Page 29 of The Holiday Hate-Off
“I’m a good listener,” he says with a smile. It’s hard to tell what he looks like behind the ridiculous fake beard—the beards were a flaw in Eileen’s plan—but he has a nice enough smile. Nothing devious or calculating or wicked abouthim.
I beam back at him, willing myself to feel something, but I’ll be totally honest: everything inside of me is focused on that absoluteassholesitting near the door. I knew it was him instantly. No Santa disguise could hide the depth or dark brown of his eyes, or those painfully perfect eyebrows. Poor Curtis doesn’t really have any.
What did Enzo do to Curtis, anyway? Bang him over thehead and steal his beard? I know Curtis wouldn’t have just handed over his things and left; he was having awonderfultime.
Surely Enzo would be brought to justice for something like that, even if he knows half the police force. At the very least, he’d get a slap on the wrist.
Why is he here anyway? Is he trying to destroy our event because his dumb bachelor auction had unintended consequences?
It’s not our fault the people of Hideaway Harbor prefer Eileen to the Cafieros. Eileen goes out of her way to help others, always, and she doesn’t hold super-long and unnecessary grudges.
Yes, I could have warned him about the event at Hook, Wine, and Sinker last night, but so could have dozens of other people. Heck, if he checked the bulletin board atThe Almanacregularly, he would have known.
It’s completely ludicrous for him to?—
“You’reawfullypretty,” says the Santa across from me.
Honestly, I feel terrible, but I can’t remember the man’s name. It was something like Gary or possibly Harry.
It’s because of Enzo. After he burst through the door, every other thought was instantly wiped from my mind.
Eileen jingles the bell signaling the end of our date. I give the man across the table a sympathetic smile, making a move to get up, but he pulls out a business card and hands it to me.
I glance at the name.Mark Parks, Attorney at Law.Huh, I wasn’t even close.
“There aren’t many attorneys here in Hideaway Harbor,” I say. “There’s not much need for them, I guess. There are few lawsuits, few divorces. In fact, Eileen tells me they have one of the lowest divorce rates in the country.”
It’s a point of pride. Hideaway Harbor is a place that believes in love.
He grins and nods. “It’s practically an untapped market.Don’t you think that low divorce rate is partly from a lack of opportunity? I mean, there must be half a dozen old people who are so sick of each other that a misplaced sock could set them off. Same thing goes for the low rate of lawsuits.”
“Uh, don’t you think people could drive to the next big city to consult with a lawyer, or find someone online if they really wanted to?”
He purses his lips. “People need to be told what they want. If you get them at the right moment, while they’re still steamed up about their neighbor putting up a fence a couple of millimeters in the wrong direction, you might find they’re ready to do something about it. That’s why I’m here. I’m going to help the people of this fine town, whether they like it or not.”
Well, crap, that doesn’t sound good. I glance at Eileen, who’s beaming at me. She gives me a thumbs-up; I give a tiny shake of my head. In response, she tips her head slightly to the guy to my left. I can practically hear her silent message:Move on to the next one, dear. Better luck next time!
“Will you have dinner with me?” Mark asks, shifting my attention back to him.
Honestly, Ireallydon’t want to get dinner with this man. But I also don’t want to insult him and then sit down a couple of feet away from him.
The situation is even more awkward because the next date he’s supposed to charm—a pretty, dark-haired woman with a worried expression—is standing beside my chair. She clears her throat.
I understand why she’s in a hurry. When I talked to the guy before Mark, he tried to sell me on using his company’s carpet cleaning services even after I explained that I live in an uncarpeted rental. But I don’t have high hopes for her and Mark.
“I’ll text you,” I lie to him, moving on to the next station.
“I hope you don’t,” says the Santa who’s waiting for me. He has a beard under the Santa beard, which gives him anunsettling double-bearded look. “How can I convince you to have dinner with me instead, gorgeous?”
“Hey, man, that’s not cool,” Mark gripes. “You’re voiding the social contract.”
Double Beard snorts. “Neither is trying to get people to sue each other. You should have asked her out during your scheduled time with her. Now you’re disrupting my date. Why don’t you focus on your own?”
The dark-haired woman perks up as she slides into the seat I vacated. “I’m Daisy,” she says. “I’ve been meaning?—”
But Mark isn’t done. “You shouldn’t sabotage other people,” he tells Double Beard. “That’s not what the spirit of Christmas is about.”
“And lawsuits are?”
