Chapter 5
LUCY
To my stalker,
Okay, maybe you’re not a stalker. But you WERE peeping into my window, and then you left a note at my door. They make documentaries about these kinds of things.
Do you live in the building? My friend tells me your stalking is less creepy if you live in the building.
Also, thank you. I lost my mother last year. We used to dance together, before she got really sick, and the other night it felt like she was dancing with me. I got to pretend for a few minutes.
This was her favorite time of year, and she died just before last Christmas, so I’m trying to find ways to enjoy this season for her, even though it’s hard. You know what I mean? Luckily, there’s a lot to enjoy about Christmas in Hideaway Harbor.
I realize I’m probably talking into the void, but maybe that’s why it’s so easy.
Best—
Dancing Queen
Iprop the Christmas card against my door before leaving on Friday morning, feeling like an idiot, because whoever wrote to me last night is probably long gone.
But it feels kind of nice to commune with a stranger—and maybe a little like kismet, considering my Advent calendar prompt from Eileen this morning was:
Reach out to someone unexpected.
Writing the message also helped me shake a dream I had about Enzo finding the pink note. It was a nightmare, let me be clear. He showed up at my door, holding the half-eaten note, and said in a low, deep voice, “What are we going to do about this, Devil Woman?”
Then he advanced toward me, and—
Needless to say, I woke up feeling disturbed.
And, yes, a little turned on, but that was not my fault. It was simply the natural reaction of a sexually stunted woman to a man with a beautiful body and face. I do not like Enzo. I dislike him. But my Freudian id has taken notice.
I just have to hope my hyper-reactiveness goes away once my body is less of a sexual desert.
Before I head to the café, I walk downtown to The Sweetest Thing, our local candy shop, to pick up some special treats for tonight.
The exterior bricks are painted in colorful stripes that unfailingly attract tourists, especially tourists with children.
The owner, Portia, is only my age and already a huge success.
She makes these gorgeous candy canes in all kinds of special Hideaway Harbor-inspired flavors, like lingonberry and even lobster.
She says she only makes the lobster ones because she enjoys watching the faces of the people who’re brave—or foolish—enough to try them.
I make my selection of mini candy canes for the event and take them to the register to check out.
Portia, who’s manning the counter today, greets me.
We’re friendly acquaintances, if not friends yet.
I came by last week to interview her for the final project in one of my classes—an interactive app that catalogs information about Hideaway Harbor’s various businesses.
The town already has an official app, but the user interface for mine is more intuitive.
Portia grins at me as she rings up my purchases, all while keeping up friendly conversation.
She’s so inspirational and cool it’s frankly a bit intimidating.
She has black hair and routinely wears colorful hair extensions.
They’re sparkling green today, and she’s wearing green eyeshadow and knee-high socks to match.
Sometimes her appearance gets stares, but she doesn’t give a flying you-know-what what other people think of her. It’s refreshing.
“Did you hear about the auction last night?” she asks, smacking her gum.
“The one at Hook, Wine, and Sinker?” I reply, handing over my credit card. “It sounded really swanky. I’m sure Eileen will have lots of gossip about it.”
She takes my card but doesn’t run it, instead tapping the edge against the striped counter. “No, I was talking about what happened at Hidden Italy.”
It’s like she just tossed a cup of sugar into my blood. I’m suddenly buzzing from the inside out.
“What did he do?” I ask without thinking.
From the way her eyes gleam, my question was more of a tell than I intended to give.
People in town aren’t unaware of the tension between Enzo and me. There were witnesses, of course, and that Lady Lovewatch piece, followed by the BANNED flyer outside of Hidden Italy.
“Have you seen Enzo since he got back to town?” she asks.
“Unfortunately,” I murmur. “He’s just as unpleasant now as he was four months ago. But what happened yesterday? Last I heard, the Cafieros were going to have some boring cocktail party for their advent calendar event.”
“That might have been the plan, but that’s not what happened,” she says with a wide grin. “The brothers found out what was happening at Hook, Wine, and Sinker and up and decided to auction themselves off for charity too.”
My heart is pounding faster now, as if a second cup of sugar were tossed in with the first. Enzo acted like I was a feebleminded idiot for helping Eileen set up Santa Speed Dating, and a couple of hours later, he pulled off a stunt like that?
“Was it impromptu?”
“Yeah,” she says, smiling. “But I have to admit, it was a hell of a good time. The party started out a bit boring, but by the time they announced the auction, we’d all had a few limoncello cocktails.
They put together a few baskets filled with goods from the store to sweeten the deal, then each of them got up on a table to show off their own goods, if you know what I mean. ”
“Enzo did that?” I ask in choked disbelief.
“Gio’s the one who got on the table first. But Enzo won’t let anyone best him.”
“Well, that certainly sounds like him,” I mutter.
“So the next thing we know, he’s on a table too.
Of course, Nico, the youngest brother, doesn’t like to get left behind, so he was the third one to climb up.
Their grandmother looked like she was about to have a stroke, so I got her some limoncello.
Which she definitely needed once the guys started dancing. ”
“Dancing?” I’m basically echoing everything she’s saying now, but I can’t help myself.
“It’s too bad Eileen wasn’t there. She would have thought it was a total hoot, but her friend Erica was in the front row.
She threw a bunch of crumpled dollar bills at them, and then the money started flying.
Someone even threw a bra, and Enzo caught it in his teeth.
No one admitted it was theirs, but we all knew whose it was, because her girls were hanging low.
You know, I think the Cafiero boys were inspired by you too.
They’re donating the profits from their auction to the same charity you’re donating to for Santa Speed Dating. ”
Anger ripples through me, and it takes me a moment to get a grip on myself. I remind myself that I want money to go to Toys for Tots.
Still, I mutter, “He’s a copycat.”
I can practically see the way he’d look at me if he heard me say that—eyes narrowed, mouth curled slightly up.
Na?ve little girl.
Portia smiles at me. “They call it the highest form of flattery. But those boys might be regretting it soon enough. All three of them, I’m guessing.”
“Why?” I ask, leaning in slightly.
She casts a glance at the tourists milling around the shop, then leans over the counter.
“They said the woman who won the date gets to plan it. Each of the brothers had a pitch for possible activities, but I figure all of us winners have our own plans. I won Giovanni, and I’m going to make him pull taffy in my shop.
I think I can get every woman in Hideaway Harbor in to watch. He’ll be doing it shirtless.”
I laugh, surprised and delighted. “What’d he do to you?”
“Not a damn thing. Giovanni’s my buddy, but I like to give him shit, and we’re all protective of Eileen. That’s why Enzo should be worried. Erica got into a bidding war with a tourist and won him.
“I’m not sure what she intends for him,” Portia continues with a sparkle in her eyes, “but I’m sure it won’t be easy.
Maybe she and Mayor Locke will ask him to be a walking sandwich board advertising Love at First Sip.
Or she might have him dress up like Larry the Lobstah and do the tree lighting this year instead of what’s-his-face. ”
The thought of arrogant Enzo with his suits and ties and luxurious cashmere jackets being forced to dress as a giant lobster with a Santa hat makes me feel absolutely effervescent.
“What about the youngest brother?” I ask.
“Nico was won by a local too. A pretty girl named Resa, and he was looking smug about it too until she said she wanted him to pose for an ice sculpture. They’re having a competition at the Locke Reserve in a couple of weeks. She said it would take at least an hour and a half to carve.”
“Oh, you’ve made my day, Portia. That is freaking amazing.”
“I thought you’d be glad to hear it,” she says with a wink. “Now, how’s that app coming along?”
A couple of women form a line behind me, and Portia finally runs my card, then hands it back.
“Slowly,” I admit. “Have you checked the board at The Almanac today?”
This is one of Hideaway Harbor’s little quirks. There’s a huge bulletin board in the lobby of The Almanac, the town paper, and each day they share the weather report and the projected state of the Wi-Fi. They do it with little smiley or frowny faces.
She scrunches her nose. “The Wi-Fi was the meh face. I sent a text to my mother half an hour ago, and it still hasn’t gone through, but my shop’s always had the worst signal and Wi-Fi in town. I think there’s a hellmouth buried beneath it.”
“No, that’s beneath Hidden Italy,” I say before I can contain myself.
She smirks. “Enzo better watch out for you.”
“He’d better.”
Because her words go a long way toward erasing the accusation Enzo made last night.
Always an outsider.
“Say hello to that friend of yours,” she says, grinning at me. “Charlie made me that, you know.” She points to a framed painting of a snarling little dog.