Page 26 of Hooked

I’m not having a fling with Danny’s niece. She’s not the kind of woman who’d be satisfied with a fling, and the fish shack isn’t exactly the level of glamor she’s used to. It’d never work.

I head over to the historical society. Their archivist is excited to see the portfolios, not because of what they contain but because of the challenge of the repair. The older woman flips through, marveling over the art before she closes the cover with a sigh.

“We can clean up spotting, and press the pages, but they’re still going to be warped.” She taps the back of a pen on the counter, still thinking.

“I’d recommend doing a multi-layered scan, adjusting for warping in photoshop and then reprinting and recovering them.”

“What’s the timeline on something like that?” I ask.

She runs her hands over the books. “A month, I’d say? Even with our intern scanning, the editing will slow things down.”

Not ideal. She could probably reproduce these far more quickly at Kinkos if she had the original artwork scanned and stored elsewhere. It’s probably a waste of time and money.

“What about just one, to start with?” I ask. “My friend’s birthday is on Christmas.”

“We’ll give it a try.” She grins, moving the books onto a wheeled cart. “I’ll work with my digital restoration guy to figure out which will be the easiest to get done in that timeline.”

I thank her. “I know it’s not the best time of year to get a big project. I appreciate your expertise.”

She chuckles. “It’ll be fun. She’s a lucky lady, Mr. Esposito.”

The assumption that Sia is my girlfriend rankles me. At the bar it was different. I’d been protecting her from idiot drunk men. Here I was just doing a simple favor. For Oscar.

I don’t let my irritation show, though, and thank her again, leaving my phone number before heading out the door.

Sia’d saved Oscar from drowning. And besides, it’s not like I was doing much other than handing things off to the right people.

Nothing to get all worked up about.

What I need is a long drive around the island to clear my head. It’ll be quiet when Sia goes, and the fact that I’ll probably miss her chatter annoys me. It’s why I don’t waste time getting close to people. It either goes badly, or it never lasts. They always leave, so what’s the point?

Best to go it alone.

11

Sia

The reindeer family fits in the ballroom’s bay window perfectly. They’re made of logs, with moveable heads and cute stick antlers. I’d put down some cotton batting to look like snow, and they seem happy enough here.

It’s been a productive afternoon. I squared away the catering, which thankfully comes with dish and flatware rental. Luckily, folks need the winter income, so everyone has been excited rather than annoyed at my last-minute requests, even this close to the holiday. The food would be simple—whatever’s in stock—but that’s less important since the drinks will be good.

Normally my anxiety would be skyrocketing. After all, my guests are used to a level of polish that just isn’t going to happen here. I’m still positive that we’ll be able to get some professional-looking photographs to publish on the inn’s website. I wish I had my pretty brocade tree skirts for the photos instead of the ugly ones I’d picked up with the tree stands at the hardware store, but those were in my bags. I had asked Kristi about the salvage, and whether anything was recovered, but she said unfortunately not. The bags had probably gotten loose with all the tossing and were hurled into the sea. Thinking about that experience makes my stomach lurch. Better focus on affixing the garland I’d found in one of my uncle’s boxes to the molding. The molding that Kieran and Vinny had masterfully installed.

Vinny.

I’ve been so busy that it’s been easy to avoid thinking about him. About how strongly my body had reacted to his touch. About how I’d wanted him to touch me more intimately. I flick a glance over to the mistletoe I’ve hung in the entryway to the ballroom. I’ve put some up around the house.

To help Kristi and Sven out, I tell myself.

When I’d returned, my uncle let me know that Vinny would be bringing up tables later. He’d sheepishly followed with “and he’ll help you get your trees, sweetheart. I’m not strong enough to carry them.”

I’d said that I could do that, but he just shook his head and insisted on Vinny’s help.

Honestly, I don’t know how I’ll face more time alone with Vinny. He’s closed off and cool, until he’s not. And when he’s not, I find myself wanting to stand too close to his flames. Logs on the fire and all that.

I position a ladder against the wall. Normally I’d use a tape measure so I could spread the hooks evenly, but I’ll have to eyeball it.

Vinny obviously has scars beyond his broken nose. But like Uncle Danny, he’s let the scar tissue grow thick and deep, blocking out any remaining feeling.

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