Chapter 18 #2
Portia grins as she inspects the candy. “That’s good. That’s how it should be looking. We’ll give it another five minutes. Can someone set a timer?”
“I will,” Giovanni offers.
Enzo gives him the scowl of a bear who’s been pulled out of his den in the middle of winter.
“Nah,” Portia says as she glances at Amanda. “‘Last Christmas’ is four and a half minutes long. That’s close enough.” So she pulls the song up on her phone and blasts it over the speaker it’s connected to, all while Enzo works the taffy.
“I love this song,” Charlie says, her enthusiasm bubbling up. Lars twirls her, and they start dancing in front of the glass window.
Then Eileen says, “Why not?” and she twirls Amanda Willis!
Suddenly, everyone in the store is dancing.
Giovanni holds his hand out to me, and I don’t even hesitate.
I stuff Enzo’s shirt into my bag and take his hand, and then we’re dancing to the song along with everyone else.
It’s fun. Oh my goodness, it’s fun, even though we’re packed in here like sardines.
Portia starts dancing around Enzo and steals his hat, putting it on her own head over her hairnet—something I see only in snatches as Giovanni whirls me around.
The song ends, and another starts, “Jingle Bell Rock.” Someone hoots, and then a hand wraps around my waist from behind—
“May I cut in?”
I knew it was him before I heard his voice. I knew it from the way his hand wrapped around me.
“I don’t have a death wish, so yeah,” Giovanni says, laughing as he stops dancing.
I turn toward Enzo, whose hand is resting on my hip now. He’s still only half clothed, his chest bared, and now he smells like peppermint candy.
“Why aren’t your hands sticky?” I ask, struggling to stay composed. I focus on the faint remnants of his red-marker mustache to hold onto my sanity.
“Gloves,” he says. “Would you like to see if the rest of me is sticky?”
Yes.
I make a face. “No, thanks. That’s what showers are for.”
He smiles as he waves Giovanni toward the kitchen. “Portia needs your help cutting the candy.”
Giovanni steps away, and Enzo takes my hand, twirling me.
With several people still dancing, there’s a party atmosphere in the shop, an intoxicating holiday feeling that’s boosted by the scent of peppermint candy filling the air.
“You’re still shirtless,” I remark as Enzo draws me closer to his chest, his hand on the small of my back.
Eyes bright with amusement, he says, “You were so concerned about getting me shirtless, I figured you’d feel cheated if I put it on again so quickly.”
“I have your shirt,” I murmur as we sway together. It’s a lively song, but he’s holding me close, his hand still pressed to my back. The air between us seems to crackle.
“I know. You can keep it.”
“Don’t you want to put it on?”
“Not yet.”
I give him an arch look. “You’d prefer to get my sweater sticky?”
“Yes, Lucia. You caught me in the act.”
I’m smiling despite myself, and he’s smiling too. My sweater is the only thing that separates us from being skin to skin as he keeps swaying me to the music, and every part of me is awake and full of need.
I’ve never felt like this with a man before.
Why does it have to be him?
“Have you finished with Hidden Italy on your app?” he asks. “I’d be curious to see what you said.”
I take a beat before answering, giving myself time to adjust to the sudden change in topic. “I did. My project’s due at the end of next week. I kept it purely factual.”
“I’d expect nothing less.” He gives me a wolfish grin. “If I’d hoped for more, that’s between me and the Wishing Bridge.”
I gape at him. Because it’s almost like he knows I went there that night…
“Did you follow me there?” I ask in an undertone.
His surprise soothes my nerves. “No. You went back?”
I swallow down a surge of emotion, thinking of the snow falling down around me. Of meeting Amanda. Of feeling my mother’s presence.
“I did.”
“And did it give you what you wanted?”
I take him in—his glorious lack of a shirt, his thick arms, his hair slightly mussed when it’s usually immaculately styled.
It feels like I got what I wanted that first night but didn’t dare ask for. A beautiful man who wants me.
I’d figured it would be better to ask for less than I wanted than to ask for too much and end up disappointed.
The second night…the only thing I asked for was a sign from my mother, and it feels like I got that too.
“I don’t know,” I answer after a moment. “I guess we’ll find out.”
Mischief flashes in his eyes, and he says, “You had some fun with the phone, huh?”
It’s easy to be annoyed by that, at least.
“You could have warned me about the scarf. Giovanni just explained its significance to me. You said you didn’t want people in town to gossip about you. Isn’t that exactly what they’re going to do now?”
He shrugs, his eyes bright. “Probably, but it was worth it. I wish I’d been there to see the look on your face when you got my text messages.”
I glower at him as he dips me, but it’s hard to maintain it. “You’re maddening.”
“So are you,” he says, dipping his head close to my ear. “I can hardly think of anything else. I’m gratified by how eager you were to get my shirt off.”
“I wanted to preserve the innocence of children.”
“Is that what we’re doing here?” he asks, and truthfully, he has a point. Even though men walk around shirtless all the time, there’s nothing innocent about Enzo without a shirt.
The song ends, changing over to “I’ll be home for Christmas,” which is considerably slower, but he doesn’t release me—and I don’t release him.
“What did you do with our flyers after you took them down?” he asks. “I noticed they weren’t there when I went by earlier.”
“I threw them away,” I lie.
In fact, I’d intended to throw them away, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I ended up tucking them into my purse instead and then a drawer.
“I’ll draw you again,” he says, his voice low and gravelly, and I can’t tell whether he’s teasing me. Maybe he doesn’t even know.
“I won’t pose for you.”
“You don’t need to,” he says. “I’ve memorized exactly what you look like.”
The way he says it instantly makes me melt and want to murder him—a power uniquely his.
The song ends, and he pulls back slightly. I laugh, because my sweater sticks to his skin in patches. “So you did want to get me sticky.”
He grins. “You tormented me with the taffy, so it seems just for you to share in it by being stuck to me.”
But it doesn’t seem like a torment at all. This moment is so magical it has made me temporarily forget that I don’t like the way he does things.
I detach from him, then reach into my bag for his delicious-smelling shirt.
“You do the honors,” he says, and leans over like he’s about to be knighted. My hands shake slightly as I pull the shirt down over his head, my fingers brushing the hair they gripped just a couple of nights ago.
A few women groan theatrically as the shirt goes over his head, and I can’t help laughing. Charlie’s laughing too, with Lars’s arms wrapped around her. Portia has left the candy kitchen and is having a whispered conversation with Eileen and Amanda.
The atmosphere in the shop is so heavenly I want to bottle it, so I can sip from it for the rest of the winter—the part of the season that’s cold and gray but doesn’t have Christmas.
Now fully clothed, more’s the pity, Enzo leans down toward me, his cologne scent mingling with peppermint candy. “So…are you going to try my taffy?”
“I don’t know. Giovanni pointed out that it might have chest hair in it.”
“Oh, it definitely does. It’s that special Cafiero touch. They’re like extra flavor crystals.”
I smile at him. “It would be fun if Portia did flavors for each of the shops in town. Ours could be our delicious cinnamon stick cappuccino. Yours could be chest hair.”
His eyes widen, and he laughs, probably louder than the joke deserves. “That’s it.”
“That’s what?” I ask, confused.
“You’re a genius, Lucia.”
He actually looks like he means it.
“For coming up with chest hair taffy? It’s one of the worst ideas I’ve ever had. Feel free to steal it.”
“For finding a beautiful solution to my problem. You’ll be at the lobster trap tree lighting?”
“I’m told I can’t miss it.” By my possibly geriatric neighbor.
“Good. I’ll find you there.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Yes, wear that red coat.”
He just guaranteed I’ll be wearing something else. Then again, I suspect he’d be disappointed if I listened.
He leans in and kisses me on the cheek before finding his coat, which Giovanni ditched on the floor. He pulls it on and walks out into the cold.
The moment the door closes behind him, it feels like the magic that’s been building in the shop shatters like old glass.
What on earth just happened?