Page 84 of The Holiday Hate-Off
I snort. “I think everyone’s seen them, man.”
I might be distracted by Lucy, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind. The poster has the same shirtless Santa on it as the one in the Santa Speed Dating poster, but Giovanni’s head has been superimposed onto his, and he’s throwing candy into the air, with the tagline:Pull taffy with a shirtless Santa! Free candy tasting and fun.
Portia’s obviously trying to pack in as big of a crowd as possible.
“She loves to needle me. But I’ve got a little surprise for her.”
“Yeah?”
“You gave me the idea with your marker mustache. I found a red Sharpie on the floor wedged beneath one of the shelves.” He glances around, then lifts up his shirt, revealing his chest. Three words are written across his pecs in permanent marker:Santa isn’t real.
I whistle, then laugh. “You really don’t want to take your shirt off, huh? You been missing workouts?”
He rolls his eyes. “If I advertised what I look like without my shirt on, there’d be a stampede.”
“Don’t we want a stampede?” I ask, looking around the sleepy shop. A few people are browsing the shelves, but it’s hardly a crowd.
“Yeah, maybe, but I don’t want them taking a run at me. They can have all the sandwiches they want.”
“Is this about Janine?” I ask. His high school girlfriend moved back to town last year. They recently tried dating again, but they broke up about a month ago.
I overheard him grumbling about her under his breath this morning, but never got the chance to ask him about it.
He glowers at me. “Janine’s engaged. I just found out.”
Shit. That was quick.
“Sorry, man.”
“I’m not. This has nothing to do with her. It’s about me not wanting to be treated like a piece of meat.”
“Okay, fair enough.” I’d be a hypocrite if I pressed for more. There’s plenty I don’t want to tell him either.
“You want to get that drink or what?”
“Nah, but I’ll lift one up for you at the apartment.”
“But you’ll be at the taffy pulling tomorrow?”
“Of course. I already promised Aria I’d record it for her. The lobster trap tree lighting too.”
“How joyful,” he says wryly. “We can send her some of the taffy too. Maybe it can become a family tradition.”
The idea tugs at something in my brain, but it’s hard to think beyond getting home so I can look at the phone.
“You’re dying to see what Lucy put on there, aren’t you?” he asks with a knowing grin.
“Oh, fuck off,” I say, then leave, letting the door shut behind me.
I climb the stairs to the ground level, and before I turn in the direction of home, I notice the flyers between the Sip and Hidden Italy are gone. Both of them. It makes me walk faster, fast enough that I slip on some black ice and nearly wipe out.
When I get home, a note is waiting outside Dancing Queen’s apartment door, but I don’t even pause to check it. I head straight inside to look at the phone.
The wallpaper is of the full-length photo of me that Giovanni took to the Sip the other day. Sure enough, it’s been blown up and there’s a dart lodged in the nuts.
I laugh, but to be honest, it’s a disappointment.
I was hoping for some photos of her.
