Chapter 11 #2
Her expression turns pinched. “I wouldn’t know, would I? Because I never got a chance to talk to half of them.”
“I look forward to seeing what your next move is, Lucia.”
Then I uncap my own marker and lower the price of our cappuccino on the sandwich board. She gasps and hurries inside, probably to ask Eileen for permission to continue our price war.
The competition with Lucy really heats up, and keeping up with our game requires nearly all my focus. By the end of the day, I’m sweating, Nico is calling me a dozen different swears in Italian, and we’re giving away our cappuccinos for free.
Nonna Francesca, who has never met a grudge she didn’t want to get behind, is all for it until we run out of milk.
Before I head out to get more, I text Erica to check whether the dinner date is still on. Cell service is decent today, and it only takes a few minutes for her all-caps reply to come through.
ABSOLUTELY!
I’M SO EXCITED TO HEAR HOW IT GOES.
NOW, REMEMBER, NO QUESTIONS ABOUT WHO SHE IS UNTIL THURSDAY NIGHT.
Of course not.
Lucy’s definitely up to something, and I can’t wait to see what it is. But we have a few days to go before Thursday, and the war is still in full effect.
That night, I give serious thought to what I could do to mess with the Crochet Club. Unleash a stray cat?
The thought amuses me, but Lucy would probably just crochet the cat a sweater and declare it the café cat, making it a win for her.
I could mess with the power again, but it would be unoriginal. If I’m going to pull something, it has to be unexpected and impressive.
Maybe I can hack into their music streaming system and play that ridiculous old Christmas song “Dominic the Donkey” over and over again?
It would be enough to drive a person insane, that’s for sure.
But the phone service and internet in Hideaway aren’t nearly reliable enough for me to depend on it working.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I mutter to myself.
I should be scheming to save Hidden Italy, working hard to cultivate the nugget of an idea I brainstormed the other night.
That’s why I’m here. Instead, I’m staying up late thinking of ways to sabotage a crocheting club that’s probably full of grandmas.
If I were smart, I’d go straight home after Hidden Italy closes tomorrow night. I know from some roundabout questions I asked my brothers that the club meets at seven.
But Lucy will be waiting for something to happen, expecting it…
I’d be an asshole to let her down, wouldn’t I?
The next night, I go back to Kippis with Giovanni and Nico at around six forty-five so I can watch everyone arrive for Crochet Club. Nonna Francesca is closing up Hidden Italy with one of the high school kids who works for us part time.
“What exactly are we looking for?” Giovanni asks, tilting his head toward me. “Are you afraid this woman’s going to attack you with knitting needles?”
“You only use a single hook for crocheting,” says Nico, as if he’s suddenly a crocheting expert.
“How do you know this?” I ask. Our mother used to knit, but I never paid much attention, to be honest. And after she left, I threw most of her knitting stuff away one night. No one ever called me on it.
“I go sometimes,” Nico says with a shrug. “Or I did before you got banned from the Sip and Nonna Francesca said the rest of us had to stay away out of solidarity.” He taps his temples. “It’s good for the mind.”
“There’s no age limit for this club?” I ask.
“Nah,” he says. “You’d be surprised by the people who show. Like that bookstore guy.”
Well, I really don’t like the fucking sound of that. The owner of the local bookstore, Fredrik, is my age, or close enough, and I overheard Aria calling him a fox once. He’s a widower, too, and an occasional subject of speculation in the Lovewatch column.
“Seriously?” I mutter. “Don’t tell me he crochets too.”
My brothers exchange a look.
“Oh, sure,” Nico says. “He goes all the time. He’s a crocheting machine.”
“But let’s be honest.” Giovanni lifts his beer, giving me a wicked glance. “He’s probably there tonight because he wants to get lucky with Lucy. Everyone’s saying Eileen’s determined to set her up with someone, and that guy has the looks and a bookstore. You know how much women like bookstores.”
I’m steamed up but trying not to look it. Lucy made a point of telling me not to interrupt her tonight; was it because she’s interested in Fredrik?
Trying to look like I couldn’t give a shit about what’s going on across the street, I say, “Good luck to him. Maybe she’ll draw a mustache on him instead.”
“I heard she got someone to blow up that full-body picture of you and drew a bull’s-eye right at your crotch,” Giovanni says, his eyes dancing with glee. “You think it’s true? Maybe Fredrik will hit the bull’s-eye tonight. You think Lucy will give him a prize if he does?”
I wave my beer at him. “I’m going to go to the Wishing Bridge to wish some woman gets it into her head to drive you crazy.”
“Portia’s already doing that,” Nico says, happy to pile on and give our brother some well-deserved grief. “I heard she got the taffy pulling added to the town calendar.”
Giovanni rolls his eyes. “She’s just hoping Amanda will show.”
“What a coincidence,” Nico says. “I’m also hoping she’ll show.”
“You know Amanda is only interested in ladies,” Giovanni tells him.
“So she and I have something in common.”
A few more minutes pass, during which a couple of other old ladies arrive across the street, as well as some surprisingly young ones.
The only man who enters is Ralph, who’s close to me in age but no threat to anyone’s virginity.
He plays Larry the Lobstah pretty much every holiday season and acts like a dipshit in or out of the costume.
“No sign of Fredrik,” I murmur to myself, and my brothers exchange another look and burst out laughing this time.
“Oh, you assholes,” I say, dismissing them with a wave of my hand. “You were messing with me.”
“And you totally bought it,” Giovanni says smugly. “You’re losing that killer edge, Lorenzo. What would Nonna say?”
Probably nothing complimentary.
“Are you ready to admit you have a thing for this girl?” he presses. Nico nods in agreement.
“It’s really not like that,” I object. Although, in all honesty, I’m not entirely sure what it’s like anymore. Lucy and I haven’t had a single civil conversation, yet she’s all I can think about.
“She always gives me a hard time,” I add.
“You ever consider you’re into her because she gives you a hard time?” Giovanni says.
“Rachelle gave me a hard time too.”
Giovanni nearly spits out his beer because he started laughing mid-sip. Choking, he says, “She gave everyone a hard time.”
“Did you hear what she did at The Haven?” Nico adds.
I sigh. “Yes, Giovanni and I discussed that the other night.”
“Wren Wilde’s hot,” Nico declares, waggling his eyebrows. “Did you discuss that?”
“You think everyone’s hot, dumbass,” Giovanni says, cuffing him playfully.
“Well, she is. Anyone would think she’s hot. It’s factual—and a compliment.”
“Not everyone seems to think that’s a compliment,” I interject without intending to, and my brothers exchange another of those significant looks.
“I think Enzo’s obsessed with Lucy because she’s the only woman who hasn’t fallen all over herself to impress him,” Giovanni says, looking pretty proud of himself.
“So we’re back to me, huh? Can’t we give Nico some more shit about his crush on the lady who runs The Haven?”
Nico waves this off. “Oh, she’s got her hands full. I’ve heard she’s dating all three Hawthorne brothers.”
I laugh. “Sounds like a load of Lady Lovehearts bullshit.”
“You mean Lovewatch,” Giovanni says. “And yes, that it does. Welcome back to Hideaway Harbor, brother. Where you’ll freeze your tits off and drown in gossip.”
“Yeah, it’s good to be home,” I deadpan.
But the thing is, in this moment, sitting with my brothers, it is good to be home. The only thing missing is Aria—and the confidence, now lost, that our grandmother, despite being old, is going to live forever.
My brothers leave after half an hour of shooting the shit, but I stay by the window, nursing my one and only beer, watching until all of the guests leave Love at First Sip.
Still no sign of Lucy. It’s almost eight and dark other than the glowing Christmas lights strung up around town square, the glowing tree at its center, and the little stalls for the Christmas market.
The café looks empty, but I still haven’t seen Lucy leave, so I remain stationed at the window, lost in thought.
“You must really enjoy this view of the tree,” a woman says from behind me, her voice sultry.
I turn to look at her. She’s pretty, with long, blonde hair and bright blue eyes.
I’d have known she was a tourist even if she weren’t wearing a Larry the Lobstah hoodie sweatshirt that says, Want to play hide the lobster?
“Something like that,” I mutter.
“There’s an even better view from my bedroom.” She laughs, pressing a hand to her chest. “I can’t believe I said that. But my friends and I are betting on who can come up with the worst pickup line, and I like to win.”
“So do I,” I say with a smile, my gaze traveling across the square again. It’s overcast and snowing a little, enough to obstruct my view of the shop fronts across the street. But I’ll know when Lucy leaves because the coat she usually wears is a bright lobster red. No way I’ll miss that.
“So what do you say?”
It takes me a moment to remember I’m midconversation with someone. I turn back to the blonde woman, raising my eyebrows. “I haven’t heard their pickup lines, so I’m afraid I can’t judge.”
“That’s not the contest.” She leans closer in a clear invitation. “The aim of the contest is to find a bad line that works.”