Page 61 of The Holiday Hate-Off
He opens the door for me, letting in a whoosh of cold wind. I step through it, and he follows me out, linking our arms together as we walk toward the harbor.
“So…Enzo didn’t used to be like this?” I ask, trying not to sound as curious as I feel.
“He’s always been pretty sure of himself.” He shrugs. “But he had to be. It wasn’t easy, his mom leaving like she did.”
“Are you friends?” I ask in horror.
He laughs and shakes his head. “No. I took Aria to the prom,and he told me where he’d bury my body if I tried to do anything more than kiss her. I haven’t forgotten it.”
“Now, that sounds like Enzo.”
But it hits me that this is exactly the sort of thing Enzo doesn’t like about Hideaway Harbor—that people are still talking about him, speculating, after so many years away.
I shake off the feeling as Hudson and I make our way toward Hook, Wine, and Sinker.
“Are you okay with me flirting a little?” I ask as we get closer. My heart is thumping harder now, because it’s almost the moment of truth. I’m going to see Enzo sitting alone at his table, and he’s going to see me walking in with Hudson.
The look on his face is going to beepic.
Hudson gives me a sidelong glance. “I wouldn’t mind if you flirted a lot.”
I nearly trip over a stone as I process his words. Looking back at him, I say, “I don’t want you to feel used, Hudson. You seem awesome, but?—”
“I’m not in the market for an arranged marriage either, Lucy,” he says with a grin. “But I do look forward to getting to know you, and you can use me all you like. I don’t object.”
He doesn’t totally sound like he understands it’s a fake date, but I’m distracted by the sight of the restaurant up ahead. Even though it’s freezing outside, I feel sweat bead on the back of my neck as we approach the entrance.
“There it is,” I say, sounding like a hunter who’s spotted her prey.
“Yes, the same place where it’s always been,” he says in a teasing voice, but I barely register it because we’re passing the front window now, arm in arm, and I spot Enzo inside. He’s sitting at one of two tables facing the sidewalk. I feel an almost feral joy at the sight of him. He’s staring out of the window—waiting for me, no doubt. I see recognition on his face as he catches sight of me. Then his gaze shifts to Hudson, and I cansee my dart has hit the bull’s-eye. (Again. I’ve managed it before with his photo at the café.) He shakes his head slightly, one corner of his lips lifting as if he’s pissed off but still amused.
Oh, if I could snap a photo of that look, I’d frame it and keep it forever.
Maybe it’s a little strange that I want to preserve a photo of a man who drives me crazy, but Enzo is clearly not someone who’s easily surprised or caught off guard. Who could blame me for feeling victorious?
I only realize I’ve completely stopped walking when I feel the tug of Hudson’s arm, still looped through mine.
I hurry forward as he holds the door open for me. When I pass him, he says in an undertone, “If someone murders me, let the police chief know you can identify his number one suspect.”
“Oh, Enzo’s definitely angry at me, not you,” I say, feeling a little giddy at the thought. “I tricked him, and he can’t stand it. But he deserves it after what he did at Santa Speed Dating, not to mention half a dozen other things.”
He laughs. “Yeah, my sister Harper was at your dating event last weekend. I got an earful. But, hey, at least there weren’t really head lice in the beards.”
The hostess smiles at us and leads us to the table directly next to Enzo’s two-top. Our tables are the only ones in the alcove near the window, giving it an intimate feel.
My breath hitches as I take him in. He’s wearing a dark gray suit that fits him perfectly, hugging the muscles in his arms. His tie is bright red, which is downright merry for him. I dislike him…and yet my pulse is thundering now. I shiver with a sense of excitement that was notably absent when Hudson met me at my apartment.
My gaze flits from Enzo to the glass of wine in front of him. Excellent, I’ve already driven him to drinking.
I give him a look of wide-eyed innocence. “What a coincidence to see you here, Enzo. Are you meeting someone?”
He smiles savagely at me. “I thought I was meetingyou.”
“Why would you think that?” I ask. “I’ve told you twice that I didn’t have any idea what you were talking about.”
“Uh-huh,” he says skeptically, eyeing me with a knowing gaze. The corner of his mouth lifts in a grudging acknowledgment of my victory. “Well played.”
The hostess’s eyes widen. “Is there a problem with the location of your table? We could?—”
