Page 82 of The Holiday Hate-Off
Well, I really hope she doesn’t look.
She hasn’t been very nice to me, but after what Enzo told me last night, I have a grudging respect for her.
“I’m sorry I offended you,” I gush. “It’s a little game he and I are playing, and it got out of hand. It’s no problem to take it down. Although, if I take mine down, I expect him to take down the one he made of me. It would only be fair. He drew that really awful hairy?—”
“Enough,” she says, lifting her hand, palm outward. “Enzo told me about this app you are making.”
“Yes,” I say, smiling, “I was happy to learn more about Hidden Italy. There’s so much history.”
She nods severely. “This is good. I’m glad you’re including the shop. I want Enzo to stay in Hideaway Harbor.”
Oh.
“Uh, he seemed pretty resolute about leaving.”
Her lips purse. “This is what I must see Eileen about. You will tell her I came?”
I glance around, then lean in slightly. “You want her to set him up with someone?”
Her gaze settles on the scarf wrapped around my neck. Oh crap. It’s Enzo’s scarf. I wore it today as a victory flag—he made me borrow it, ergo, it is now mine. Is it possible she’ll recognize it?
She looks up from it, thankfully, and meets my gaze. “Yes. I want Eileen to help me with this.”
“But Enzo doesn’t want to be in a relationship,” I say, feeling a tightness in my chest.
She narrows her eyes. “He was in a relationship before you came along.”
“Uhh…yeah. I’m sorry about that.”
She waves her hand in dismissal. “I didn’t like her. She was a rude girl with no respect for family. Always talking but saying nothing. Doyouhave respect for family?”
“Yes,” I say honestly.
“Very well,” she says. “Thank you for the cookies, although they made a mess.”
“You’re welcome,” I say hastily. “I’ll bring more over. And, look, I’m so sorry I brought up bad memories about Enzo’s mom. I didn’t know.”
She surprises me by smiling. “When you get to be my age, your life is mostly memories, more behind you than before you. But my grandchildren give me purpose.”
I sense she’s about to get up, so before she can leave, I rush to say, “Nonna…I mean Mrs. Cafiero?”
“Yes?”
“Would you tell me some of those stories sometime?”
Maybe I’m being nuts, but I really want to know what this town used to be like. The story about how she and her husband acquired the property for Hidden Italy is insane. I’ll bet she has dozens of other wild stories.
And maybe some ideas for my super-secret project.
I amnotbeing nice to her for Enzo’s sake.
She studies me for a long moment before nodding. “Yes, you will come see me sometime. I will show you how to make a real cappuccino, none of this nonsense you’ve been selling here.”
Surprise lights me up inside. “Thank you. I’d enjoy that.”
Then she gets up and leaves, every eye in the café on her as the door closes behind her.
I’m still sitting there, watching the door, when Charlie comes over and sits opposite me, setting a cinnamon stick cappuccino in front of me. “I’ll bet hers isn’t nearly as good.”
