Page 57 of The Holiday Hate-Off
“Are you trying to get hypothermia?” she asks me, gesturing to the snow.
“Feeling hopeful?”
A smile flashes across her face for half a second, and then she tugs at her scarf. “Do you want this?”
It’s covered in red flowers.
I hold back a laugh. “So your friend can take a photo and put up a new flyer? No, thank you.”
“She’s busy with customers.” She arches an eyebrow,smiling smugly, a dare in her eyes. “Are you not confident enough in your masculinity to wear flowers?”
“I have two Hawaiian shirts.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I didn’t say I bought them. But I’m still not putting the scarf on.”
“My scarf is offended.”
I’m about to banter back when my gaze catches on the flyer. Right. I’m not here to flirt with her. “I’moffended.”
“I suppose you’ve heard about the paper,” she says stiffly.
“What paper?”
Her mouth scrunches to one side. “There was something in Lady Lovewatch about us.”
A groan escapes me, and I rub my temples. “No, I haven’t seen it. I’ve been distracted by other news. I heard you threw cookies at my grandmother this morning.”
Her eyes widen, and she adjusts the scarf nervously. “Did she say that? Because it was definitely an accident.”
I lift my fingers to the red spot on her face, and she flinches.
“Does it hurt?” I ask.
“No…you touched me.”
As if I have a transmittable disease. My momentary good humor slips away, and suddenly all I see are the fresh blemishes sketched onto my face on the flyer.
I lower my fingers. “Does it hurt?” I repeat.
“No, it was just a silly accident. I wanted to apologize to your grandmother.”
“But you mentioned my mother to her.”
Both of her cheeks are red now, the little bruised spot barely darker. “I was trying to be nice.”
“Lucia, everyone in Hideaway Harbor knows better than to mention my mother around my grandmother. Around anyone in my family.”
She grimaces. “I’m sorry.”
Despite the apology in her eyes, I can tell from her tone that I’ve offended her again.
I shift my weight, trying to find a way to explain myself to her, and also to control my mood, which is everywhere today. Up, down, and in the moon. “Something happened to our family over twenty years ago, and no one allows us to forget it. The busybodies are still talking about it. Talking about all kinds of things they have no business talking about. Telling strangers?—”
“I’m not a stranger,” she says tightly. Then she glances toward the Sip to make sure the door hasn’t magically burst open before adding, “Youpropositionedme last week.”
“I’m glad you remember,” I say, smiling despite myself. “You know, I was worried someone might spread stories about you, but maybe I should have worried aboutyoutalking aboutme.”
