Chapter 7
LUCY
“Is something wrong?” asks the man across from me. “You seem…distracted.” He’s perfectly pleasant—perfectly okay—and if Enzo Cafiero hadn’t interrupted the rhythm of our conversation, maybe he could have been the answer to the silent wish I made on the bridge last night.
I grit my teeth, feeling my heart thumping double time in my chest. “Nothing’s wrong,” I say, sounding very much like something is wrong.
“I’m a good listener,” he says with a smile. It’s hard to tell what he looks like behind the ridiculous fake beard—the beards were a flaw in Eileen’s plan—but he has a nice enough smile. Nothing devious or calculating or wicked about him.
I beam back at him, willing myself to feel something, but I’ll be totally honest: everything inside of me is focused on that absolute asshole sitting near the door.
I knew it was him instantly. No Santa disguise could hide the depth or dark brown of his eyes, or those painfully perfect eyebrows. Poor Curtis doesn’t really have any.
What did Enzo do to Curtis, anyway? Bang him over the head and steal his beard? I know Curtis wouldn’t have just handed over his things and left; he was having a wonderful time.
Surely Enzo would be brought to justice for something like that, even if he knows half the police force. At the very least, he’d get a slap on the wrist.
Why is he here anyway? Is he trying to destroy our event because his dumb bachelor auction had unintended consequences?
It’s not our fault the people of Hideaway Harbor prefer Eileen to the Cafieros. Eileen goes out of her way to help others, always, and she doesn’t hold super-long and unnecessary grudges.
Yes, I could have warned him about the event at Hook, Wine, and Sinker last night, but so could have dozens of other people. Heck, if he checked the bulletin board at The Almanac regularly, he would have known.
It’s completely ludicrous for him to—
“You’re awfully pretty,” says the Santa across from me.
Honestly, I feel terrible, but I can’t remember the man’s name. It was something like Gary or possibly Harry.
It’s because of Enzo. After he burst through the door, every other thought was instantly wiped from my mind.
Eileen jingles the bell signaling the end of our date. I give the man across the table a sympathetic smile, making a move to get up, but he pulls out a business card and hands it to me.
I glance at the name. Mark Parks, Attorney at Law. Huh, I wasn’t even close.
“There aren’t many attorneys here in Hideaway Harbor,” I say. “There’s not much need for them, I guess. There are few lawsuits, few divorces. In fact, Eileen tells me they have one of the lowest divorce rates in the country.”
It’s a point of pride. Hideaway Harbor is a place that believes in love.
He grins and nods. “It’s practically an untapped market. Don’t you think that low divorce rate is partly from a lack of opportunity? I mean, there must be half a dozen old people who are so sick of each other that a misplaced sock could set them off. Same thing goes for the low rate of lawsuits.”
“Uh, don’t you think people could drive to the next big city to consult with a lawyer, or find someone online if they really wanted to?”
He purses his lips. “People need to be told what they want. If you get them at the right moment, while they’re still steamed up about their neighbor putting up a fence a couple of millimeters in the wrong direction, you might find they’re ready to do something about it.
That’s why I’m here. I’m going to help the people of this fine town, whether they like it or not. ”
Well, crap, that doesn’t sound good. I glance at Eileen, who’s beaming at me. She gives me a thumbs-up; I give a tiny shake of my head. In response, she tips her head slightly to the guy to my left. I can practically hear her silent message: Move on to the next one, dear. Better luck next time!
“Will you have dinner with me?” Mark asks, shifting my attention back to him.
Honestly, I really don’t want to get dinner with this man. But I also don’t want to insult him and then sit down a couple of feet away from him.
The situation is even more awkward because the next date he’s supposed to charm—a pretty, dark-haired woman with a worried expression—is standing beside my chair. She clears her throat.
I understand why she’s in a hurry. When I talked to the guy before Mark, he tried to sell me on using his company’s carpet cleaning services even after I explained that I live in an uncarpeted rental. But I don’t have high hopes for her and Mark.
“I’ll text you,” I lie to him, moving on to the next station.
“I hope you don’t,” says the Santa who’s waiting for me. He has a beard under the Santa beard, which gives him an unsettling double-bearded look. “How can I convince you to have dinner with me instead, gorgeous?”
“Hey, man, that’s not cool,” Mark gripes. “You’re voiding the social contract.”
Double Beard snorts. “Neither is trying to get people to sue each other. You should have asked her out during your scheduled time with her. Now you’re disrupting my date. Why don’t you focus on your own?”
The dark-haired woman perks up as she slides into the seat I vacated. “I’m Daisy,” she says. “I’ve been meaning—”
But Mark isn’t done. “You shouldn’t sabotage other people,” he tells Double Beard. “That’s not what the spirit of Christmas is about.”
“And lawsuits are?”
My gaze flits back to Enzo’s seat. He’s still staring at me, even as he says something to his date.
The absolute nerve!
What if Curtis is that poor woman’s soulmate, and now she’ll never know?
Sure, I’d decided within two seconds of sitting down across from Curtis that he wasn’t Mr. Perfectly Okay.
There was a crumb sticking to his lips that had made the thought of kissing him abhorrent.
He’d seemed pleasant enough, though, and he’s probably taken care of the crumb problem by now.
It’s perfectly possible Enzo cut a beautiful romance short before it could even get started.
I have to get that jerk out of here before he ruins more potential love stories…
I glance at Eileen, whose attention is on a red-haired Santa who’s having a lively conversation with a woman with wavy black hair. My heart swells when I see him remove his hat and offer it to her.
Oh, good! We haven’t had any love matches yet, so this—
I crane my head in response to movement in my peripheral vision. It takes a second for me to process what happened: Daisy just threw a whoopie pie at Mark’s face. It bounced off his fake beard, leaving behind a dollop of whipped filling.
“You’re an asshole,” she says, then stomps off, leaving him staring after her with his mouth agape. Seconds later, the front door opens and then slams shuts, wafting chilly air into the room.
Enzo meets my eyes again, hiking up his eyebrows in an expression of innocence that is infuriating.
“But…but he’s the asshole,” Mark says, way too late for her to hear him. He’s pointing at Double Beard, who’s laughing so hard he’s bent over, the end of his Santa beard dipping into his hot chocolate like a paintbrush.
Oh, this is a disaster. And it’s all Enzo’s fault. If he hadn’t interrupted my mini-date with Mark, then Mark wouldn’t have asked me out after the five-minute mark, and this unpleasantness could have been avoided.
I motion to Eileen to call a temporary halt to the proceedings. We’re one woman short now, but on the plus side, we have one extraneous jerk who isn’t supposed to be here. If we send our party crasher away, we’ll be back on track.
Eileen walks into the middle of the room and clinks a mug with a spoon to get everyone’s attention.
“My wonderful guests,” she says, “let’s take a moment to consort with our friends and enjoy a wonderful Christmas treat.
My dear assistant Lucy got you all some delectable candy canes from Portia’s shop. ”
“Are they free?” Double Beard asks.
“Yes,” I say, rubbing a tense spot between my eyebrows.
He stands up so abruptly his chair almost falls over. “Well, sign me up. I had to pay twenty bucks to get in here, and I haven’t gotten a single number yet.”
“They did guarantee love would be in the air,” Mark reflects, as if he’s considering whether he’d have a case to sue us.
“No one can guarantee that,” I say morosely. “It was a heartfelt wish.”
Like the one I made on the bridge yesterday.
I glance over at the red-haired Santa, hoping I’ll see the woman across from him wearing his hat, but it’s back on his head now, and there’s an awkward tension between them that says she rejected him.
What was left of my optimism tanks.
I sigh as I get up, making my way through the crush of festively dressed people practically climbing over each other to access the free candy.
Enzo is standing placidly by his seat, watching me. Waiting. As I reach him, I press my teeth together, making an unintended clicking sound. “I need to speak with you. Alone.”
“I’m glad, Lucy,” he says with an amused look on his face.
“So you figured out my name. Someone should give you a detective badge.”
He shrugs. “Maybe it was a lucky guess. It was between Lucy and—”
“I don’t care,” I say. “I’m sure you were raised to think everything you have to say is very important and interesting, but it’s not, not to me.”
“Yes, you obviously couldn’t care less what I think. I’m guessing that’s why you need to speak to me.” His eyebrows wing up. “Alone?”
My pulse pounds in my ears. This man is so smug. So arrogant.
I hear bickering in the background—something about lingonberry candy canes—but the sound is muddled, my peripheral vision blurred.
My fury is so focused on Enzo, he’s the only thing I can clearly perceive.
He shrugged off his coat and scarf after arriving, revealing a black, long-sleeved shirt that clings to the outline of his muscled chest and biceps, making it very hard to look away from him. Which only makes me resent him more.