Page 98 of The Holiday Hate-Off
But I like the feel of his hand against my coat, steady and firm.
“Oh, good, you found her,” Charlie says.
“I had to break the door of the only working Porta Potty to get to her.”
Charlie fusses over me, and Hudson offers to buy everyone lobster stew.
“Uh, actually, we were just leaving,” I say. “Enzo—” I hiccup and try again. “Enzo kindly offered to walk me home.”
“Yeah, no,” Charlie says. “I’ll be doing that.”
“On my grandfather’s grave, I swear I would never touch her tonight,” Enzo says severely.
Well, that’s disappointing.
She looks him over and then nods after a moment. “Okay, but if anything happens to her, I’m going to kill you. Literally. I’m sorry, Lars, but you’ll be in charge of disposing of his body.”
“This is a strange reversal of fortunes,” Lars says with an easy smile. “But I agree.”
“So do I,” Enzo says in a serious voice. “If anything happens to her, I accept my fate.”
His brother pats him on the back. “It was nice knowing you.”
“Come on, guys. I’m right here. You don’t have to talk about me as if I’m on my deathbed. For God’s sake. I can walk the fourth of a mile back to my bed just fine.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay and have some stew?” Hudson asks, not pushing, because he’s not a pushy guy. He’s not Enzo, whose hand is still pressed to my back.
Which might actually be a good thing, because I’m beginningto think I need the help. “No, I’m ready to go home. A bit too much exciting…uh…excitement.”
“Says the woman who missed the main event,” Charlie grouses.
“But got locked in a Porta Potty,” I point out.
“Touché.”
Enzo steers me away from the dock and back toward town with the gentle press of his palm, and I guide him to the tiny but immaculate turquoise cottage where I’ve been staying while cat-sitting.
“Do you have any food?” he asks.
“Oh, you and your obsession with food. There’s some bread in the kitchen, I think.”
“Bring me there,” he says, as if he really is some gallant knight who’s going to take care of me all night.
Smiling at the thought, I unlock the door—which only takes three tries!—and open it.
The adorable cat I’m sitting for slinks toward me, and starts doing figure eights around my legs. I get down to pet Bowie, and then fall back onto my butt.
“Be careful,” I warn. “Gravity has changed.”
The next thing I know, my face is being drawn into Enzo’s strong chest, and his arm is sweeping under my legs.
“Uh-oh, gravity’s changing again,” I observe distantly as he lifts me into his arms.
“How many buttered rums did you have?” he asks. “Three or four?”
“I’m not sure, but I think maybe three and a half. Or two and a half. It was probably only two and a half, because three and a half seems like a lot.”
“Three and a half, unless you’re the biggest lightweight in Maine.” He smiles down at me as he carries me over to the comfortable red velveteen couch, setting me on top of it. Thedecorated Christmas tree is right beside it, smelling of sweet pine.
