Page 19 of The Hanukkah Hoax
Alec had scores of other excuses at the ready and had prepared to dig deep into the reserve of apologies he’d always needed to use with Phoebe, but when the argument didn’t come, he was left with a shaky hollowness he wasn’t quite sure how to manage.
That and Marisa hadn’t taken back her hand.
It was the lightest touch. Barely a clasping of fingers. It could hardly even be called hand-holding, but it was nice. His calloused fingers looked bulbous and craggy caging her smaller ones, but the contrast didn’t bother him. It seemed to be the visual representation of what he’d done his whole career. Protecting the ball, blocking the tackle.
Keeping everything, and almost everyone, out to secure what truly mattered.
He was about to trace his thumb along the top of her hand when she finally, slowly, took her hand back.
“I can do happy,” Marisa said with what he was thrilled to see looked to be a genuine smile. “And you’re right. This opportunity is a once-in-a-lifetime shot, and I need to believe it’ll work.”
The tenuous hope in her tone was as much of a rallying cry as he figured she could muster, given the loud hollering of pizzaiolos flinging dough and ringing up takeout orders.
If this was her preferred strategy room, one where she felt comfortable enough to show him even the smallest amount of joy, then the least he could do was share in her belief that they could pull it off.
“This opportunity is significant for me as well,” he agreed, nodding. “Speaking of opportunities, what’s the plan? You said you had our first mission.”
The brightness in her eyes took on a shadowy cast, and Alec immediately picked up on the same shifting discomfort he’d last seen Marisa fight through when she was talking to Monica at the cocktail party.
She was nervous. Did that mean he should be nervous, too?
“There’s an event my parents are throwing on December seventeenth. It’s sort of another holiday party. Well, no, that’s not true. More of a combined party.”
“A combined party?”
“Sure. Yes.”
“What are the occasions that are being combined? Christmas is one, I’m assuming.”
“Not exactly.” Marisa chewed her lip before throwing her hands down on the table. “Oh, this is ridiculous.”
Before he could ask what was so ridiculous, she walked over to the drink refrigerator, squatted down, rummaged around toward the back of the bottom shelf, then came away with a frosty dark brown can. She cracked open the tab and took a few respectably healthy swigs, then returned to the table, a renewed sense of purpose casting the color high in her cheeks.
Alec scratched at the scar on his face that had long ago ruined his beard line. “Now, admittedly, I’m not as well-versed in pizzeria etiquette as my brother, Cal, who’s lived here for years, but I’m fairly certain you can’t just take a soda out of the restaurant’s fridge and?—”
“Enzo! Can you bring over four slices of the white cheese and broccoli?” Marisa shouted to the portly pizzaiolo, who was setting his peel on top of the oven. Then she gasped and leaned closer to Alec. “You’re not dairy free, are you? I should have asked first. Oh crap, you eat gluten, right? If not, I think Sal usually keeps some of those cauliflower crust things around.”
“I can eat whatever I’d like, but do you always?—”
Enzo’s booming voice volleyed over the counter. “Sure thing, babe. You got enough crushed red pepper flakes over there? I haven’t checked those tables since the lunch rush.”
“Got plenty!”
Alec watched the exchange in fascination. For a conversation that sounded like yelling, each phrase was coated with an almost loving appreciation. “I think it would be fair to suspect that you two know each other.”
The flush from Marisa’s soda swig remained and, bolstered by her interaction with Enzo, had also infused her complexion with more exuberance than he’d yet to see on her. It was utterly adorable.
“Guilty,” Marisa admitted. “I actually live in the apartment above the pizza place. Enzo and his brother Sal are always feeding me, and they let me keep my in case of emergency sodas in the fridge as long as I tuck them in the back on the bottom shelf so no customers accidentally grab one by mistake.”
Alec chuckled, then pulled the can in question closer for inspection, swiping his thumb across the condensation so he could read the letters more clearly. “What’s an in case of emergency soda?”
“Dr. Brown’s cream soda. Occasionally, I go for the black cherry. It’s more for fortification than anything else. In my line of work, I try to limit my sugar intake outside of recipe testing and production. But when I’m struggling to stay grounded, I find the Good Doctor always helps.”
Intrigued, Alec lifted the can to his lips and took a few good pulls. “Sweet. Pleasant. Heavy on the vanilla. Overall, enjoyable. Not bad.” When he brought the can away from his mouth, he was met with a shocked expression akin to what Cal would give him when he’d forgotten to zip his trousers after using the loo.
Marisa’s eyes darted from the soda to his mouth and back again.
Alec’s misstep quickly sank in, nearly choking him. Fuckin’ hell. I just shared her drink.
