Page 81 of The Holiday Hate-Off
Definitely pissed. Even though I did smile before I gathered my wits.
“That man doesn’t know how to listen,” I complain.
Charlie lifts her brows. “In this particular case, I’d say he actually did the right thing.”
“Nope. Not using it. Given his previous bad behavior, he probably has it set up so he can track me anywhere in Hideaway Harbor.”
“So he can follow you around town and give you orgasms?” she says in a whisper. “Oh, the humanity.”
I give her a censoring look. “This is serious. I can’t give him the upper hand.”
The bell on the door rings, sending the familiar first few bars of “Jingle Bells” reverberating through the café. Eileen found the bell at the Christmas pop-up shop on Lobstah Lane. It’s run by Noelle, who’s very sweet and very single, so of course Eileen pays her regular visits. This bell was acquired on her last shopping trip, and she’s very proud of it. In theory, it’s festive, but we get a lot of foot traffic during the holidays, and all day, it’s been nothing but those first few bars of “Jingle Bells.”
While Charlie and I and the other part-time employees have gotten very good at hustling in and out so fast it’s not triggered, no one else has developed that skill, and honestly, it’s enough to drive a person crazy.
“That dagnabbed thing,” murmurs Wayne.
“He’s right about that,” Charlie says, wrinkling her nose in agreement. “Anyway, forget what I said about Enzo. He obviously has control issues and needs to learn his lesson.Severallessons. What are you going to do with the phone?”
“Give it back, but not before we have a photo shoot.”
“Excuse me,” says a firm, no-nonsense voice from the doorway. “I was told this is a coffee shop. Does no one work around here?”
Holy shit. It’s Enzo’s Nonna Francesca, in the flesh. She’s wearing all black like she did the other day, her hair pulled back in a bun.
Did he send her over here? Is this another move from his playbook? Sweat instantly breaks out across my skin.
“Hello, Nonna Francesca,” I say, before I can think better of it.
“Mrs. Cafiero,” she corrects tersely. “Where is Eileen?”
“This is one of her days off,” I say.
“Sloth is the gateway to the devil,” she says, then makes the sign of the cross. “You’ll take a minute to talk to me.”
“Me?” I ask, flustered and hoping to buy some time.
“You.”
“Would you like a cinnamon cappuccino?” Charlie asks with a suspiciously innocent look on her face.
The older woman shoots her a glare so withering, I’m tempted to jump in front of it to deflect its force.
“Don’t worry,” Charlie tells me. “I’ve got the counter totally covered. Why don’t you lovely ladies take a seat over there?” She points to an empty table, grinning, and suddenly I question my devotion to my best friend.
“It will do,” Nonna Francesca says and marches over to it. I fall in behind her, the way I imagine people have been doing her entire life.
My whole body is tight with anxiety. Is it possible Mrs. Cafiero knows what happened last night? What if there’s, like, a camera in their dining area and she saw me with my legs wrapped around Enzo’s face?
Oh no, this isn’t good.
My mom was a history buff. In her last year, when she couldn’t do much, I played audiobooks for her. I wasn’t sure how well she processed them anymore, but at least it made mefeel like she was entertained. One of these books was about organized crime in Sicily.
I’ll bet Nonna Francesca knows a guy.
“You told me you’d take down that flyer with my grandson’s face on it,” Nonna Francesa finally says, observing me with her dark eyes.
“Of course!” I say quickly, really hoping she doesn’t look at the back wall of the café, where the blown-up, full-length photo of Enzo is taped to the wall with a dart in his…
