Page 83 of The Holiday Hate-Off
“I wouldn’t take those odds,” I say, even though Charliedoesmake an excellent drink.
“So, did you make peace? Does this mean we don’t get to do the photo shoot?”
I smile at her. “Oh, we’re definitely doing the photo shoot. But Ididpromise to take down the flyer outside.”
“Not this one?” She gestures to the full-length beauty attached to the wall.
“She didn’t specify, but I’d like to keep it. I’ve become fond of it.” I pause. “Charlie? I think Mrs. Cafiero is going to ask Eileen to set Enzo up with someone.”
“How do we feel about that?” she asks, her tone sympathetic.
I still don’t like it. Okay, fine, I like it even less than when I thought Eileen was going to set him up last week. I’m softening toward him, damn it. I’m like butter left in the microwave too long.
Sighing, I say, “Are we sure only an old dude would likeThe Golden Girls? Because my neighbor guy is really nice. He’d totally be the kind of guy Mom wanted me with.”
“Yes, but here’s a crazy thought…why don’t you ask him?”
I groan. “I’ll do it after I finish cat-sitting.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
I wonder if she knows why I’m hesitating.
If so, I wish she’d tell me.
CHAPTER 17
ENZO
When I come back to Hidden Italy from delivering a catering order with Nico, smelling like tomato sauce, Giovanni hands over an iPhone box with a grin on his face. “Lucy said she doesn’t want it. But she went ahead and personalized it for you, whatever that means.” He hesitates, waiting for an explanation I’m in no mood to give, then asks, “What are you doing buying her a phone?”
“I broke hers.”
“On purpose?”
I pause, considering. “Sort of.”
“Was it before or after she drew that mustache on your face.”
“After.”
His eyebrows wing upward, and he shakes his head slightly, the look of a man who knows sharing hour is over. “You’ve got a strange way of romancing women.”
“I never said I was romancing her,” I grumble, annoyed that she didn’t accept the phone but also curious about what’s on it. It’s her next play, I’m sure of it.
I take a look around the room. “Where’s Nonna?”
“She went home,” he says. “But she was mighty interested in your red mustache too.”
“It’s a fashion statement,” I say dryly.
“Yup, clearly,” he scoffs. “I’m about to go home. Max and Dee are here.” He signals toward the rear of the shop, where Max is manning the sandwich counter.
I nod, feeling the itch to look at the phone. But I don’t want to do it in front of my brother. Or Max and Dee.
“I’m going home myself,” I say. “Haven’t been to the apartment for a couple of days.” I spent the last two nights with Nonna, which was extremely fucking awkward last night, since I’d been so worked up after tasting Lucy. Still, no way was I going to jerk off at my grandmother’s house. A man has his limits.
“Nico said he wants to meet us at Kippis later to toast my last night before Portia turns me into taffy. Have you seen those ridiculous flyers Eileen made for her?”
