Page 13 of Wrapped with a Beau

“Oh my god, I should have warned you. I just got you what I was having...” She shoves his water into his hands. “It’s a Spicy Grinch. Like, ginger beer, jalapeños, Tabasco sauce, vodka, cherry limeade?”

He stops coughing long enough to glower and rasp, “Tabasco? That’s... a normal ingredient.”

“I feel awful.” And she actually does look quite stricken, so he softens a little. “Sorry about the heat.”

“I feel awful, too,” says Ves. “It’s not every day someone makes an attempt on your life twice.”

She buries her face in her hands, groaning. The Tiffany-style lamp hanging above them flashes against her golden rings. “I promised myself I was going to make things up to you. I can’t believe I made it worse.”

He frantically gulps down water to ease the fizzy burning. If this is her trying to do something nice, he would hate to see what she’s capable of if she were actually trying to take someone down.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” he says, setting down the empty glass.

“What? Oh.” Her cheeks flush the shade of the drink she’s clutching like a lifeline. “Um, yeah. I guess you heard about that?”

“Why didn’t you tell me this morning?”

She casts him a disbelieving look. “Before or after I made an ass of myself?”

“Point taken.” He tests the Spicy Grinch again, this time prepared for its powerful kick. Vodka isn’t his favorite, but the burn from the ginger blended with the maraschino-cherry sweetness is pleasant. Without preamble, he asks, “Is there a signed contract in place?”

She takes a deep breath and looks him in the eye. “Maeve signed all the paperwork, but since the house has changed hands... I need permission from you as the new owner. It hasn’t occurred to anyone else yet, but right now, the future of this movie depends completely on you.”

Her honesty surprises him, but not enough for him to be truly sympathetic. He lets his eyes rove freely around the room, at all the happy people made even happier by this one woman, before returning to her face. “So everyone’s fêting you for something that doesn’t even exist.”

“Yet,” she counters.

“Putting the cart before the horse, then, aren’t you?” He knows his eyebrow is doing that sardonic arching thing his ex-girlfriend hated when Elisha scowls.

She flips her hair. “Not if you’re nine hundred horsepower.”

He’s curious despite himself. “Are you?”

“Nah.” A beat passes. “I’m probably an even thousand.”

Ves hides the hint of his smile in his cocktail, taking another sip. He refuses to be charmed by her. “And modest to boot.”

“The truth is, I may have said some things to stick it to my smarmy, now married ex-fiancé. And you know how quickly small-town gossip travels. Or I guess you don’t, but—”

“And I don’t plan on sticking around long enough to find out, so if you’re going to ask me for my permission to film at the Christmas House, the answer is no.”

Elisha blinks. “That’s it? An unequivocal no?”

“That’s it,” he confirms. “My life is in the city. I’m not looking to get tied down with other obligations. Selling the house is my only priority. I don’t want my limited time here to be any more complicated than it needs to be. Quick in, quick out.” He ends with a note of finality, hoping that’s the end of it.

Something shifts behind her eyes, like she’s recalculating. “I get it. You probably don’t want to be away from your family this close to Christmas, if you celebrate.” When he doesn’t say anything, she tries again. “Or your girlfriend?”

“I don’t date over the holidays.”

Her nose scrunches. “Why did you say that in the tone of ‘I don’t wear white after Labor Day’?”

Ves shakes his head. “I’m only here to deal with Maeve’s estate and that’s it. Famous house like that should have no problem selling.”

“You’re not... tempted to hang on to it? Even a little bit?”

He doesn’t know how to answer. It never occurred to him to keep it, and now that he’s here, sorting through everything Maeve left behind, he can’t unsee it as hers. Every square foot, every keepsake.

So instead, Ves keeps his focus on Elisha’s nails. Their design had looked odd to him before, but he now realizes that they’re hand-painted with open-mouthed nutcracker faces. He holds back a shudder. A grim mouth, Chiclet teeth, and vacant, wooden eyes... It creeps him out that anything festive should look that empty.

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