Page 131 of The Holiday Hate-Off
She lowers her head and kisses me as she takes me in to the hilt. Her movements are a little uncertain at first—she’s still getting used to this dance, to having control over me. But she likes it, because soon she’s moving more quickly, her breath coming in pants. Mine is being expelled in groans. She feels so perfect, as if we were made to come together.
“I’m close, Enzo,” she says in my ear, her hands still holding mine down. I could break free with no effort whatsoever, but who the hell would want to?
“Come for me,bellaLucia. Give me your passion.”
And she clenches around me, taking me over the edge with her.
CHAPTER 30
LUCY
“You’re dying, aren’t you?” I ask, giving Enzo some serious side-eye. It’s Saturday, and we’re participating in the fun run. At my request, he’s wearing a Santa hat and coat. To my disappointment, he doesn’t seem the least bit self-conscious about it, but then again, why would he be?
I have a whole new understanding of the song “Santa Baby.”
We came here with Lars and Charlie, but Lars runs like a wildebeest and still seems a bit wary of Enzo, so they were off like a shot as soon as the mayor saidgo.
Enzo and I, on the other hand, are running so slowly a seven-year-old child just sprinted past us, and I can practically feel Enzo’s muscles urging him to speed ahead—to win. It’s driving himcrazy, and I can’t deny that I’m enjoying it.
“No,” he says, not even the slightest bit winded. “I love running at the speed of walking. You can see so much more this way.”
I hold back the laughter bubbling up inside of me, grinning as another kid races past us, this one holding the leash for a golden retriever being “ridden” by a stuffed elf.
“Yes, it’s pleasant, isn’t it? Youdidwant to see Hideaway Harbor through new eyes. You can’t do that if you’re racing past it.”
He smiles at me as one of Eileen’s elderly friends jogs past us. I think she usually uses a walker. “As always, you have a point.”
I’m still stunned that he’s Lobster Stalker. That we’d been sharing our deepest thoughts and feelings while we spent our days pecking at each other, each trying to pull ahead of the other. Maybe it’s in our makeup to be stubborn and take charge—he, because he had to step up so early in life, and me, because you can’t be a caregiver for a terminally ill person without learning how to be a pushy asshole.
I hadn’t opened that letter because I’d feared what it would reveal, but as soon as Enzo told me to open it, I knew my secret hope had come to pass. And then I read his beautiful words, his heart. He tries so hard to hide it from the people around him, but his goodness has always been apparent in his Lobster Stalker letters. His fears. His love. His loyalty. He’s complicated but a good man, and I’m falling hard. All the more so after he spent a couple of hours looking over my app and listening to my ideas about CareWise, building on them. He’s obviously a brilliant businessman.
But when I couldn’t sleep last night, I read my mother’s letter again, the one advising me on what to look for in a man, and I’m still not sure how she would have felt about Enzo. I couldn’t get back to sleep after that, so I kissed his forehead—he was still out cold—bundled up, and went for a walk he certainly wouldn’t approve of. I found myself near the Wishing Bridge again, although I hadn’t purposefully sought it out. The sight of it put a lump of emotion in my throat. Feelings of dread and anticipation danced inside of me.
I didn’t go onto the bridge. Something held me back. I justturned back toward home, and was surprised when I ran into Noelle from the Christmas shop.
“You can’t sleep either?” I asked.
“I can never sleep,” she said with a small smile. “But isn’t this town gorgeous at night?”
It was, it is. Glowing lights reflected in the piles of snow. The cool breeze feeling and smelling like salt and winter andcold.
“We get to experience it in a way no one else does,” she said.
I smiled at her, said goodnight, and returned home, climbing back into bed next to Enzo. He didn’t wake up, not really, but he turned in his sleep and put his arms around me. I nestled into him, my heart aching, but it was a good ache.
Mostly.
Now we’re here in public, running at the speed of a turtle with a toe ache, and even though it’s very clearly driving him nuts, he also seems to be having fun. He really is checking out the scenery, pointing out the businesses he’s met with over the past week to discuss collaborations.
Eileen being Eileen, when she learned of Enzo’s idea about putting together scavenger hunts for the Hideaway Harbor specialties, she offered to make flyers for them. Even though I know what Enzo thinks of her graphics, he agreed good-naturedly. When I asked him about it later, he shrugged and insisted it was good for business. Locals love Eileen and her ridiculous flyers; tourists will appreciate the touch of whimsy. He was right—he’s usually right about stuff like that—but that’s not the full story. He wanted to please her, and me.
Just like he’s running at this glacial pace to please me now.
“My knee is twinging,” I say dramatically. “I think we’d better slow down so I don’t injure myself.”
His mouth twitches. “Ah, I see,” he says as we jog along, passing an enormous inflatable snowman. “You’re fucking with me.”
“Oh, you’ll know when I’m fucking with you,” I say in an undertone after glancing back and forth to make sure no children are back here with us anymore.
