Page 37 of The Holiday Hate-Off
“You don’t think a man has a right to be protective of his woman?” Brandon asks, scratching beneath his beard.
“Whoa,” I say, extending my hands in what I hope he understands is ahell nogesture. “We met two minutes ago. I amnotyour woman. In fact, I think?—”
I don’t get to finish, because a high-pitched scream rises up from two tables down.
A man throws his fake beard into the air, shouting overBing Crosby singing about a white Christmas, “The beards have head lice! Take off your beards!”
Shouted swears travel across the room like wildfire, and more beards are thrown into the air. It looks like a graduation at a school for Santas, where they toss beards instead of hats. Brandon practically rips his ear off in his haste to get his off.
No, Enzo woulddefinitelynot be afraid of this guy.
Beard disposed of, Brandon leaps to his feet and starts stripping off his clothes.
“What are youdoing?” I ask in shock.
He has his hat and sweater off already, and he reaches for the hem of his undershirt. “Getting rid of the head lice.”
“But they’d be in your hair! They’reheadlice.”
A couple of guys holding their coats march past us and head directly out the door, cold air wafting in again.
“You forgot your goody bags!” Eileen calls to them as Brandon continues disrobing. He’s shirtless now, his pale chest beaming at me while he starts unfastening his belt. It’s mesmerizing, but not in a good way.
“Stop that,” I snap at him. But he doesn’t, even when I clap my hands like a preschool teacher. “Stop. You’re in a public space. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
More people are heading for the exit when the man who calledhead liceshouts, “Sorry! False alarm, it was just some poppy seeds.”
Brandon’s expression shifts from horror to horrified awareness that he’s stripped down in front of a room full of people. It happens the exact moment before the overhead lights flicker off.
“What is evenhappening?” a woman shouts, panic filling her voice.
There’s a rumble of footsteps as people try to leave the café en masse.
“One at a time,” I shout, getting to my feet. “File out one at atime. But you don’t need to rush out. Eileen has candles. It’s probably just a power fluctuation.”
An emergency lantern flickers to life at the front of the room, illuminating Eileen’s startled face. “There were no head lice in the beards, to be clear,” she says. “Zero head lice. They were all professionally laundered.”
But it’s clear the event is over. Everyone who hasn’t already left starts preparing to do so, pulling on jackets and throwing away trash. Brandon takes the longest given that he’d stripped off nearly all of his clothes.
“Hey,” he says as he pulls on his coat. “Now that you’ve had a preview, would you?—”
“No,” I snap.
None of the men who showed up tonight were what you’d call quality, but it wasn’ttheirfault Santa Speed Dating was a catastrophic failure.
It’s Enzo’s fault. I’m sure of it. And, no question about it, I will one hundred percent get the scoundrel back.
I’m still steaming about it when Eileen and I lock the door after the last emotionally scarred speed-dater.
“We certainly put on a memorable event,” Eileen says, chuckling as she slides behind the front counter and pours me some of The Nice List hot chocolate. She must sense my dark thoughts and want to blunt them.
“It was a disaster,” I proclaim.
She nods, surprising me. “But every disaster can be learned from. And youdidget some dating practice, didn’t you, Lucy? Perhaps you’re ready for a real date. I know Charlie wasn’t overly impressed with the candidates on my list, but there are some very nice boys on it. Lots of eligible bachelors your age in Hideaway Harbor right now.”
“I don’t think I’m ready for that,” I blurt.
“More practice then. Will you come to Crochet Club on Tuesday night?”
