Page 80 of The Holiday Hate-Off
Unfortunately, ending the text conversation with Enzo doesn’t calm my nerves as much as I’d hoped. I’m still worked up when I call Charlie on my landline and tell her nearly everything, from what happened at dinner, to Enzo getting down on his knees for me, to running into Amanda near the bridge.
As I spill my guts to my friend, I pack a bag, because I’m cat-sitting for the eccentric regular at the Sip who drew Charlie to Hideaway Harbor two years ago to paint her cat. She’s insanely wealthy for undisclosed reasons but lives in an adorable one-bedroom cottage because she says too much empty space messes with her Chi.
Her calico cat is the cutest creature I’ve ever encountered, and I could really use some kitty snuggles.
I try not to speculate why I didn’tactuallyblock Enzo’s number.
The next morning,I deface my No-Enzo flyer a little more, adding some flames around Enzo’s head. He’ll understand the reference when he sees it. Maybe I’ll make a “fire starter” special too, to really drive the point home.
Charlie and I are both working this morning, because Eileen has some unspecified appointment, probably related to matchmaking. Two high school kids are covering the afternoon shift.
Whenever there’s downtime, Charlie and I browse wedding dresses and google revenge schemes on Reddit.
At around eleven, I get a call from Lumi, the postmistress, who tells me I have a delivery to pick up from the post office.
“You mean Love at First Sip has a delivery?” I ask.
Truthfully, I don’t know anyone outside of town who would send me a package. It’s not that I didn’t have any friends back in Asheville aside from Charlie, but those relationships never deepened. I was too busy. Too overwhelmed. Too sad.
“Oh, no, this one’s for you,” says Lumi.
Feeling a twinge of foreboding, I tell Charlie about it. She insists I should go immediately.
I hurry over to the post office, one of the most gorgeous historical buildings in Hideaway, and step inside, rubbing my hands from the cold.
There’s a line of people waiting to send out packages, but when Lumi sees me she waves me over.
“Got it right here,” she says with a grin, tapping the box. “Maybe you’ve got a secret admirer.”
I take the box, feeling a sneaking suspicion I know who it’s from, and sign for it on her tablet.
“I heard all about Santa Speed Dating,” she says. “I’m glad I didn’t let Eileen convince me to go. I appreciate a man with a good beard, but the head lice is a strong no.”
“They weren’t really head lice,” I say defensively. “Just some poppy seeds and a guy who should get reading glasses.”
“Even so.” She sighs, eyeing the customers waiting for her, and says, “I’ve got my work cut out for me.”
I give her a sympathetic nod and go, my box in hand. I’m itching to open it, but I wait until I’m back inside Love at First Sip, my coat and gloves removed.
“Come on,” Charlie presses. “I’m dying of suspense.”
“Better that than dying of old age,” says a grizzled voice from the table closest to the counter.
Wayne, an older man just past retirement age, is our most loyal customer, but we can’t decide why he spends so much time here, because he seems to find fault in everything. We’re begrudgingly fond of him, and presumably he likes us at least a little, because he’s almost always here until closing, reading a book, writing in one of his leather notebooks, or complaining about not getting a good signal on his phone.
“You’ll outlive all of us,” Charlie tells him.
“From your mouth to God’s ears.”
She laughs good-naturedly at his quip, then turns to me and nudges my arm. “Come on. Open it before someone else comes in.”
“All right, all right,” I say, laughing, and tear into the box…and find a brand-new iPhone.
“Holy crap,” Charlie says, glancing over my shoulder. “Is that what I think it is?”
“I told him not to,” I say, trying to decide if I’m pissed or pleased.
I give the boxed phone a once-over and realize that while it’s clearly new, the seal on the carton has been cut. I pull the phone out of its packaging and turn it on. The wallpaper is aphoto of Enzo pretending to twirl his red permanent marker mustache.
