Page 31 of The Hanukkah Hoax
“You better. You’ve got those orangutan arms.”
He gasped in mock affront. “Are you calling me a beast, woman?”
She smiled. “No. I’m calling you a very intelligent man who handled my sometimes-unbalanced family perfectly, who also has an arm span ideal for making sure all my curly hair gets in the picture without any of it getting lit on fire.”
“Och, hush. Come here already and get in the picture, will you? And I’ll have you know,” he said as Marisa staged them both in front of the large menorah’s festive display, “I happen to like your hair.”
She was just practicing her say cheese! smile when his comment caught her off guard. “You do?”
Alec’s lips curled into a grin, and the image prickled the tips of her ears and nose as she remembered just how close those lips had been to hers. Then he moved to her side, and instead of putting his hand on her shoulder and pulling her close like she expected, he curved his hand around her waist and cradled her against his side. “Aye.”
There was no escaping Alec. He was everywhere at once, both flush against her body and running rampant in her thoughts. His natural scent from earlier, the one that caused her to imagine a bit too comfortably, perhaps, what it would be like to really date this man, was now consuming so much more of her. It was all one giant bad decision, a bad decision that would eventually end once he went back to England and she no longer needed his influence to help her business. Right now, that bad decision was just waaay too sticky for her liking. Or maybe because of her liking? Hell if she knew. The only thing she did know with any amount of clarity was that she liked it. Way too much.
Kowtowing to the sway of the moment and knowing on some level that the pictures of them as a couple needed to hold more believability, Marisa sank into Alec’s embrace and let her hands go where they wanted. It wasn’t until her right arm banded around his back and her left hand settled on the flat of his chest did he finally whisper, “That’s better,” then tightened his grip on her hip and started snapping photos.
And it was better. With each fresh strategic cuddly pose staged around the festive décor throughout the room, any apprehension that had compressed her muscles had fled the scene in favor of a situation that carried her heart and hopes to new heights.
“There,” Alec said, leaning over to show her the photos he took. “Not half bad.”
“Not half bad,” Marisa echoed, admiring the genuine joy that shone off her in each new picture. Her smile, her skin, even her freaking hair all looked like they were showing up not only to play but to win.
“You look happy,” he added, putting words to the sentiment she’d struggled to name.
And she did look happy. It had just been so long since she knew what happy looked like on her features that she couldn’t recognize it. Perhaps it was because, standing next to Alec, eating meals with him, getting to know about his life and his career, having him meet her farkakte family and former-felon friends, were the things that had more of a hand in her happiness than they should have.
It was another reason her nerves had been firing on all cylinders. As if she didn’t have enough to worry about, now she had to worry about—gulp—catching feelings as well?
After Alec posted the photos across all his social media platforms—to followings way, way larger than Marisa had—he pocketed his phone and rubbed the back of his neck. “It would be a good time to tell them, you know.”
He gestured toward where her mother was rearranging the tower of bagels so they were more foundationally supported while her father kept scooping up all the good plump capers onto his cream-cheese-mounded plate.
“You can’t be serious. One, I just introduced you as my boyfriend to my parents. Two, my dad just told you how he hadn’t met his health insurance deductible for the year yet, so do you really want me to go give him a heart?—”
“About the Ball, you daft woman,” he said, snatching up her hands as they flew about her face to aid her in conversation. “You should tell them about your offer from Monica.”
Marisa snorted, taking her hands back so she could rightly set them on her hips. “You mean how I managed to get into a candy competition with your ex-girlfriend, who’s very likely to put me out of business.”
“Stop it. That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” The word know was doing a lot of work in that statement, primarily unearthing a shame she’d hoped to cover up with a cupcake cake. No dice.
“Do you speak fluent hard-ass or something?”
“No. But I have been known to comment on the truths around me, and it’s plain as day that you’re bloody proud of the opportunity you’ve gone after for your business. From what you’ve told me, the Crystal Christmas Ball is an event not to be missed, and of all the vendors who’ve been dying to get their chance, you were the one to walk up to Monica, stained shirt and all, and put yourself out there. It’s amazing and an incredible honor, regardless of the outcome with Phoebe. You’re a headliner, Marisa, and I think it’ll do you some good to start sinking into that feeling and letting it take you where you want your business to go. There’s no one better qualified than you to sell to a Christmas crowd. No one else has the amount of fight you do. Take it from someone who knows a thing or two about winning tourneys. Fucking hell, you could make your own version of those delicious chocolate coin things and likely print your own money. What are they called again, by the way? Guilt?”
Marisa barked out a laugh. “Gelt.”
“Right. Gelt. As I figure, it’s money either way, and I’ve seen your family. Odd as they may be, they’d love to support you. Just give them a chance. Why are you already regretting your loss when you’ve never even given yourself the chance to envision the win?”
“God, you are so annoying,” she said, hoping the statement would cover up her nerves after he’d gone and rudely sheared off their protective layer. But the truth was often annoying until it grew up. Then it was just a big fat reality Marisa had to learn to either dodge or deal with.
Problem was, after so many years, she only had so much fight in her, and what was left was running on emergency reserves.
And emergencies made a person do crazy things.
“I’ll have you know,” Marisa said, poking a fingernail between Alec’s pecs and enjoying the wide-eyed surprise on his face. “I have been selling Christmas cheer for a goddamn decade. No one knows how to make better candy canes, peppermint fudge, and caramel clusters than I do, to say nothing of my marzipan and frangipane work.” The brighter her pride grew, the stronger the force pushing Alec back into the breakfront behind him. “I’ve got recipes for ribbon candy that have taken me years to perfect. And what does the Plant Nanny have? Chocolate Christmas tree molds? Give me a fucking break.”
“A hook!” Alec added, curling his hand around her pokey finger to stem off any more attacks. “She doesn’t have one of those angry hook things your adjacently law-abiding friends brought you.”
“Exactly!” Marisa cried, pointing to the ceiling with her other hand and nearly snagging a string of paper lanterns. “She doesn’t have a sugar pulling hook! Probably wouldn’t even know what to do with it if she saw one.”
