Page 85 of The Holiday Hate-Off
But then I click into the photos app, and there they are, like a wrapped gift waiting beneath the tree. There are snaps of Lucy wearing my mother’s scarf all around town. In one of them, she’s grimacing at the flyer of me; in another, she’s wrapping the scarf around a dirty snowman. In a third, she and Charlie are playing tug of war with it. In a fourth, she’s rubbing her face against it as if it’s cat fur, her eyes closed, her full lips lifted in pleasure.
A smile spreads across my face. Lucy clearly thinks she stuck it to me with these photos, but she doesn’t realize she’s been gallivanting around town in a scarf everyone will no doubt recognize as mine—the one thing of my mother’s I chose to keep.
It’s not something that should make me happy, given I wanted to keep a low profile in town, but I feel a deep, thrumming satisfaction from it. So I decide I’m keeping the phone, too, until she agrees to take it back.
I take out my own cell and text her number:
Nice photos. Now everyone in town knows who you’ve been out with. That’s good. None of the other guys will bother you. ;-)
But why’d you return the phone? Something wrong with it? Don’t you like nice things?
She doesn’t respond, but for all I know the text didn’t go through. I feel like a caged animal waiting.
Hours later, she still hasn’t responded. I spend half the night awake, checking my phone, carrying it around the apartment in the hope it’ll get the only bar of reliable service in Hideaway Harbor. I’m acting like Aria did when she was a teenager, and I don’t love it.
I take a long shower and jerk off, but it feels pathetic—a pale shadow of the sensation of Lucy running her fingers over me through my pants. She barely even touched me, and it’s all I can think about. Damn it. Maybe she’s ahead in the hate-off after all.
The next afternoon,when Giovanni, Nico, and I get to The Sweetest Thing, it’s already packed, but the crowd parts like the Red Sea to make room for us as we take off our coats. Okay, the Hidies part like the Red Sea. The tourists remain rooted to their spots, scattered throughout the store with their hands full of candy canes and treats. A few of them are wearing Larry the Lobstah hats, presumably in preparation for the tree lighting later.
Nico and I walk Giovanni through the entrance to Portia, who’s waiting at the door leading to the candy kitchen, her colorful hair covered by a translucent hygiene cap. She’s holding a box of sterile gloves and talking to Eileen. Lucy’s standing with them, and from the scowl she gives me—and her bare neck—I’m guessing she definitely got my text message last night. I wave to her. She does not wave back.
Charlie and Lars are with their group; Lars gives me a quick nod, which I return.
The plate glass window in front of the candy kitchen has been completely cleared of displays and merchandise, allowing an unobstructed view of what goes on inside.
“There he is,” Portia says with a grin as Giovanni comes to a stop next to her. “Well, let’s get right to it. Take your shirt off and show us the goods.”
He flashes her a victorious look. “You won’t want me doing that.”
She quirks her brow. “We advertised that it’s happening shirtless. It needs to happen shirtless.”
“Get on either side of me, guys,” he tells us, and Nico and I fall in beside him, acting as human walls while he lifts the hem of his shirt and flashes the red-lettered message at Portia.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” she growls, “pull your shirt down. There are kids here.”
“Exactly,” he says in an undertone, “which is why it’s better this way. I wore a festive shirt.” He gestures to his red T-shirt. Its sleeves and hems are lined with puffy white paint to mimic Santa’s coat. “Besides, wouldn’t it be unhygienic for me to do it shirtless? What if my chest hair got into the candy?”
She gives him a murderous look. “They’re expecting shirtless. It was part of our deal.”
“Itisa pity,” Eileen says worriedly. “We wouldn’t want to be accused of fraudulent advertising with the flyers.”
Charlie laughs silently while Lars wraps an arm around her. But my gaze naturally settles on Lucy, who’s looking at me with accusation in her eyes. “You did this.”
“Me?” I scoff. “You think I wrote on my brother’s chest? He’s a big boy, Lucy. He did it all himself.”
Giovanni nods.
“Withmymarker,” she adds. “It was, wasn’t it?”
He gives her a pointed look. “If it was your marker, what was it doing under one of the shelves at Hidden Italy?”
Her cheeks flush.
“You’re a real dick, Giovanni,” Portia says, shaking her head. “I can’t believe you pulled this.”
Lucy clears her throat, drawing everyone else’s attention back to her—not mine, because mine never really left.
“It seems only fair if one of you”—her finger toggles between Nico and me—“takes his place. You said the person who bought a date with you could decide what the date would entail, and Portia asked for shirtless.”
