Page 45 of The Enemy Face Off

Resting her book in her lap, she looks at me and sighs. "I'm reading an enemies-to-lovers romance."

"Enemies to lovers," I repeat, trying to understand how that would work. How can you fall in love with your enemy? That doesn't make any sense. "I don't get it."

She stares out the window and lets out a long sigh. "You and me both."

Now I'm even more confused.

"Hey. I'm meant to be the weirdo in this rel—er…in this—" I stop talking and let me waving my hand between us fill in the blank. "Why areyouacting weird? Is it about the wedding?"

"Uh, yeah. The wedding. Let's talk about that. Or anything else that isn't an enemies-to-lovers romance where the two main characters get trapped in a snowstorm and are forced to share—I'll stop talking. I think I've done enough ranting for one day. What would you like to talk about?"

Right on cue, my stomach grumbles. "Food?" I suggest.

She grins.

Then catches herself and immediately stops.

She mutters something under her breath that sounds a lot like, "Do not start seeing him in a new light," but I can't be sure with the wind howling outside.

When we checked in, the receptionist explained that due to the weather, they'll be offering room service rather than have people leave their rooms and make their way to the on-site restaurant. It's a safety thing.

"I can order us some food to the room, if you like?" I suggest.

"Sure."

"What would you like?"

"Um, a salad would be great. Dressing on the side please."

"Any particular type of salad?"

"Surprise me."

I get up out of my seat. "One Oreo and Twinkie salad coming right up."

I walk over to the phone, and when I check back on her, I see her grinning face in the window reflection.

She's not going to make this easy for me…and I like that.

A lot.

See? Weirdo.

The food arrives half an hour later—a California cobb salad for her with the red wine vinaigrette on the side, and a chicken fried steak, fish tacos, some pasta, and club sandwich for me because I have a few days off and can indulge in whatever food I want.

There's not enough room on the small table by the window for all the plates, so we eat at the breakfast bar by the kitchenette.

"Did you have a nice Christmas with your family?" I ask, taking a bite of my fish taco.

She nudges her food with her fork and shrugs. "Yeah. I guess."

I don't really know what the deal with her family is, but from the little snippets she's shared with me, I get the sense that they're not necessarily bad people, she simply feels different to them, like an outsider.

But I gleaned that information from her via text. I'm not sure if we're at the place where I can press her for more details in real life.

I take a calculated risk.

"How are things with your family?" I study her face for any reaction. She inhales deeply through her nose and says nothing. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," I tack on, giving her an out.

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