The Holiday Games

Chapter 14

fourteen

. . .

Leo

T he ferry is so crowded, we’re forced onto the open-air deck on top. It’s a mild day, but still December in New York. Once we start across the water, the wind stings through our coats, prompting us to huddle together by the railing as we cruise toward Governors Island and the Statue of Liberty standing watch nearby.

It would be an excellent excuse to wrap an arm around Caroline to shield her from the worst of the chill, but I resist the impulse. I’ve already taken her shopping, called her beautiful, and ogled her gorgeous ass far more than any man with mere friendship on his mind would.

It’s not just the Vivian madness that makes falling for Caroline a bad idea. I have no authority over calling the winners for the competition—that’s Ainsley’s job—but excessive fraternizing with one of the contestants isn’t a good look.

It’s certainly nothing I’ve done before. At the end of filming on Horny Housewives, I can’t get off set and away from the “stars” of the show fast enough.

As if reading my mind, Caroline asks through chattering teeth, “Tell me a behind the scenes story about the Horny Housewives. I need something to keep my mind off the cold until we get there.”

“Here, shift this way.” I guide her in front of me, her back to my front, until she’s facing away from the railing, gazing back over the skyline we’re leaving behind. “Better?”

She shivers, but I resist the urge to pull her any closer. “Yes, that’s better, thanks. You’re blocking the worst of the wind. Let me know if you get too cold, and I can take a turn.”

I smile. “I’m good. I’m manly, remember? A manly, feral New Yorker who carries his groceries and walks twenty thousand steps a day and barely feels the cold.”

She glances up at me, lifting a wry brow. “Do you also wrestle rats in the subway?”

“Nah, the rats know I have Greg at home,” I say. “All I have to do is threaten them with a visit from Satan, and they go running.”

“Nice. We had a rat infestation in the dorm at NYU my sophomore year. I woke up with one sitting at the end of my bed, studying me like he was trying to decide which part of me to nibble first.”

I shudder. “Fuck. I would have had nightmares for years. Not a vermin guy. Least favorite part of living in a big city.”

“Well, we don’t have city rats in rural Vermont, but field mice are a problem. Especially come fall, when they’re trying to get out of the cold. We also have bats in our attics and wasps in our eaves and angry groundhogs giving birth under our porches.”

I grin. “Maybe I should pitch a reality show set in the sticks.”

“I mean, you could. The groundhog incident was pretty exciting. We had to call the game warden to come fetch the mama and babies from under Gran’s house before they made it their permanent burrow.” She shrugs and huddles deeper into her coat. “But even with all the wildlife activity, it’s pretty sleepy in the mountains. The most exciting thing to happen recently is the great Fudge Feud.”

“Don’t tell me they’re flinging fudge at each other in the streets of Reindeer Corners. Can’t lie, that sounds exciting. And delicious.”

She laughs. “No. The Reindeer Mercantile opened a candy counter and put a sign out front declaring they had The Best Fudge in Vermont.”

“Bold of them. There’s a lot of fudge in the Green Mountains.”

“There is. It was a ballsy move, even if they hadn’t done it right across the street from the Reindeer Corners Country Store which has been selling fudge in town for over a hundred years.”

I gasp in mock horror. “The nerve!”

She fights a smile, playing along as she adds, “I know, right? Huge scandal. The town was rocked to its core, and Jackie, the owner of the country store, was pissed .”

“Understandably,” I murmur. “So, what did she do? Pistols at dawn? Please tell me it was pistols at dawn.”

Giggling, Caroline shakes her head. “No, the country store put up a sign saying their fudge was the only fudge worth trying. Then the mercantile put up a bigger sign challenging the country store to a fudge off. Then the country store put out the biggest sign of all, saying real Vermonters prefer country store fudge eight to one. Then, the mercantile accused them of erecting a billboard and filed an official complaint with the sheriff’s department. Since billboards are illegal in Vermont, the county had to send someone down to measure the sign. A local news station had a reporter cover the story, it got picked up by a syndicated morning show, and…the rest is history. The next week, the town was mobbed by fudge-scandal-curious tourists.”

I shake my head, murmuring, “The things people decide to get worked up about.”

She rolls her eyes. “I know. It’s so silly, but it’s become a whole thing. There are Fudge Feud t-shirts and mugs and people come to town specifically to try both fudges and fight about which one is better in the town square. Most of the time, they’re joking, but last month things got heated between a couple of guys from New Hampshire. They were both amateur bakers, I guess, and people from New Hampshire are notoriously volatile.”

“Not a surprise with that state motto. ‘Live Free or Die?’ That’s intense. I’d rather live free or arm wrestle. Or mud wrestle. Or call a meeting to discuss our options. Something before going straight to the dying part.”

“Agreed.” She wrinkles her nose. “Though I do hate a meeting. Emmie, our restaurant manager asks so many questions, it’s a miracle if we get out of a monthly meeting in under three hours.” She sighs and leans back a little, until her shoulders are resting lightly on my chest and the urge to wrap my arms around her is almost irresistible. “I’m already dreading January. That’s when we do the budget for the year. If Emmie’s in a mood it could take an entire day.”

“Could be worse,” I say. “You could be herding horny housewives. If this show doesn’t get picked up, I’m back on housewife duty in February.”

She glances back at me, her expression brightening. “Oh, come on. That sounds amazing. They’re so funny.”

“Funny and horrible. And honestly, kind of gross. Sex is great and all, but in my humble opinion, a certain amount of discretion should be involved. If I never have to send a cameraman to hover outside a closed door to catch the boinking sounds on the other side again, it’ll be too soon.”

She winces. “Yeah, I can see that. It’s funny on television with the voiceovers and music and a quick cut away, but in real life it would feel creepy to be in situations like that all the time. I don’t even like seeing my friend Kayla make out with her boyfriend, and they keep their clothes on when they’re going at it under the mistletoe in the lobby.”

“You have mistletoe in the lobby?”

“And the library and the banquet room and some hidden in the hallway upstairs.”

I shake my head. “You know it’s poisonous, right?”

She lifts a shoulder and lets it fall. “I do, but the guests beg for it every year.”

“All parts of it. Berries, stems, and leaves. I know because I—” I break off as I realize I’m about to tread into tricky territory.

Caroline’s eyes narrow. “Because you what?”

I press my lips together for a beat, but finally confess, “Because Vivian refused to allow it in the apartment. I bought some at the farmer’s market as a joke one time, but she was afraid Greg would eat it and die. She made me take it to the compost bin two blocks over to be safe.”

“It’s so wild that she left him behind,” Caroline says, her brow wrinkling. “I used to tease her that she liked him more than her boyfriends. She doted on that cat.”

I nod. “Yeah, she did. But she doted on me, too…until she didn’t.”

Caroline turns, lifting her chin. “I’m sorry she hurt you.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Truly. We never would have made it long-term; I see that now. It’s just…” I pull in a breath and hear myself confess something I haven’t told anyone, “It’s just the way she made me doubt myself that drives me crazy. I used to think I was good at reading people, that I was a solid judge of who I could trust. I thought I could smell a lie at ten paces, but when Vivian left… When I realized she’d told so many lies to me and about me…” I sigh. “It shook my faith. In myself.”

Caroline rests a hand on my chest, making me wish I didn’t have my lapels buttoned all the way up. I’d like to feel her hand through just my sweater.

I’m that drawn to this woman.

Even an innocent touch through my clothes would be enough to make my damned day.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I haven’t had much time to think about Chris and the Rockette situation, but once I do, I’m sure it’ll mess with my head, too. I really thought he loved me. Or at least loved the idea of me. My sense of humor was always a mystery to him, and he couldn’t understand why I spent so much time reading, but…I thought I checked all his boxes. I was local, fourth generation mountain stock, attractive, liked hiking as much as he did, and had a job that gave him free access to the best hot tub in Southern Vermont.” She shrugs. “And he was always around. I’d barely catch my breath after work on our mid-week date night, and he’d be downstairs, asking what we were going to watch on Netflix or if I had lunch meat for a sandwich. I honestly have no idea how he had time to carry on a fling with a woman in the city. Seemed like he was always underfoot.”

“Underfoot,” I echo wryly. “Sounds like you two were a match made in heaven.”

She laughs, the full-throated, husky laugh I love. “I know. I’m awful, but half the time, he drove me crazy. It felt like I was his after-hours concierge, not his girlfriend. We weren’t long-term relationship material, either. I’ve known that for a long time.” She makes a thoughtful face. “Maybe that’s why we couldn’t tell that they were lying?”

“Because it wasn’t meant to be?”

“No, because we were lying, too,” she says. “To them…and to ourselves.”

My brows slide up my forehead. “Insightful, Ms. Cane.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fenton,” she says, holding my gaze with an intensity that makes the urge to kiss her almost unbearable. “I’m tired of lying to myself. From now on, I want to tell the truth, even if it’s hard.”

“Sounds scary.” I tuck a lock of her swirling hair behind her ear. “And brave.”

Her lips part, but before she can speak, the older woman beside us at the railing cries out and darts sharply to the left, flapping an arm over her head. I glance up to see two seagulls fighting over the pretzel she still clings to with one hand as she flails at the birds with the other.

Launching into motion, I shoo the birds with large sweeps of my arms as I bellow, “Hey, get outta here! Get your own snacks, you greedy little shits. Scram! Buzz off!”

On my third swoop, my fingertips brush the feathers of the closest bird, and they both flap away with outraged screeches, cursing my name as they swirl into the sky.

“Are you okay?” Caroline asks, slipping an arm around the woman’s shoulders to help hold her steady.

The woman brushes the back of her hand across her face. “I’m fine, thank you.” She exhales a shaky laugh. “I don’t know why I kept holding on. It’s not like I want to eat a pretzel after a seagull’s had it, I just…couldn’t seem to let go.”

“I think we all have that problem sometimes,” Caroline says kindly. “You want a hand downstairs to the main deck? They said the snack bar would be open the entire trip. You can grab another pretzel.”

The woman smiles and pats Caroline’s hand. “Oh, no thank you, honey. We’re almost there. I bet they’ll have better things than pretzels at the fair. Are you a crafter? I’m a quilter from way back. Nearly thirty years now!”

“My grandmother is a quilter,” Caroline says. “She tried to teach me when I was in high school, but I could never get the pieces cut straight. I learned to crochet, instead. I make crochet elves for my inn’s winter wonderland display every year.”

“How fabulous! What fun, I love an elf.” The woman’s eyes sparkle as she turns to me, “And what about you, handsome? You look like more of a knitter to me.”

I grin. “Nah, nothing with needles for this klutz. Can’t be trusted not to impale myself. I stick to watercolor in the park on weekends.”

Caroline’s brows lift. “Yeah? You paint?”

“I’m bad,” I warn her. “Really bad.”

“I want to see,” she says, looking no less excited.

“I’m serious,” I insist. “The one time I posted one of my paintings on social media, I lost half of my followers.”

She beams. “Nice. If it offended that many people, it must be art.”

“Art isn’t here to make friends,” the woman agrees with a sage nod. “Art is meant to inspire emotion. Positive and negative.” She takes a bite of her pretzel and chews thoughtfully.

Caroline shoots her a wide-eyed look.

With a curse, the woman turns to spit the bite over the railing into the water.

By the time we assure Harriet, as she tells us to call her, that she isn’t going to die of a seagull-born illness, help her down to the main deck to buy a water from the snack bar, and get her settled in a seat near the windows, it’s nearly time to deboard.

Caroline and I hover near the exit doors, grinning at each other like we have a secret.

“You have to show me your art,” she whispers. “I’m so curious.”

“Only if you show me yours,” I say, loving the way her eyes darken as she replies, “Oh, I’ll show you mine. I’ll text Kayla and ask her to take some shots of the elves. If you play your cards right, I might even have her slip one into the mail for you as a holiday treat.”

I would much rather have Caroline as a holiday treat, but I nod and thrust a hand her way. “It’s a deal.”

She takes my hand, and I squeeze her fingers, deciding the sway of the ferry as it docks is a good enough excuse to keep holding on as we wait for the gangplank to open.

I’ll have to let go eventually, but not now.

Not right now…