Page 69 of The Holiday Hate-Off
“Wow, I wasn’t expecting you to have a tree,” she says, glancing at the ornamented Douglas fir set up to the right of the door. “It’s actually nice.”
“Thanks for the commendation,” I say with a laugh.
“You really decorated this?”
“Well, no,” I admit. “I hired some high school kids.”
She seems satisfied with this, as if it’s further proof of my flawed character.
“They needed money for Christmas shopping,” I say. There. Now I’m a Christmas hero.
“Of course that was what motivated you,” she says, rolling her eyes. Then her stomach growls, and she gasps. Embarrassed, maybe.
“Would you like a wet sandwich?” I ask.
She shakes her head in a study of annoyance. “No, I have food. I guess…if we’re going to do this interview, we should sit down somewhere.”
“Feel free to eat your dinner. Don’t stand on ceremony for me. I don’t care if you get fish in your teeth.”
“Gross.” She scrunches her nose, which is cuter than it has any right to be, but eyes the takeout bag. Her stomach growls again. “I guess I am a little hungry. Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all,” I insist, then signal to one of the tables in the back. “Let’s sit down while you eat.”
We sit down, and she shoots me a self-conscious glance before shedding her coat, revealing the tight black sweater dress underneath, shot through with gold thread. She wore it for another man, technically, but I tell myself she really wore it for me. To piss me off. It’s enough.
When she pulls out her box of food, it hits me that she doesn’t have a drink, so I grab apompelmoSanpellegrino for her from one of the refrigerators and set it in front of her. Sour and sweet for Lucy.
“Oh. Is that for me?” she asks, sounding so shocked I almost laugh again.
“Yes,” I say, “and before you ask, it’s sealed. I may be godlike, but even I can’t poison a sealed drink.”
She rolls her eyes and cracks the drink open. Then she takes a fry out of the box and waves it at me. “What about you? Didn’t you bring your food back?”
“I’ll eat it later, but if you’re offering to share your fries, I won’t say no.”
She scoffs, “I might be a nearly thirty-year-old virgin, but I know what a double entendre is.”
“It wasn’t one,” I say, struggling not to react to that. Or to the fact that french fries are a much more sensual food than I ever gave them credit for. I can’t stop watching as she lifts one to her mouth, parts her lips, and then bites it in half.
Her cheeks flush slightly. “You can have a few. Would you mind if I record our conversation?”
“Not at all.”
I watch with growing anticipation as she sets her phone face up on the tabletop.
“Tell me about this place,” she says, her tone professional. “I know your grandparents opened it. What was their vision?”
“They wanted to open a family business. Something that could make a good life for us here but also bring Italian food to Hideaway. When they moved here, they were one of the only Italian families. They thought they had something different to offer, and the fact that Hidden Italy’s still here says they were right.” I shrug. “We’ve been flooded a few times, so the location isn’t the best, but my grandfather won this unit in a poker match.”
“He didn’t,” she gasps as she sets down a half-eaten fry.
“He did,” I say, grinning. “My grandfather was a persuasive man. The guy he won it from was friends with the current mayor’s grandfather. No one believed this man would actually hand over the deed, but he was honest if not sensible. You know, the two of them became good friends, and on his deathbed, my grandfather admitted he’d cheated. The guy who’d handed the deed over without argument said he’d always known but hadn’t cared. He’d admired my grandfather’s audacity.”
Surprised laughter gushes from her, the sound like music. “That’samazing. I wish I could have met him. He sounds like a real character.”
“My whole family’s amazing,” I say firmly. “They’ve thought about relocating the business over the years, but my grandmother is not a woman who embraces change. Whenever there was flooding, she’d clean up, restock, and start again, like nothing had happened. My grandfather was like that, too, but no one ever questioned who was in charge. He admired her leadership. We all did.”
“I can see why you think so highly of your family,” she says. “It’s hard for me to imagine having so much history. It was always just my mom and me.”
