Page 53 of The Holiday Hate-Off
I’m going to apologize to Nonna Francesca and Enzo and end this ridiculous feud. Have I enjoyed it? Admittedly yes. But I meant what I said in my letter to Lobster Stalker. I’m starting to suspect my hostility toward Enzo stems from my unresolved anger, and that doesn’t say anything good about my character.
When I get to the stairway leading to Hidden Italy, though, I feel my resolve start to waver.
What am I going to say?
What ishegoing to say?
What on earth is Nonna Francesca going to say?
I suck in a deep breath through my mouth and release it through my nose. I can do this. I got through that awful last year with my mom. I can do anything.
So I march down the stairs with purpose, then slip on ice on the last step and face-plant into the door, my cheek ramming into the glass. The cookie tin tumbles from my hand, hits the landing hard, and bursts open. The cookies scatter, some of the little gingerbread men losing heads and arms.
It’s a cookie massacre.
The door opens a second later, before I have a chance to right myself, and I stumble inside, graceless.
It’s Nonna Francesca, wearing all black. She has a massivebosom but surprisingly straight posture, and is wearing a rosary around her neck. She mutters under her breath, then gestures to the destroyed cookies.
“Now you come to litter on our doorstep? Is it not enough that you’ve defaced my beautiful grandson’s picture?”
“I…that was kind of a joke. I actually came over to bring a peace offering.”
Nonna Francesca gives me an unimpressed look. “And this is your peace offering, all over my doorstep?”
“Uh, yeah, sorry. I slipped on the ice.”
I glance around, find no one to save me, and decide to just go for it. “Look, I heard about what happened with Enzo’s mother, and I realized he has a legitimate reason for not wanting to stay in Hideaway Harbor.”
“He doesn’t want to stay?” she asks, reaching for her rosary.
Uh-oh. I need to turn this around.Fast.
“He wants to fix the store first, I’m sure. He did say that. So he’ll be here for a while.”
“And what is wrong with Hidden Italy?” she asks sharply.
I can feel sweat beading on my forehead.
“I don’t know? Anyway. I really am sorry. I can take the flyer down.”
She’s still staring. “Why don’t you like my grandson Enzo?Everyonelikes my grandsons.”
“I don’t really know how to answer that question,” I say, which is at least honest.
She grunts. And then closes the door in my face.
So I spend the next few minutes gathering broken cookies and returning them to the tin they spilled out of. I don’t want to make the situation even worse by leaving behind a mess.
Of course, things get worse anyway. When I head over to the coffee shop to share my woes with Charlie, she pushesThe Almanacinto my face. “You need to read Lady Lovewatch today,” she says, her eyes sparkling. “You’re famous.”
Dears,
We all think of the holiday season as a time of merriment and joy, but there’s a holiday hate-off brewing at Love at First Sip. Discerning customers have noticed the BANNED flyer posted between the café and its next-door neighbor, Hidden Italy, as well as a bitter price war that gave all of us some very delicious drinks for cheap. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’ve always thought the line between hate and love is the thinnest. Does anyone else sense love in the air?
CHAPTER 13
ENZO
