Page 13 of The Christmas Competition

“Which one?” Greg asked. “PTA Sally or scary Nisa?”

I let out a short laugh. Greg had called Nisa that ever since “The Incident,” as Nisa liked to call it. “The latter.”

“Was she pissed off because she doesn’t like Christmas lights?”

“Nope. Annoyed because she’d also decorated and entered the competition, and she’s convinced I entered just for spite and to sabotage her.”

Greg let out a whistle. “She’s crazy.”

Something crawled under my skin at that statement. What the hell was wrong with me? Nisa was acting crazy in this instance. But for some reason I didn’t like anyone saying anything like that about her. Except for me, of course.

I mulled it all over again. How I’d kind of wanted to provoke her, then almost softened toward her, then had been livid when she got riled up. Livid, and . . . something else.

“What’s up?” Greg asked.

“Nothing. I just can’t seem to get the whole thing off my mind. She marched over to my house last night and read me the riot act on my doorstep.”

Greg grinned. “Maybe it’s because you fancy her.”

I about choked on my sip of coffee. “What?” That was ludicrous.

He laughed. “Don’t play all coy with me, Kerr. You get this weird moony look on your face when you talk about her. And I’ve met her before, don’t forget. I know that she’s hot.”

This time the crawling sensation was sharper. Shit. I really didn’t like another man calling Nisa hot. I shook my head, as if that might restart my malfunctioning brain. “I definitely do not fancy her. I find her infuriating.”

That was it—​infuriation. The hot, illicit sensation deep in my belly that I’d experienced when I found her all angry on my doorstep, and also when I’d imagined the same scenario. It had been infuriation. And yes, it had felt kind of thrilling, but that was just because I knew that wanting to antagonize her was bad.

Anyhow, it was all done now. I’d decorated my house and there was nothing Nisa could do about it. I’d probably not have any further interactions with her for another few months.

I helped Greg pack up our stuff to head home, ignoring the fact that the idea of not seeing Nisa for a stretch left me even colder than I’d felt after my swim.

7

Nisa

I SCRIBBLED FURIOUSLY in the leather-​bound notebook, the surrounding features of the break room at work fading away as I let my rage out onto the page.

There was a movement at the door, and Malc stuck his head around. “Just wondering if you want a cup of tea, Charge Nur—​I mean, Nisa.”

I glanced up to flash him a smile. “That would be absolutely delectable, thank you, Malc.”

He beamed at me before ducking back out, his footsteps sounding on the linoleum as he headed for the kitchen.

Finishing my last sentence, I slammed the book shut and then sat for a moment, taking deep breaths in and out, before sliding the notebook back into my rucksack. My revenge diary served me well, acting as an outlet for all my recent trauma at the hands of absent husbands, ex-neighbors across the street (called Aileen), and most imperatively, current neighbors across the street (called Kerr). Not to worry, it wasn’t as sinister as Arya Stark’s kill list, more of a very rageful Bridget Jones’s diary. Or a burn book for middle-​aged mean girls.

Malc reappeared with two mugs of steaming tea and I accepted mine, curling my grateful fingers around the heat of the mug. “Thank you, you are an absolute diamond.”

“No probs, boss,” Malc said, blowing on his tea. “So, what’s next after break?”

“Right,” I said, lifting my smaller, work-​related notebook from the pocket of my scrubs—​the cover of which sported flowers and rainbows as opposed to the dark leather of my revenge diary. I liked to think that both books represented the opposing sides of my personality. Fun and light versus feisty and forthright. “We’ve got IV antibiotics to make up for Mr. Palmowski. It’s his birthday today, by the way, so we need to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ at lunchtime when the pudding comes out. And there’s a catheter reinsertion for Mrs. Stewart. I feel bad for her because not only does she need that particular procedure but she’s also sad because she misses her dog Fluffy.”

I shut the book. “Why don’t you and Claire do the antibiotics, and I’ll sort Mrs. S. I can FaceTime her daughter who’s looking after Fluffy to cheer her up, and also she’s in the same bay as our new lady who I wanted to have a catch-up with anyway.”

Malc nodded. “You know all of the patients so well. I don’t know how you do it.”

I shrugged. “I’m just a nosy bugger, that’s all.” I flashed him a grin as he snorted out a laugh. “No, seriously. I like hearing all of their stories. People are so interesting.” When they aren’t being total arseholes who sabotage my Christmas competition–​winning plans.

We finished up our tea, and I washed the cups because it was only fair after Malc made the drinks. Then we went our separate ways to perform said duties.