Chapter 2 #3
For a second, I’m rendered speechless, both by the question and the way it was delivered. Then the injustice of the accusation registers. “First I don’t know how to please a woman, and now I’m a pervert? I can’t keep up.”
“The two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”
I wave toward the edge of the bridge. “There’s a couple down there having some fun. I was trying to save you from a peep show. Then again, maybe that’s why you’re here. You and your boss obviously get off on messing with people’s love lives.”
It’s not a fair thing to say, but I wasn’t raised to fight fair. I was raised to win.
From the way she’s looking at me, though, she doesn’t see me as a winner, just as an asshole.
Then her eyes focus on something behind me.
I glance back to see a couple of twenty-somethings, now fully clothed, creeping up the other side of the bank, almost level with the bridge. The man’s smoking a cigarette.
She sneezes as the smoke reaches us and then starts coughing. She wheezes out “allergic” before asking in an undertone, “They were really doing that?” There’s a hint of innocence in her response, which makes me feel a softness toward her I stifle.
“I tried to warn you,” I say. “It’s a known hookup spot.”
She arches her brow. “So what are you doing here? As a Hidie, you should have known.”
I shrug. I’d prefer for her to write me off as a pervert than to guess the truth—that I’m scared I’m going to fail my family, and I’m superstitious enough to have found myself here tonight.
“Maybe you were right, and I just wanted to take in the view,” I lie.
She shakes her head and looks at me like I’m an idiot. I’m familiar with that look: I’m on the receiving end often enough from Nonna.
“You expect me to explain myself to you,” I say, “and I don’t even know your name. Maybe we should start there.”
“I’m not telling you my name.”
I lift my eyebrows. “That hardly seems fair. You know my name.”
“Because you marched into the coffee shop like an arrogant jerk and announced it like it was supposed to mean something. I’d forget it if I could.”
I smile at her, somewhat enjoying myself. “But you can’t, can you? You clearly haven’t forgotten me at all, if you’ve been carrying around a grudge all these months.”
Her cheeks turn a pretty pink. She points a gloved finger at me. “You’re the one who had his grandmother ban me from her store. That’s low.”
“I don’t tell her what to do,” I say with a snort.
It’s true enough. Nonna Francesca doesn’t ask for permission, never has.
By the time she issued her “ban,” I’d already returned to New York following my disastrous weekend visit in Hideaway.
I didn’t even learn about it until Giovanni called to tell me he’d torn down the flyer our grandmother had posted outside of Hidden Italy.
Apparently he’d done it while Nonna was getting her hair curled.
But this woman doesn’t need to know all of that. “You really won’t tell me your name?”
“No.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll call you Devil Woman. It suits you.”
Her lips pinch together. “You know, the Sip may only be hosting the second day of the Advent calendar, but it’s going to be the one everyone talks about. You’re not going to get much of a crowd tonight.”
There’s a smug look on her face, like she knows something I don’t.
“Are you talking about Santa Speed Dating?” I ask archly, laughter bubbling up. “You think that’s going to blow a classy cocktail party out of the water?”
I’ve seen the flyers, along with everyone else in town.
They must have ordered them by the truckload, because they’re everywhere I look.
It feels like the shirtless Santa on them is stalking me.
I stopped by Hard to Find Bookstore yesterday because Will wanted to know if they had his book in stock, and there was a thick stack of them by the cash register.
On the poster, Santa’s velvet coat is open to show his abs, and beneath his dancing feet it reads:
Santa Speed Dating, December 2 at 7 p.m.
Dress festive!
Santa found Mrs. Claus, and you could find your soulmate too!
(beards, hats, and coats available)
I shook my head in amusement, because the scheme had Eileen all over it. Although I hadn’t spent much time in Hideaway since she lost her husband, Murray, I heard all about her matchmaking schemes from my grandmother and my two single brothers. Especially after Lars got with Charlie.
Devil Woman is still looking at me with victory all over her face, so I say, “I saw those ridiculous flyers.”
She stiffens, and laughter bursts out of me before I can stop it. It’s the complete affront in her expression.
“You made them, didn’t you?” I ask. “Who posed for you?”
“It’s a stock image,” she snaps. “Eileen and I designed it together.”
“Are you going?” I ask. “Or is there a Mr. Claus at home who didn’t make the cut to be a model?”
“I’m going. You’re definitely not.”
“You’ve got that right. You couldn’t pay me to go,” I retort. “And I’m sure most of the guys around town would say the same.”
She gives an aggrieved sniff, looking down at the gently flowing water beneath us. “Shows how much you know. We sold out within hours of distributing the flyers. We’re thinking about doing a second round so we don’t leave anyone disappointed.”
“You’ll leave people disappointed, all right. You ever been speed dating?”
“Have you?” she asks pointedly, her eyes full of fire when they meet mine again. A breeze brushes one of those impossible curls across her face, and I have the unhinged urge to brush it behind her ear.
“No,” I have to admit. “But I can’t imagine you get past useless pleasantries if you only have five minutes.”
“Sounds like it would be your ideal form of dating.”
I laugh, because damn, I obviously got off on the wrong foot with her. And then I stepped that wrong foot straight into a pile of shit.
“I’m sure it’ll be great,” I say. “Really…festive.”
Her scowl deepens. “You say that like it’s a dirty word.”
I shrug. “You know this town loves their celebrations. Anything to please the tourists.”
“The tourists are why we get to have all of this.” She throws one arm wide, almost like she’s going to burst into song. “A little place like this wouldn’t have this much entertainment without them. Or so many great restaurants and bars.”
“Yeah, lucky us,” I say wryly. “Some of them might even choose to stay forever, like you. The newest residents always shout the loudest about what a great place this is. But they don’t have much to say about the cold winters or the gossips. Not a word about the pageantry and showboating.”
She stares at me mutinously, her lips parting. No doubt preparing some really pointed barbs.
I hold up a hand to ward off her inevitable outrage. “Listen. Your enthusiasm is admirable. It’s just a little misplaced.”
She plants a hand on her hip, the rounded curve visible even through her coat. “I see you’re still mansplaining. Rachelle told me all about that.”
“Who?” I ask, distracted momentarily by the sight of her hand firmly gripping her hip, though her self-righteous fury quickly tugs me back to awareness.
“You don’t even remember her name?” she asks incredulously.
“Of course I do. But I try not to dwell on the past. And don’t you think that’s a low blow?”
“Yeah, well, you’ve earned it. Wouldn’t you be bitter if I’d shown up at your office to yell at you?”
“Not really. I would have enjoyed watching security escort you out.”
I watch, fascinated, as her posture straightens. “Just like I’m going to enjoy watching your event crash and burn,” she snaps. “People around this town want festive. They want fun! That’s why they’re going to be bummed out by your party. If anyone even shows up at your place tonight.”
“Why wouldn’t they?” I ask, suspicious.
She lifts one shoulder. “I haven’t seen any flyers for it. Just the town calendar and the notice near your store’s sign.”
“Word of mouth,” I say, but my heart’s beating faster. Shit, I should have thought about flyers. I’m not operating at one hundred percent, and it’s showing. This was a thoughtless screwup.
“I heard you don’t even usually decorate your store for Christmas.”
“How would you know?” I ask. “The flyer may have come down, but I’m guessing you’re still banned.”
Her mouth firms into a line, her lips soft and pink and full even like this.
It seems unfair for such a difficult woman to look like she does.
She huffs, then says, “As if I’d want to go to a place that serves dry sandwiches.”
Fuck me, I actually laugh. “You know, that’s my little brother’s cooking you’re insulting.”
If I’d wanted contrition, it’s clear I’m going to be disappointed.
She looks me straight in the eye. “I was hoping it was yours.”
Another laugh tries to escape, but I swallow it down. “I’m not a cook. I’m a…” I trail off, because I don’t know what I am anymore, and I certainly don’t owe her any explanations. “I moved back about a week ago. Temporarily. To help my family.”
“Lucky us,” she says dryly.
I grin in response, which seems to be the exact opposite of the reaction she was hoping for.
“Oh, just go away and leave me in peace,” she says.
“Ah,” I say knowingly. “I see now.”
She came to the bridge with a goal, one she has yet to meet. There was no concealing the scandalized expression on her face earlier, so I’m guessing it wasn’t a rendezvous for sex beneath the stars.
She’s here to make a wish.
“Don’t let me get in your way,” I say pointedly. “Go ahead and make your wish.” I lean casually against the railing, making it clear I have zero intention of leaving.
From her flustered expression, she obviously wants privacy, but I’m not going to leave a woman out here alone in the dark. My grandmother raised me to look after other people. It’s been my role for so long, I don’t know how to stop.
“Go on then,” I say with a shooing motion. “Wish.”
“You’re a jerk,” she says, her cheeks pink in the spare light.
“You wouldn’t be the first person to think so.”
“I need to be alone.”
“And I’d be a real asshole to leave you here by yourself, knowing there could be weirdos and flashers hiding underneath the bridge. Can’t do it.”
“That’s not why you’re staying,” she says fiercely. “You just want to get the last word. Rachelle told me all about that too.”
I shake my head, smiling tightly. Feeling the burn just like I’m supposed to. This time, I have to admit they both have a point. And since I do like getting the last word, I say, “Rachelle’s not your friend. She probably forgot your name within five minutes of meeting you.”
“Oh, so she’s like you?”
I laugh. “We already established that you never told me your name.”
“You could have asked someone.”
I raise my eyebrows. “People were already whispering about you calling me a bad lover in front of half a dozen people. You think I wanted to encourage the rumor mill?”
She has the grace to look embarrassed. “I didn’t say you were a bad lover. I said if you didn’t—”
“Oh, I remember exactly what you said. My brother emailed me the following week’s Lady Lovewatch column, which featured a direct quote. So thank you for that.”
Lady Lovewatch is the anonymous gossip columnist for our local paper. It’s all very good-natured and civilized, until it’s about you.
Devil Woman balls her gloved hands into fists. “Since you want to discuss the past, I remember exactly what Rachelle said. That you only care about yourself.”
I straighten up to my full height. “Hardly. She didn’t like that I cared so much about my family, but blood runs thicker than water.”
She flinches as if I’d hit her. “Not always.”
There’s something sharp about the way she says it. Still, my need for the last word pulses inside of me. “When you’re Italian American, always.”
“No wonder she broke up with you,” she says, lifting her chin like a prizefighter.
A tired sigh escapes me. “Look, let’s cut this conversation short. You don’t know me. You don’t know this town. You’re an outsider, a tourist who decided not to go home. You’ll always be an outsider.”
“At least I’m not an asshole.” She whips away from me, one long curl brushing across my arm, and runs off the bridge.
A feeling of remorse settles into my chest. I was in the wrong, but I wasn’t wrong.
A person can’t get the lay of the land that quickly when it comes to something as intimate, as intertwined, as a small town.
She may think I’m arrogant, but isn’t it arrogant to assume you know what’s best for a bunch of people you don’t even know?
At the same time, I’ve stayed away from Hideaway Harbor for years. What right do I have to still call it mine?
I wait a few minutes to make sure she’s long gone before I set off. She must have come on foot, because I don’t hear an engine turn over.
I’m about to leave the bridge when I notice a folded piece of pink paper on the ground. It’s dry and unmarred, freshly dropped. Devil Woman must have lost it as she fled.
Curious, I stoop to pick it up and open it.
Make a wish on the Wishing Bridge.
Beneath it, in neat, tiny writing, I see:
Lose my virginity to a rando so I can be ready for Mr. Perfect.
Holy shit.
I drop the note as if it had burned me.