Page 95 of The Holiday Hate-Off
His eyebrows go up. “Or maybe the ones she has are sentimental, like that mangy stuffed animal Aria brings everywhere. Earrings would be the wrong move.”
Well, shit. From my experience, women want expensivepresents. Women other than Nonna Francesca, that is. She’ll only ever accept useful things—extension cords and salad bowls and help with household chores we would have done anyway. Still, Aria always gets away with getting her something special. Bottles of limoncello from the Amalfi Coast. A clay trivet with the Trinacria symbol of Sicily, like the tattoo on my back.It’s all in the delivery, she always says. Then again, Aria’s kind of a wizard with Nonna.
“We’ll get Aria to help,” he says, as if reading my mind.
I groan.
“What? You don’t want our little sister to know you have a serious crush?”
“Jesus, no, especially not when you put it that way. Anyway, I’m not sure Idolike her like that. It might just be…” I wave my hand suggestively because I don’t want to discuss lust with my brother.
“Nah. But you’ll figure that out eventually. You’re a quick study when you pause to listen to what other people are saying. Now, go take a shower, peppermint boy.”
CHAPTER 20
LUCY
I’m standing by the docks with Charlie, Lars, and a few of Lars’s friends, wrapped up in a long black overcoat that used to be my mother’s. It’sfreezing, but it helps that we’ve been drinking hot buttered rum out in the street, along with half of Hideaway Harbor and dozens of tourists.
“This is delicious,” I say for the fifth time. “So good. Like melted Werther’s candies with booze in them.” I lift up my third or maybe fourth drink, my hand a little unsteady. “I’m going to figure out how to make it into a latte. You think I can melt the candy and then mix it with the milk, or would that be a fire hazard?”
“Definitely a fire hazard,” says a deep voice from behind me.
I turn, but I already know it’s not Enzo.
I’m not waiting for him, obviously, but I’m notnotwaiting for him. I mean, hedidsay he was coming.
Hudson Locke beams down at me like he knows all about the hot buttered rum. Of course he does. He’s a Hidie, and this is a yearly tradition. If I’d been here longer, I probably would have been familiar enough with the buttered rum to only indulge in one of them.
“You’d know,” I say. “That’s too bad, because I bet it would be really delicious.”
“I’ll bet,” he agrees, his voice a low rumble. It seems like there’s some insinuation buried inside of that statement, but I’m too tipsy to tell for sure, and suddenly I need to pee.
Shifting my weight from one foot to the other, I lean into Charlie and whisper, “I need to pee. It’s a desperate need.”
“The boat’s coming,” she says, pointing off the pier. Sure enough, the Hawthorne Fisheries boat is approaching slowly. Very slowly. I can see the mayor in his Santa costume waving from inside, next to a guy dressed like Larry the Lobstah.
“Is his claw supposed to be doing that?” I ask. It’s flopping down like a broken breadstick, attached with nothing but a hope and a prayer.
There’s a near roar of conversation as people take notice.
“Nope,” Charlie says, laughing. “It’s supposed to be fully erect.”
“I can’t bring you anywhere,” Lars says fondly, leaning down to kiss the top of her head.
Gosh, they’re adorable.
I shift my weight a little more, watching the boat as it moves toward us at the pace of a snail.
“I don’t know if I can wait,” I say, louder.
“You can’t miss this,” Charlie protests.
“Yeah, it’s pretty fun,” Hudson says, looking out at the water thoughtfully. “The lobster trap tree lighting was one of my favorite parts of Christmas when I was a kid.”
“Really?” I ask. “My neighbor likes it a lot too. But he also likesThe Golden Girls, so we think he might be an old person.”
I can feel Hudson and Lars locking eyes, silently communicating,This girl is wasted.
