Page 54 of My Irresistible Enemy

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“Nolan! Hey, Nolan!”

I pushed through the crowd at the festival later that evening, trying to catch up to Nolan as he headed to the drinks table. I could see why the tourism board wanted to get the festival on camera. The giant pots of simmering shrimp, grits, clams, and mussels, the bluegrass band and people dancing, and the gulls crying out over the harbor water all made for quite the show.

It was a little hard to see how the cameras were going to find thecontestants in all of this chaos, but I supposed that wasn’t my problem. Nolan didn’t turn around until I was at his elbow, and when he did, it was to give me a confused look.

“What?” he asked, sounding impatient.

“Nothing, I just—” I wilted a little under his gaze. “I just wanted to talk.”

“About?” Nolan said, taking another step towards the table.

“I don’t know. Anything. I just thought, you know, if we’re trying to sell everyone on the idea that we like each other, we should maybe spend some time talking tonight. For the cameras, if nothing else.”

Nolan gestured at the crowd swirling around us. “I don’t see any cameras, do you?”

“Well, not right now, but they’re circulating.” I rolled my eyes. “Why does everything have to be such a fight with you?”

“It’s not a fight, I just…” He trailed off and sighed. “You know what? Fine. We can use this time to talk about the challenge for next week.”

I groaned as he began making his way towards the drinks table again and hurried so I could stay by his elbow.

“You know, it wouldn’t kill us to talk about something else,” I said as we reached the table. “If we want people to believe we’re in some kind of relationship, maybe we should actually get to know each other a bit. Talk about something other than baking for once?”

“Summersea sangria?” the lady behind the table said, pointing to a massive crystal punch bowl. “It’s got Georgia wine, rum distilled right here on the island, and local peaches.”

“Thanks.” I took the glass she offered me. There was no way I could make it through tonight sober. But Nolan shook his head.

“Do you have something non-alcoholic?” he asked.

The woman nodded and pointed to another large punch bowl, filled with something that looked almost identical in color to the sangria.

“Same local peaches,” she said, “with some other fruit juices. Will that work?”

“Sure,” Nolan said, though he looked at the glass she gave him with some misgiving.

“Come on, cranky.” I took his arm and guided him out through the throng. “Let’s go find somewhere to sit before you glare a hole through that.”

Nolan shook my hand off, but he did follow, and when I found an empty bench against the harbor wall, he sat down next to me. I took a sip of my sangria—it was strong, which I was more than okay with—and cocked my head to the side.

“Do you not drink or something?”

He shrugged. “Not much. Not in crowds, anyway. Or situations where I don’t see the drink get made.” He took a sip of his punch and made a face. “This is way too sweet. I’d have been better off with water.”

He looked at the crowd that had gathered on the dance floor in front of the band, his face strangely tense. He was holding himself ramrod straight, not leaning back on the bench even a little.

“Well, you’re welcome to have some of mine, if you change your mind.” I caught sight of a camera across the dance floor and leaned in and poked him. “Hey, come on. We’re supposed to look like we like each other.”

Nolan leaned back. “Can’t we do that without you getting in my space?”

“Usually people who like each other don’t physically recoil from the other person’s presence, but you do you, I guess.” I waved a hand. “Look, I’ve been good. I haven’t been throwing myself at you or anything. I’m just saying it might help if you acted a little bit less like a robot.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, and I prepared for him to snap at me, but when he opened them, all he said was, “Sorry. You’re right.”

“Wait, what?” I blinked. “Since when have you ever admitted that?”

“Don’t get used to it.” He rolled his shoulders like he was trying to work out a kink. “I just don’t like it when people touch me when I’m not expecting it, I guess.”

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