Page 31 of The Holiday Hate-Off
I hear bickering in the background—something about lingonberry candy canes—but the sound is muddled, my peripheral vision blurred. My fury is so focused on Enzo, he’s the only thing I can clearly perceive. He shrugged off his coat and scarf after arriving, revealing a black, long-sleeved shirt that clings to the outline of his muscled chest and biceps,making it very hard to look away from him. Which only makes me resent him more.
“You know why I need to speak with you,” I say through gritted teeth. “You’re here to sabotage us, and I won’t let it happen.”
He smiles at me, his lips surprisingly full beneath that fake beard. A shiver works through me.
You’re too close to the door, that’s all.
“Did you set up that scene back there so you could talk to me more quickly?” he asks.
Rage consumes me. “Let’s go outside,” I say tightly.
He shakes his head. “No. We’ll stay inside unless you have pants to put on over those.”
I glance down at my stockings. Idohave a change of clothes, but I hadn’t planned on wearing it. It’s not overly cold outside tonight, and I’ve always run hot.
“Outside is fine.”
“I was raised to be a gentleman.”
I give him an incredulous look. “Whoever tried to teach you failed.”
His lips press together, and I know I’ve displeased him. Good. He deserves to be displeased. But he’s obviously as stubborn as his grandmother, because he doesn’t take a single step toward the door.
“Fine,” I snap. “We’ll talk in the kitchen.”
He extends his hand in alead ongesture.
“You go first,” I say, because I don’t like the thought of him watching my butt. I thought it looked really good in this skirt earlier, when I used a hand mirror and my full-length bathroom mirror to check, but “really good” is probably barely passable for a man like Enzo. After all, I spent half an hour with Rachelle. I know what his type is. Tall and blonde and shaped like Jessica Rabbit.
“So youdolike to watch,” he says, his mouth lifting into a half-smile.
I can hardly let him take the lead now, so I stomp off toward the kitchen, nearly mowing down Mark Parks, who seems like he’s actively seeking out a lawsuit now, because he’s murmuring something about the slippery floor.
I can feel Enzo following me. He’s like a dark shadow being cast over me, an apex predator on my trail.
The feeling is intensified when I hear the door swing shut behind him, sealing us in here together. I can still hear the hum of conversation from the adjoining room, but it’s muted, making the rest of the world feel distant.
I need to get a grip on myself and reclaim control of the situation. I take a deep breath, taking in the scent of Eileen’s cinnamon rolls proofing just feet from me. It smells delectable back here, like sugar, spice, and everything nice. LikeChristmas. The scent is remarkably soothing.
My mom used to make cinnamon rolls on Christmas Eve before she got too sick. They’d rise overnight and she’d pop them in the oven on Christmas morning.
Enzo steps a little closer, shrinking the space between us to something more intimate. “Can I take off this beard now?” he asks. “It smells like Cheetos.”
“What did you do to Curtis?” I hiss, glancing at the door. Then again, if we can’t hear their words, they won’t be able to hear ours.
“I didn’t do anything to him,” he says, tugging off the beard and exposing his strong jaw. He hasn’t shaved today, and his dark stubble makes him look a little rougher around the edges than usual. So do the slight circles under his eyes. It’s…
It’s devastatingly attractive, and it makes me even angrier.
“Of course you did. He was having the time of his life. You should have heard him sing along to the Chipmunks’ Christmas song.”
He laughs under his breath, and I stomp my foot.
“Eileen and I are trying to make people happy,” I say, my voice rising with every word. “Why would you want to get in the way of that? Do you really hate this town that much?”
Some dark emotion passes over his face. “You’re not going to make any of these women happy if you’re trying to set them up with sexual predators and predatory lawyers. Where’d you find these guys, anyway?”
I bite my lip, feeling called out. He isn’t entirely wrong about the quality of the men out there. Then again, the quality of single men seeking partners on the internet isn’t any better. “That’s none of your business. You didn’t buy a ticket, and you’re not wanted here. It’s time for you to leave.”
