Chapter 20 #2
“I had to break the door of the only working Porta Potty to get to her.”
Charlie fusses over me, and Hudson offers to buy everyone lobster stew.
“Uh, actually, we were just leaving,” I say. “Enzo—” I hiccup and try again. “Enzo kindly offered to walk me home.”
“Yeah, no,” Charlie says. “I’ll be doing that.”
“On my grandfather’s grave, I swear I would never touch her tonight,” Enzo says severely.
Well, that’s disappointing.
She looks him over and then nods after a moment. “Okay, but if anything happens to her, I’m going to kill you. Literally. I’m sorry, Lars, but you’ll be in charge of disposing of his body.”
“This is a strange reversal of fortunes,” Lars says with an easy smile. “But I agree.”
“So do I,” Enzo says in a serious voice. “If anything happens to her, I accept my fate.”
His brother pats him on the back. “It was nice knowing you.”
“Come on, guys. I’m right here. You don’t have to talk about me as if I’m on my deathbed. For God’s sake. I can walk the fourth of a mile back to my bed just fine.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay and have some stew?” Hudson asks, not pushing, because he’s not a pushy guy. He’s not Enzo, whose hand is still pressed to my back.
Which might actually be a good thing, because I’m beginning to think I need the help. “No, I’m ready to go home. A bit too much exciting…uh…excitement.”
“Says the woman who missed the main event,” Charlie grouses.
“But got locked in a Porta Potty,” I point out.
“Touché.”
Enzo steers me away from the dock and back toward town with the gentle press of his palm, and I guide him to the tiny but immaculate turquoise cottage where I’ve been staying while cat-sitting.
“Do you have any food?” he asks.
“Oh, you and your obsession with food. There’s some bread in the kitchen, I think.”
“Bring me there,” he says, as if he really is some gallant knight who’s going to take care of me all night.
Smiling at the thought, I unlock the door—which only takes three tries!—and open it.
The adorable cat I’m sitting for slinks toward me, and starts doing figure eights around my legs. I get down to pet Bowie, and then fall back onto my butt.
“Be careful,” I warn. “Gravity has changed.”
The next thing I know, my face is being drawn into Enzo’s strong chest, and his arm is sweeping under my legs.
“Uh-oh, gravity’s changing again,” I observe distantly as he lifts me into his arms.
“How many buttered rums did you have?” he asks. “Three or four?”
“I’m not sure, but I think maybe three and a half. Or two and a half. It was probably only two and a half, because three and a half seems like a lot.”
“Three and a half, unless you’re the biggest lightweight in Maine.” He smiles down at me as he carries me over to the comfortable red velveteen couch, setting me on top of it. The decorated Christmas tree is right beside it, smelling of sweet pine.
“We’d better send a message to your friend. Who knows how long it’ll take to go through.”
“Oh, yes.” I pull my phone out and stare at the screen, which seems to swim in front of my eyes as it unlocks. “There’s something wrong with my phone. Can you text her?”
He nods seriously, grabbing the phone, and pecks off a text with one finger.
Why is it endearing that he texts like an old man?
“What’d you say?” I ask, curious.
“That you’re safely home and very drunk, but it’s nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure. Now, I’m going to take off your boots.”
“Take yours off first,” I say. “Remember what they always tell you in airplanes. You can’t undress other people until you’ve undressed yourself.”
“Remind me to never fly on your favorite airline.”
Still, he gets down and takes off his boots, then his coat, casting them aside in a careless way that doesn’t seem at all like him.
When I’ve imagined Enzo’s apartment—and I have, obviously—it’s always immaculately clean, with all of his nice things packed away in the closets.
His shoe rack wouldn’t dare to have a single speck of dust on it.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks.
“Your shoe rack.”
He laughs to himself as he starts unlacing my boots, his touch surprisingly gentle. “I don’t have one.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“I don’t. I’d swear to it on a stack of Bibles.”
“Which would mean nothing to you, since clearly you worship the Anti-Christ.”
“You’ve got me, Lucia,” he says, his words making my heart race, even though he obviously doesn’t mean them literally.
“I’ll bet this isn’t how you imagined undressing me,” I remark as he switches from loosening one boot to working on the other.
“I’ve imagined at least a few dozen scenarios,” he says thoughtfully.
“Me too,” I admit with a sigh as he pulls off the first boot. “But this really wasn’t one of them. I’m still wearing my coat, aren’t I?”
The second boot thumps onto the floor, his warm hand caressing my stockinged foot before he turns back to face me. I reach out to run my fingers across his five-o’clock shadow before I can think better of it.
“Was that your subtle way of asking if I can help you get your coat off?” he asks with a slight smile.
“I don’t know. My mind’s not working so well right now, but I think I should probably take it off. It’s nice and cozy in here, and there’s a really fuzzy blanket on the back of the couch.”
“Ah,” he says, “maybe I should claim it for myself.”
“You wouldn’t. I think maybe you’re more of a softy than you want anyone to know.”
He arches his eyebrows defiantly, and then gets up, retrieves the fuzzy, multicolored blanket, and wraps it around his own shoulders.
I start laughing as he leans in and unzips my coat. But my laughter fades when his face is inches from mine. My gaze is hungry for the details of him. The curve of his mouth. The stubble on his cheeks, the slightest scar on his chin. Those thick eyelashes.
But then he finishes unzipping me, and his hand slips around to my back, holding me while he slides the sleeves off my arms.
Taking care of me.
Suddenly my emotions feel raw and turbulent. “You don’t need to do this,” I say. “You can go home. I’ll be fine in a few hours.”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” he says, smiling as he sets my coat atop his and then pulls the fuzzy blanket from around his shoulders to engulf me in it.
Bowie, who’s been watching us, must know it’s his moment to shine, because he hops onto the couch and curls up next to me.
“There,” Enzo says. “Now you can be comfortable.”
And I am. I feel safe and comfortable and cared for, and it blows my mind that he’s the one who made me feel that way.
It’s not as if I actually believe Enzo’s a devil worshipper, but I never expected him to be like this. To be sweet. To do something without expecting to get something in return.
So maybe he’s doing it to get sex, a voice in my head whispers. He’s already told you he wants it.
But that doesn’t feel true.
I must fall asleep at some point, because the next thing I know, Enzo is sitting beside the couch with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a big glass of water. My stomach roils.
“I couldn’t possibly,” I say. “I think I could only eat cheese curls right now. Cheese curls are the best food on the planet. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. And I’m not talking the pretty, organic ones. I’m talking about the gross orange ones covered in fake powdered cheese dust.”
“You don’t have any,” he says, “but the sandwich might help. “The water definitely will.”
I sit up, still feeling dizzy, and Bowie climbs out of the way.
“I didn’t know you had a cat,” Enzo comments, as if the two of us have exchanged buckets of personal information instead of just letting out the occasional snippet.
“I don’t,” I say, then take a small bite of the sandwich. Actually, he may be onto something, because suddenly I’m starving. I eat it quickly, chasing it with gulps of water.
“This isn’t your cat?” he asks as Bowie rubs his head against my arm.
“No, I’m watching him for a friend, but I’d really like a cat. I keep looking at photos from the animal shelter. You know, when my phone works. I’m not supposed to have a pet, though. It’s in the lease and everything. But Eileen told me to play with animals today.”
He gives me a quizzical look, and I realize I’m probably not making much sense.
“Eileen. In her calendar.”
“That doesn’t help, Lucia.”
I yawn and take a final sip of water before slumping onto the couch. “She made me an Advent calendar to help me feel better. There’s a challenge every day. That’s what you found at the bridge that day, one of my challenges.”
“Ah, I see. Your boss told you to fuck someone? You know, they have whole HR departments to prevent that kind of thing.”
I roll my eyes. “No. She told me to—”
“Make a wish,” he finishes, tugging my hat off gently. He smooths his fingers through my hair, and I lean my head into his hand like I’m a cat. “Why were you feeling badly?”
“It wasn’t because of you,” I say pointedly. “You don’t have that much power over me.”
“I wouldn’t want the power to make you feel badly,” he says softly, running his fingers through my hair some more. “That’s the only power I don’t covet.”
God that feels good. Why does that feel so good?
“My mom died last year,” I say, the words tumbling out.
Some unreadable emotion flickers across his face.
“I’m sorry,” I say, yawning.
“You’re sorry? I’m sorry. Jesus, I had no idea you’d been through that. You mentioned you’d taken care of her, but I’d thought…hoped…she got better.”
“It’s not tattooed across my forehead or anything.
Anyway, I know men find that kind of thing a turnoff.
I mean, you should have seen the way guys closed down after they figured out my mom was sick and I was taking care of her.
It was actually pretty funny. Between that and the virginity thing, I put off a lot of guys. And turned on all the wrong ones.”
“Doesn’t sound funny,” he says in a harsh voice. “I’d like to teach them a lesson.”
“Oh, aren’t you so big and tough,” I say, laughing. “And always a gentleman. Well, don’t bother, Enzo. I didn’t care. I wouldn’t want to be with someone like that. I had more important things to do.”
“Like taking care of your mom.”
“Yeah,” I say. “For years. She had Huntington’s.
That’s why her husband left. He knew what was going to happen.
There’s no cure. If you have the gene, you have the disorder.
She had it, and he decided he couldn’t deal.
It’s like he only brought me into the family to make sure she wasn’t alone when her health started to decline.
So I guess at least he did one good thing for her. ”
I pause, then sigh discontentedly. “Two. They stayed legally married so she could be on his health insurance, but he never visited. Never called. He said it would be too painful for him. For him, can you imagine?”
“Like I said, a real man takes care of his family.” He hesitates, a glimmer of dread in his eyes. “And you…do you have this gene?”
“I was adopted,” I say. “But he’s not my dad. Just her husband. He never wanted to be my dad.”
“Oh.” There’s a world of meaning in that sound. “That stuff about blood being important.” He rubs his nose. “I should keep my mouth shut more often.”
“Yes, you definitely should,” I agree. “But you didn’t know about that.”
“That’s why you’re taking classes now?”
“I finished college online a long time ago, but I had this idea for an app I wanted to make. For full-time caregivers like I was. I’d taught myself some programming, but I didn’t have all the skills I needed.
” I yawn. “So I’ve been taking the classes, but Charlie doesn’t think I need them.
She says I just need more confidence in myself.
Maybe she’s right because the teachers really suck.
” I grimace. “That’s not very Christmassy of me, but it’s true.
Also it’s hard to do anything with the internet here, but I love this place so much. ”
“I know you do,” he says softly, his voice like velvet.
“I think maybe I’m going to go to sleep now, and hopefully forget all of this happened. I really thought tonight was going to go differently, you know? I was hoping tonight would be the night.”
His gaze sharpens. “You wanted…”
“The shirtless taffy making sealed it. I want you, Enzo. Like, really badly. I want to have sex with you.”
He swears under his breath and runs a hand through his thick, dark hair, leaving it rumpled. “Lucia, you’re destroying me right now.”
“That’s all it took?” I say, smiling at him.
“You’re the hate-off victor, no question.”
“Don’t record this part, because I’m never going to say it again, but you were right. We don’t have to like each other to have sex.”
I expect him to laugh, but instead he shakes his head and says, “That’s unfortunate, because I do like you.”
My lips part, my brain trying to figure out how to process that. “When did you decide?”
“I’ve had a sinking suspicion for a while now,” he says, his voice soft but unwavering. His hand curls behind my ear, tucking my hair back. “And I definitely liked having my mouth on you. I’ve thought of nothing else.”
“I liked watching you pull that taffy,” I admit.
“I backed you into it, but you didn’t hesitate.
I admire you for that. And you looked incredibly sexy.
Like a sexy candy god, and you’re a good dancer.
Of course you’re a good dancer—” I yawn.
“You’d probably even be able to dance to the ‘Jingle Bells’ doorbell.
“Ah, yes, the new atrocity at Love at First Sip.”
“It’s horrible, but Eileen’s so proud of it. I can’t bear to be the one to break the news. Charlie and I would worship anyone who saves us from it, though.”
“Would you like me to carry you to bed?” he asks, running the pads of his fingers across my cheek.
“Will you stay for a while?”
“You really want me to?” He sounds shocked, but no more than I am by my answer.
“Yes.”