Chapter 16 #2
“This whole place is magical,” she says with a smile.
And it feels like that tonight, it really does.
“I’ll see you around, Amanda,” I say. Then I tighten the scarf around my neck and walk back toward my apartment, feeling a new conviction hardening in my chest.
This is what I’m fighting for. To be a part of this place. To make a home for myself. To be loved for who I am.
I want to believe all of that is possible.
I want to believe I can finally have a family that won’t be torn away from me.
When I get home, I check my phone and find a text from Charlie:
Call me immediately, or you’re on my naughty list.
I’m about to do just that when I notice a text from another Hideaway number.
I can still taste you. Hope my scarf kept you warm, Lucia.
I immediately respond to him:
I’m home. Consider yourself blocked.
Then I save his number under “DO NOT ANSWER.”
The signal really is good today, or at least at this particular moment, in this particular quadrant of the apartment, because a reply comes through straightaway.
I almost called the police, you know. Unless you live underwater, you should have been home half an hour ago.
So you actually listened and didn’t follow me? Do you want a gold star?
There’s something else I want more. A gold star wouldn’t be much of a consolation prize.
I thought you were going to block me?
It’s happening now.
3
2
Okay, there’s one thing I wanted to tell you. I met Amanda Willis tonight. She’s AMAZING. And I think she’s into Portia.
I MIGHT have mentioned what you said to Eileen this morning. She already had plans in that regard, of course, and it seems like she’s working her magic.
Do you have anyone else for Eileen to set up? She gets bored when she doesn’t have a project, and I’m not quite ready for her to plan my wedding to Hudson.
He shouldn’t have left your date.
Yeah, it’s almost like he’s a firefighter, and there was a boy who called fire.
I think you’re getting your folktales mixed up. But my point is that I wouldn’t have left.
So it’s a very good thing for everyone that you’re not a firefighter.
Probably. Although I’m excellent at most things I put my mind to.
And oh so humble.
False modesty is worse than arrogance.
I think your talents lie more toward starting fires, not putting them out.
Be careful. I might take that as a compliment.
You would.
Thanks for the semipermanent mustache, by the way. I think red’s my color.
Speaking of which, what are you wearing?
I’m imagining something red and skimpy.
1. Blocked.
Unfortunately, ending the text conversation with Enzo doesn’t calm my nerves as much as I’d hoped. I’m still worked up when I call Charlie on my landline and tell her nearly everything, from what happened at dinner, to Enzo getting down on his knees for me, to running into Amanda near the bridge.
As I spill my guts to my friend, I pack a bag, because I’m cat-sitting for the eccentric regular at the Sip who drew Charlie to Hideaway Harbor two years ago to paint her cat.
She’s insanely wealthy for undisclosed reasons but lives in an adorable one-bedroom cottage because she says too much empty space messes with her Chi.
Her calico cat is the cutest creature I’ve ever encountered, and I could really use some kitty snuggles.
I try not to speculate why I didn’t actually block Enzo’s number.
The next morning, I deface my No-Enzo flyer a little more, adding some flames around Enzo’s head. He’ll understand the reference when he sees it. Maybe I’ll make a “fire starter” special too, to really drive the point home.
Charlie and I are both working this morning, because Eileen has some unspecified appointment, probably related to matchmaking. Two high school kids are covering the afternoon shift.
Whenever there’s downtime, Charlie and I browse wedding dresses and google revenge schemes on Reddit.
At around eleven, I get a call from Lumi, the postmistress, who tells me I have a delivery to pick up from the post office.
“You mean Love at First Sip has a delivery?” I ask.
Truthfully, I don’t know anyone outside of town who would send me a package. It’s not that I didn’t have any friends back in Asheville aside from Charlie, but those relationships never deepened. I was too busy. Too overwhelmed. Too sad.
“Oh, no, this one’s for you,” says Lumi.
Feeling a twinge of foreboding, I tell Charlie about it. She insists I should go immediately.
I hurry over to the post office, one of the most gorgeous historical buildings in Hideaway, and step inside, rubbing my hands from the cold.
There’s a line of people waiting to send out packages, but when Lumi sees me she waves me over.
“Got it right here,” she says with a grin, tapping the box. “Maybe you’ve got a secret admirer.”
I take the box, feeling a sneaking suspicion I know who it’s from, and sign for it on her tablet.
“I heard all about Santa Speed Dating,” she says. “I’m glad I didn’t let Eileen convince me to go. I appreciate a man with a good beard, but the head lice is a strong no.”
“They weren’t really head lice,” I say defensively. “Just some poppy seeds and a guy who should get reading glasses.”
“Even so.” She sighs, eyeing the customers waiting for her, and says, “I’ve got my work cut out for me.”
I give her a sympathetic nod and go, my box in hand. I’m itching to open it, but I wait until I’m back inside Love at First Sip, my coat and gloves removed.
“Come on,” Charlie presses. “I’m dying of suspense.”
“Better that than dying of old age,” says a grizzled voice from the table closest to the counter.
Wayne, an older man just past retirement age, is our most loyal customer, but we can’t decide why he spends so much time here, because he seems to find fault in everything.
We’re begrudgingly fond of him, and presumably he likes us at least a little, because he’s almost always here until closing, reading a book, writing in one of his leather notebooks, or complaining about not getting a good signal on his phone.
“You’ll outlive all of us,” Charlie tells him.
“From your mouth to God’s ears.”
She laughs good-naturedly at his quip, then turns to me and nudges my arm. “Come on. Open it before someone else comes in.”
“All right, all right,” I say, laughing, and tear into the box…and find a brand-new iPhone.
“Holy crap,” Charlie says, glancing over my shoulder. “Is that what I think it is?”
“I told him not to,” I say, trying to decide if I’m pissed or pleased.
I give the boxed phone a once-over and realize that while it’s clearly new, the seal on the carton has been cut. I pull the phone out of its packaging and turn it on. The wallpaper is a photo of Enzo pretending to twirl his red permanent marker mustache.
Definitely pissed. Even though I did smile before I gathered my wits.
“That man doesn’t know how to listen,” I complain.
Charlie lifts her brows. “In this particular case, I’d say he actually did the right thing.”
“Nope. Not using it. Given his previous bad behavior, he probably has it set up so he can track me anywhere in Hideaway Harbor.”
“So he can follow you around town and give you orgasms?” she says in a whisper. “Oh, the humanity.”
I give her a censoring look. “This is serious. I can’t give him the upper hand.”
The bell on the door rings, sending the familiar first few bars of “Jingle Bells” reverberating through the café.
Eileen found the bell at the Christmas pop-up shop on Lobstah Lane.
It’s run by Noelle, who’s very sweet and very single, so of course Eileen pays her regular visits.
This bell was acquired on her last shopping trip, and she’s very proud of it.
In theory, it’s festive, but we get a lot of foot traffic during the holidays, and all day, it’s been nothing but those first few bars of “Jingle Bells.”
While Charlie and I and the other part-time employees have gotten very good at hustling in and out so fast it’s not triggered, no one else has developed that skill, and honestly, it’s enough to drive a person crazy.
“That dagnabbed thing,” murmurs Wayne.
“He’s right about that,” Charlie says, wrinkling her nose in agreement. “Anyway, forget what I said about Enzo. He obviously has control issues and needs to learn his lesson. Several lessons. What are you going to do with the phone?”
“Give it back, but not before we have a photo shoot.”
“Excuse me,” says a firm, no-nonsense voice from the doorway. “I was told this is a coffee shop. Does no one work around here?”
Holy shit. It’s Enzo’s Nonna Francesca, in the flesh. She’s wearing all black like she did the other day, her hair pulled back in a bun.
Did he send her over here? Is this another move from his playbook? Sweat instantly breaks out across my skin.
“Hello, Nonna Francesca,” I say, before I can think better of it.
“Mrs. Cafiero,” she corrects tersely. “Where is Eileen?”
“This is one of her days off,” I say.
“Sloth is the gateway to the devil,” she says, then makes the sign of the cross. “You’ll take a minute to talk to me.”
“Me?” I ask, flustered and hoping to buy some time.
“You.”
“Would you like a cinnamon cappuccino?” Charlie asks with a suspiciously innocent look on her face.
The older woman shoots her a glare so withering, I’m tempted to jump in front of it to deflect its force.
“Don’t worry,” Charlie tells me. “I’ve got the counter totally covered. Why don’t you lovely ladies take a seat over there?” She points to an empty table, grinning, and suddenly I question my devotion to my best friend.
“It will do,” Nonna Francesca says and marches over to it. I fall in behind her, the way I imagine people have been doing her entire life.
My whole body is tight with anxiety. Is it possible Mrs. Cafiero knows what happened last night? What if there’s, like, a camera in their dining area and she saw me with my legs wrapped around Enzo’s face?
Oh no, this isn’t good.
My mom was a history buff. In her last year, when she couldn’t do much, I played audiobooks for her. I wasn’t sure how well she processed them anymore, but at least it made me feel like she was entertained. One of these books was about organized crime in Sicily.
I’ll bet Nonna Francesca knows a guy.
“You told me you’d take down that flyer with my grandson’s face on it,” Nonna Francesa finally says, observing me with her dark eyes.
“Of course!” I say quickly, really hoping she doesn’t look at the back wall of the café, where the blown-up, full-length photo of Enzo is taped to the wall with a dart in his…
Well, I really hope she doesn’t look.
She hasn’t been very nice to me, but after what Enzo told me last night, I have a grudging respect for her.
“I’m sorry I offended you,” I gush. “It’s a little game he and I are playing, and it got out of hand. It’s no problem to take it down. Although, if I take mine down, I expect him to take down the one he made of me. It would only be fair. He drew that really awful hairy—”
“Enough,” she says, lifting her hand, palm outward. “Enzo told me about this app you are making.”
“Yes,” I say, smiling, “I was happy to learn more about Hidden Italy. There’s so much history.”
She nods severely. “This is good. I’m glad you’re including the shop. I want Enzo to stay in Hideaway Harbor.”
Oh.
“Uh, he seemed pretty resolute about leaving.”
Her lips purse. “This is what I must see Eileen about. You will tell her I came?”
I glance around, then lean in slightly. “You want her to set him up with someone?”
Her gaze settles on the scarf wrapped around my neck. Oh crap. It’s Enzo’s scarf. I wore it today as a victory flag—he made me borrow it, ergo, it is now mine. Is it possible she’ll recognize it?
She looks up from it, thankfully, and meets my gaze. “Yes. I want Eileen to help me with this.”
“But Enzo doesn’t want to be in a relationship,” I say, feeling a tightness in my chest.
She narrows her eyes. “He was in a relationship before you came along.”
“Uhh…yeah. I’m sorry about that.”
She waves her hand in dismissal. “I didn’t like her. She was a rude girl with no respect for family. Always talking but saying nothing. Do you have respect for family?”
“Yes,” I say honestly.
“Very well,” she says. “Thank you for the cookies, although they made a mess.”
“You’re welcome,” I say hastily. “I’ll bring more over. And, look, I’m so sorry I brought up bad memories about Enzo’s mom. I didn’t know.”
She surprises me by smiling. “When you get to be my age, your life is mostly memories, more behind you than before you. But my grandchildren give me purpose.”
I sense she’s about to get up, so before she can leave, I rush to say, “Nonna…I mean Mrs. Cafiero?”
“Yes?”
“Would you tell me some of those stories sometime?”
Maybe I’m being nuts, but I really want to know what this town used to be like. The story about how she and her husband acquired the property for Hidden Italy is insane. I’ll bet she has dozens of other wild stories.
And maybe some ideas for my super-secret project.
I am not being nice to her for Enzo’s sake.
She studies me for a long moment before nodding. “Yes, you will come see me sometime. I will show you how to make a real cappuccino, none of this nonsense you’ve been selling here.”
Surprise lights me up inside. “Thank you. I’d enjoy that.”
Then she gets up and leaves, every eye in the café on her as the door closes behind her.
I’m still sitting there, watching the door, when Charlie comes over and sits opposite me, setting a cinnamon stick cappuccino in front of me. “I’ll bet hers isn’t nearly as good.”
“I wouldn’t take those odds,” I say, even though Charlie does make an excellent drink.
“So, did you make peace? Does this mean we don’t get to do the photo shoot?”
I smile at her. “Oh, we’re definitely doing the photo shoot. But I did promise to take down the flyer outside.”
“Not this one?” She gestures to the full-length beauty attached to the wall.
“She didn’t specify, but I’d like to keep it. I’ve become fond of it.” I pause. “Charlie? I think Mrs. Cafiero is going to ask Eileen to set Enzo up with someone.”
“How do we feel about that?” she asks, her tone sympathetic.
I still don’t like it. Okay, fine, I like it even less than when I thought Eileen was going to set him up last week. I’m softening toward him, damn it. I’m like butter left in the microwave too long.
Sighing, I say, “Are we sure only an old dude would like The Golden Girls? Because my neighbor guy is really nice. He’d totally be the kind of guy Mom wanted me with.”
“Yes, but here’s a crazy thought…why don’t you ask him?”
I groan. “I’ll do it after I finish cat-sitting.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
I wonder if she knows why I’m hesitating.
If so, I wish she’d tell me.