Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
It’s an exoneration of sorts—Mia forgiving her father for something that isn’t really a transgression but more of a coping mechanism.
But should I even be here? This moment feels private. I let go of the lights and inch away, giving them space, figuring I can fiddle with something in the kitchen. I don’t know what, but something.
Rowan clears his throat, runs a hand down her hair. “I should have gotten you one, cupcake. I knew you wanted to. I was selfish.”
“It’s okay. I understand. We still had fun with Matilda and Wanda. I’m just saying it’s also fun with Isla.” Mia spins around, her eyes scanning the room, then locking on me as I step into the kitchen. “Isla, can you help with this dog ornament? Wanda knocked it down.” Mia scoops up a wooden cut-out of a dog, then offers it to me.
I return to scrutinize the tree and find a spot. “Let’s put it here.”
“Perfect,” Mia says, and we hang it together.
When she turns around, she says to Rowan, “See? I told you it would be fun to have a tree.”
“You were right.”
“I usually am, Dad.” She shoots me a pleased look. “Trees are always a good idea.”
“They really are,” I agree.
Maybe I didn’t need to walk away. Maybe I was always part of this moment.
I look at Rowan. He seems relieved. Pretty sure he wasn’t expecting that conversation tonight, but I swear a weight seems to lift from his shoulders as we finish decorating.
When he walks me to my car a little later, he sets a hand on the roof. “How do you feel about trains?”
It takes me a beat to connect the dots. “I love them. Especially the Christmas train.”
“Perfect,” he says, then sets a time. “And wear a skirt.”
I’m already thinking of the perfect outfit and counting down till our fake-date that feels a little too real.
36
A DATING GIFT
ROWAN
I did my homework already—picked something I thought she’d love for our date.
But I also picked something that’ll help me win this fake-dating bet.
I did my prep too. Called The Sleigh Bell Special. Made the arrangements. Dropped off Mia with my parents, where they plan to review all the fun activities they might do on their kid-grandparent cruise. Then, since I didn’t want to add to their plate on their first night in town, I checked Wanda into the local dog daycare. Dog Tails has a location here, so that was an easy decision. My girl is happy.
I swing by Isla’s parents’ house in the early evening. As I walk up the stone pathway I try not to think about what I did to her—nearly did to her—against their house the other night. It’s a little weird picking her up at her parents’ place. It feels so…old-fashioned date-ish.
That’s what you wanted when you suggested practice-dates—to learn how to date again.
That’s not entirely true though. I simply wanted more time with her. And I’m getting it.
I pass the silver reindeer on the way to the porch and lift my hand to knock on the door—when it swings open.
“Rowan!” Isla’s dad’s Santa hat sits jauntily on his head, the bowl of popcorn in his hand smelling like butter and the movies. “Are you going to join us tonight? We’re watching The Naughty List,” he says with a wink.
And…I’m thrown off as I say, “I don’t think so.”
“Darling,” his wife chides from inside.
“Dad!” Isla groans from somewhere down the hallway.
“What?” her dad asks, all innocence.
“You did not just invite him to watch a racy Christmas movie,” Isla says, stomping down the hall.
Her dad grins impishly at me. “Oops.”
“Sweetheart,” her mom says, sliding up to him and gently smacking his arm, “Don’t do that again.”
“Because it’s date night,” he says to her, a little heat in his voice. “And you want me all to yourself.”
“Exactly,” his wife purrs, running a hand up his chest, and—holy shit—Isla’s parents are frisky. This is both very cool and completely mortifying.
“You two are embarrassing, and this must stop now,” Isla declares as she rounds the corner.
And…wow.
She’s not just wearing a skirt. She’s wearing a cream-colored sweater dress that hugs her curves.
My jaw hits the floor like a cartoon character’s. My skin heats. My mouth goes dry. I’m trying to remind myself this is fake, but the way I want her is all too real.
“You look…incredible,” I say, past the gravel in my throat.
Isla’s mom swings her gaze to her dad, and unspoken sentences—entire novels—pass between them.
When Isla reaches them, she says, “Don’t get ahead of yourselves. We’re dating for a few nights, then just going to the gala together.”
Ouch. For a few seconds, I feel like I’ve been slapped. Just the gala. But of course, that’s what our fake-dating deal is for—we’ll do this till Christmas Eve, then walk away as friends.
Too bad I can still feel the sting from those words. Just the gala.