on the memory. That can be the only explanation for why I’m a little disappointed when Harry says, “Do you need some help with your dress, Kennedy?”

It’s thoughtful of him to check. Then again, he saw what it took for the makeup artist to help me get into it.

“Yeah, please,” I say, feeling a lump in my throat. It’s a sense of longing, but I’m not entirely sure what for, unless it’s that image of Olive and the movie fest.

There isn’t even any cable or internet here, as if the producers are determined to keep us iced out from the outside world.

Harry comes in, a big smile on his face, but it wobbles when he sees me.

He shuts the door behind him. “What is it? Did one of those jerks hurt you?”

A genuine smile crosses my face. I’m so glad he’s here. If it were only Nana, I don’t think I could hack it.

“No, nothing like that. I guess I’m just a little lonely.”

“Spoiler alert. We’re bringing Tina and Zach in for a family visit next Friday, so there’s that to look forward to.”

Laughter spills out of me. “Zach’s going to hate that. He’s going to hate them .”

“Yeah, probably,” Harry admits. “You know, you can use my phone again if you want to,” he offers immediately. “Just don’t tell Nana. That woman scares the shit out of me.”

A laugh rips out of me. “Yeah, me too.”

“No one would know it,” he says, grinning at me again. “You were awesome back there, saying it’s her fault as your matchmaker if all the guys suck.” He pulls a face. “They’re not all terrible, are they? Colton’s pretty to look at. And Marcus, although he’s too blond for my taste. The winners are almost never blond, huh? It’s like there’s this universal taste in men, and we were all born liking them tall, dark, and handsome.” He pulls a face as he touches a hand to his own pale hair.

I try to smile and fail. “Yeah. You’re right. They’re both really good looking. It’s just…I don’t feel a spark, you know?”

He lets out a sigh. “I feel you there. I met a guy who was perfect on paper before I moved here. I mean, a lot of the guys I’ve dated have had about two dozen red flags each, but this guy had, like, five max. Anyway, I digress. There just wasn’t anything there.” He makes a face. “You can’t make something out of nothing, Kennedy. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun. Who knows,” his smile turns sly, “maybe Jonah Highbury the Fifth will grow on you.”

“If I tell you Jonah’s growing on me, promise to slap me awake,” I say, lifting my mass of hair over my shoulder and motioning for him to go around and free me from the dress.

I’m in front of the mirror, just like I was that day with Rowan, and I feel a weird sense of déjà vu that has a razor’s edge of regret. Which is just stupid. The only thing I like about Rowan is that he’s direct and real. That he’s not one of the egotistical jerks his grandmother chose for me.

I sigh, my gaze falling to the bed and the Santa Babe pants. “You know what, Harry? I wish it were Christmas around here.”

He shoots me a conflicted look in the mirror, his fingers tapping the zipper of my dress before he swoops it down in one elegant pull. Turning his back so I can change, he says, “You know, if you were sick tomorrow, I’m betting no one would come in here to check on you. Especially if you said you had something gross, like food poisoning.” He pauses. “There’s maybe a thirty-five percent chance Marcus would check on you, but if you texted him to say you didn’t want him to because it wouldn’t be romantic, he’d probably stay away. Or if you told him you had violent diarrhea.”

I laugh as I pull on my Santa Babe pants. “What are you getting at, Harry?” The shirt goes on next, and already I feel so much better. I’m more myself like this—more Kennedy, less Littlefield. “You can turn back around,” I tell him.

He does, and he gives his buzzed hair a nervous-seeming scrub before he says, “You can’t tell anyone.”

Now I’m intrigued.

“Tell them what?”

“I’m going to sneak you out. Rowan invited me to go to a Christmas tree farm with him and his friend.”

“Rowan?” I say with a gasp.

He gives me a searching look. “Don’t you like him? He’s kind of gruff, but I’ve concluded that’s mostly bluster. I’m pretty sure they’ll have hot chocolate.” He purses his mouth to the side while he waits for my answer and shuffles a little on his feet. It strikes me that he’s nervous.

“Are you worried we’re going to get caught?”

An amused sound escapes him. “Absolutely, yes, and we’re going to have to establish a safe word in case either of us gets an inkling that things are going south. But in the Christmas spirit of honesty, I should mention that I wouldn’t mind having you there for personal reasons.”

I could tell him that I’m pretty sure honesty has nothing to do with the Christmas spirit, but I’d rather find out what he means.

“Personal reasons?”

He makes a face. “Rowan’s best friend Oliver.”

Oh… “Let me guess, is he tall, dark, and handsome?”

“Is he ever,” he says, but he doesn’t sound all that pleased about it.

“Is that not a good thing?” I gasp. “Oh, is he not gay?”

“He’s definitely gay,” he says. “Unless he goes around kissing men for some other reason.”

“He kissed you?” If it comes out as a squeak, it’s because this is the most exciting thing that’s happened since I turned orange.

“Yes,” he sighs.

“Why is this a bad thing if he’s tall and dark and handsome?”

“It’s just…it happened months and months ago, when Rowan and Oliver visited Asheville.”

“Full story, now,” I say, grabbing his hand and leading him over to what looks like a fainting couch. We both sit, and we probably have identical grimaces when we sink into the upholstery, which feels as comfortable as plastic.

“So,” Harry says, shuffling his feet a little more, then he sets his elbows on his knees and cradles his head in his hands. “I went out for a drink with them, and we were all having a good time, except it kind of felt like there was this vibe between Oliver and me. Then, when Rowan went to the bathroom, Oliver gives me a look and says, ‘We’re finally alone.’ And I say, ‘So what are you going to do about it?’ which was a lot better than I usually respond in situations like that. And then he kissed me.”

“That sounds incredible,” I say, getting excited. Even though I’m the main contestant on a dating show, it’s way more romantic than anything that’s happened to me. Except…

“Wait, why didn’t anything happen between you after that? That’s a pretty epic build up. It’s the sort of story a person would tell at an anniversary party.”

He sits back up. “Don’t tell anyone this. Not even Tina.”

I make the sign of the cross.

“Are you Catholic?”

“No, but it makes for a powerful statement, doesn’t it?”

He shrugs. “Okay. So, I’d had fettuccine alfredo for dinner. I’m lactose intolerant, and I have a nervous stomach when I get anxious.”

“Harry,” I say slowly. “Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?”

He heaves an unhappy sigh that suggests my imagination is on point. “Yes. He kissed me, and it was the best kiss I’d had in I don’t even know how long, and then I released noxious gas. Loudly .”

“What did you do next?” I ask, completely caught up in the story.

“What do you think I did?” he asks, getting up from the couch and starting to pace. He throws his hands up. “I ran!”

“What’d you say the next time you saw him?”

“I haven’t seen him!” he says, pausing to look at me. There’s a glint of panic in his eyes.

“What do you mean you haven’t seen him? Don’t you live with Rowan? I thought this guy was his best friend?”

“He is!” Harry says. “Do you know how hard it’s been to avoid him? But I can’t avoid him forever, and you want a taste of Christmas, so…”

“So you think it’ll be easier if you have a friend with you.”

“ Yes ,” he says. “And I want you there enough that I’m willing to risk my job to make it happen. Will you come?”