Page 42 of The Hanukkah Hoax
“Marisa Silver, I’d like to introduce you to Hugh, my brother’s frequently unenthused mastiff and, for the time being, my roommate.”
Her bonny eyes brightened, and her delightful smile widened. “Oh, so you’re the one who eats all of Alec’s steaks.”
“Only the good steaks, mind you. The bastard nabbed an entire ribeye clean off the counter before it had even finished resting. The meat wasn’t there for thirty seconds before it leapt into this knucklehead’s gaping maw, and I had to settle for frozen pizza for dinner.”
“Well, I hope you at least heated the pizza up first.”
“Haha,” he remarked dryly, folding his arms across his chest. “The loss was survivable, but I’ll have you know I suffered greatly for it.”
At her feet, Hugh was rolling around like a pig in shit, giving her as much of his belly to rub as could fit in front of her. And like a perfectly pleasant woman used to disregarding men in favor of furry animals, she got right to work laying her hands all over him.
Alec was not jealous, nor did he yank on Hugh’s harness just a wee bit tighter, dragging the beast upright sooner than the dog appreciated so they could get on with what Alec had planned.
“So, what’s on the schedule for this morning?” Marisa asked, rising to her feet and dusting off the snow from her coat. “Are we adopting a dog?”
“No,” Alec said, leading them over to the rest of the plowed walkways that led toward the tents. “But we are here to be seen. This is the annual adoption event where a bunch of the local animal rescues team up to try and find their critters new homes before the holid—” Alec stalled out, remembering that the world holiday was not synonymous with Christmas for everyone.
“Christmas, you mean,” Marisa finished for him. “It’s okay. You can call it the holidays. I won’t be offended. Remember, I sell Christmas cheer for a living this time of year. And I also feel that my boyfriend should know that about me.” She winked at him, and whatever tension that had wrapped itself around his lungs eased each time the corner of her mouth tugged higher.
It was a curious thing to hear the word boyfriend and how it had begun to feel so much more than a casting choice. There was still a heft to it, aye, but one his muscles had become accustomed to lifting. It was a good weight, too, one that sat comfortably around him, commending him for finally wearing a skin that seemed to suit so well, as if the life he regularly carried around was a perpetually poor fit.
Hugh took Alec’s moment of silence to curl around one of Marisa’s legs and rub his swaying jowls all over her boots.
Alec sighed, knowing when another’s affection was favored over his. “Here, you want to walk him a bit while we chat?”
“Do I ever?” Marisa eagerly reached for the lead and looped the handle around her wrist while Alec double-checked Hugh’s harness buckles.
“Just hang onto him tight. Mastiffs are huge, powerful animals, but they don’t have the energy of, say, a border collie. He likely already expended his maximum allotment of energy for the day just rubbing all over you, but with all these tiny yappers around, there’s no saying something won’t spook him. And once he pulls?—”
“Let me guess. Hang on tight?”
Alec slowed his stride, snatched up her mittened hand, and stared down at her. “No, you hang onto me.”
In the parking lot, cars began filing in, with doors opening and closing one by one as families, all red-nosed and cheery-cheeked, strode eagerly toward the adoption tents. There were several fenced-off areas where dogs of all shapes and sizes—and decked out in an abundance of flippant finery that had no business gracing any creature larger than ten pounds—leapt and rolled through the snowy mounds erected by the volunteers for canine enjoyment. Rows of kennels and crates housing all the unamused cats available for adoption were set farther back from the larger crowds but not so far as to be forgotten or left out. The event was small and cozy, with only two food vendors selling wares: one dispensing hot apple cider, hot chocolate, and coffee, and the other handing out warm soft pretzels with tiny tubs of that melted plastic cheese Americans were so fond of.
It was the perfect holiday photo op for what he had planned, set against the backdrop of frosted pine trees and nearby streetlamps adorned with wire snowflakes that would light up as soon as the sun went down.
As expected, Hugh had walked over to the pretzel maven, tugging Marisa and Alec behind him. The two of them engaged in good-natured conversation with people, and Alec bought two pretzels and two coffees, let some of the kids pet Hugh, and made sure everyone’s phone was out when he gave donations to the animal rescues while encouraging people to follow Sweetest Heart’s Desire online and directing them to the site for Crystal Christmas Ball tickets.
Eventually, his hand had somehow slipped from simply holding Marisa’s to banding behind her back and pulling her close. When he finally realized just how personal and cozy he was getting, he remembered they’d yet to discuss those bloody ground rules he’d promised to establish.
As if his conscience were mocking him.
Marisa was just finishing up chatting with a lovely couple who was interested in the Ball when she turned to him, beaming with the glow of what he suspected was a new scheme. “That was the fourteenth couple I’ve talked to today who expressed interest in seeing us at the Ball. They normally don’t even consider going, because it means they’d have to get a babysitter and those are hard to find on Christmas Eve, but they’re going to try. They seemed super intrigued with the ribbon candy I plan on throwing in the treat boxes.”
“Not the Jamaican gingerbread? I thought that was your fan favorite so far.”
Marisa pulled away from him slightly and hugged herself, and whatever comfortable cadence they’d found with each other that morning turned stilted and worrisome. “The grocer I usually work with is completely out of stock of the extract I need. I called him this morning, hoping that perhaps their site just wasn’t updated when it said they were out of stock, but nope, it was accurate. Sure, I could try making it with other ginger, but then I worry it wouldn’t be distinguished enough. People are paying a pretty penny for tickets. There’s no way I can risk anything that would taste even remotely ordinary. I’m going for traditional flavors with flair. I can’t do that with the powdered shit, raw ginger isn’t suited well for this application, and there isn’t enough time to make my own ginger extract. It takes too long to distill properly.”
“Did he say when he’s expecting another shipment? Or is there another supplier in the area that I could pick up an order from?”
She shook her head. “There’s no time. I’ll have to think of something else.”
“Have any of the other photos of what you’ll be serving racked up the interest that the Jamaican gingerbread has?”
“Not even close. But,” Marisa said, lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders, doing her best to walk in stride with wherever Hugh was now dragging them to, “I’ve got some other concepts to try. They’re not fleshed out yet, but I’ll get there.”
Alec heard the trepidation in her voice and the even stronger ring of her determination to fight through it. It was a grit he was very familiar with.
