Page 97 of The Holiday Hate-Off
He holds me out at arm’s length and tucks some of the hair that escaped my crocheted hat back into it. He’s wearing the same coat as earlier, and in addition to his delicious cologne scent, there’s a hint of peppermint. There’s a rock in his hand, which he must have used to bust the door open, and he sets it down.
“Didn’t get stuck in a Porta Potty?” he asks, guiding me several feet away from it. “I’m afraid I don’t believe you.”
“I only peed,” I say in an undertone, worried that Antlers will hear me being a narc. My face is burning with embarrassment now that the fear has passed. This is the absolute last place I wanted to run into Enzo.
“Good for you. I’ve heard a person should do that several times a day.”
“You’re making fun of me,” I say, glowering at him.
Someone swears loudly. “Who broke the last Porta Potty?”
Enzo gives me a conspiratorial look before leading me another few feet away.
Which is when I glance over his shoulder and see it—the lobster trap tree, lit up in all its glory. “Oh, I really did miss it.”
“But you’re no longer locked in a Porta Potty, so your day has improved.”
“How’d you know I was in there?” I ask. Then, because my mind isn’t working on all cylinders, I add, “I’m not wearing the red coat.”
He tucks more hair into my cap. “I know you too well to have expected it. I was looking for you, and I found your friends.” He gestures toward them, and I glance in that direction. Hudson’s talking to Giovanni, possibly about popcorn safety, and Charlie and Lars are embracing. “Someone should have come with you,” he continues, recapturing my attention.
“Oh please, I can go to the bathroom alone.”
He gives me an arch look. “Yes, I can see that. You know, you smell like?—”
“Oh, my God,” I say, stomping my foot. “I did not do that, Enzo. I told you I only peed.”
He laughs. “I was going to say you smell like hot buttered rum.”
My cheeks are burning despite the bitter cold. “Yeah…I like it,” I say. “It tastes like these butterscotch candies my mom used to buy.”
“It’s disgusting,” he says easily. “Have you been eating?”
“First I can’t use the bathroom on my own, and now I don’t know how to feed myself?”
“Have you?” he asks again. “Because I know the guy who makes that stuff, and you’re going to have a hell of a hangover if you don’t load up on carbs.” He gives me a longer look, tipping his head in to match the angle of my unfortunately timed unintentional wobble. “You might be in for a hell of a hangover anyway.”
“I ate some candy,” I say. “And some of Lars’s pretzel.”
“They’re selling lobster stew. Will you have some?”
I make a face.
“You don’t like lobster,” he says with a knowing smile. “I wondered the other night, at the restaurant.”
“I love it,” I lie. “It’s stew that I hate.”
“Okay, Lucia, have it your way.”
“Why’d you rush off earlier?” I ask, hating the way my voice hitches slightly.
“You gave me an idea for Hidden Italy. I’d like to discuss it with you. Tomorrow, when you’re sober.”
“I’m not drunk,” I complain.
“No, you’re the picture of sobriety.”
He leads me over to my friends, his hand firmly planted on the small of my back. He keeps it there as Hudson turns towardus. I know I should make a point of pulling away. I’m not Enzo’s property, and he’s made it clear he’s not interested in any kind of real relationship with me, not that I’d want one anyway.
