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)
“Right. Of course, dear,” her mom says, then flashes a small grin. “Which is why we got you a gift.”
Isla tilts her head, looking confused. “A gift because we’re…dating?”
Her dad snort-laughs. Her mom says with complete sincerity, “Yes. That’s exactly it. A dating gift. Let me go grab it.”
Isla swivels around to face her dad. “Do you know what this is?”
“I agree with your mother,” he says, faux robotically, and making it clear he knows what side his bread is buttered on.
“Dating gifts aren’t a thing,” she adds.
“Your mother is always right,” he continues.
“I think I’m getting dating tips from your dad too,” I say to her.
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t encourage him,” she says as her mother returns with…Isla’s roller bag.
It’s a hard-shell hot-pink suitcase with a drink holder, a laptop pocket, a phone mount, and charger points. It’s so organized, so Isla. There has never been a suitcase more suited to a person, and it makes my chest feel a little warm.
But I’m also thrown the fuck off.
So’s Isla. “Why did you just pack up my suitcase in thirty seconds?”
“Because I’m that good. And because this is your gift,” her mom says, then fishes her phone from her lounge pants pocket, theatrically stabs a button, and says, “And now the info’s in your email. Your father and I got you a cute little rental cottage in town. Not that I don’t love having you here, but it’ll be easier for the competition if you’re closer to the action,” she says, but there’s a snicker in her voice that tells me the competition isn’t entirely the reason for this dating gift. “And…we thought it would help with the raccooning.”
Isla knits her brow. “What is that? Some weird new slang for your generation?”
Her dad snort-laughs again. “You could call it that.”
“Well, I hear raccoons are quite busy on the porch. Maybe you can find some at the cottage,” her mom says, fighting off a laugh.
Oh shit.
Her parents must know what happened the other night. Or suspect at least.
Isla’s face flushes the color of a fire truck as she lifts her chin. “I don’t know whether to thank you or—”
“Swear us to secrecy?” her dad offers, like he’s having the time of his life with this gift.
Isla lifts her finger. “Both. Let’s do both.”
“You’re welcome,” they say in unison.
“Yes, thank you,” I say. There’s a time for pleasantries and a time for silence, especially since I don’t want news of the raccooning to somehow get back to Jason.
We say goodbye, and I take Isla’s suitcase and walk her to my car. At first, I fight the urge to touch her—old habits and all, from our season for secrets. But now we’re in our public season, so I set a hand on her back.
I bet her parents are watching in the living room window.
After I stow her bag in the trunk—she said she’ll pick up her car later—I open her door, close it gently, and circle around to the driver’s side. When I slip inside, I glance toward the house. Sure enough, I spot two peeping parents in the window. I shrug as I back up the car. “What’s the deal with the raccoons?”
Isla gulps. “That light that flicked on the other night?”
“Right.”
“My mom said she thought she heard raccoons. I think it was her way of not stating the obvious.”
“Funny, since your parents are about as subtle as a pair of sledgehammers,” I say.
“More like a semi-truck.”
“Like a raccoon. But then, you have wanted to climb me like a raccoon since we went to your friend’s Christmas tree farm.”
She shoots me a withering look. “Don’t push your luck. Remember, we have a bet. Prove you’re amazing at dating.”
“Don’t you worry, sweetheart. I will win so hard.”
She rolls her eyes. “We’ll see.”
“Yes, we will.” I set a hand on her thigh as we drive off, savoring the fact that I can touch her in public and in private.
For now, though, my mission is to take her on an amazing date, like she deserves.
Not gonna lie. I’ve never done anything like this before. Pulled out all the stops. Nerves jump around in my chest when we reach the parking lot for The Sleigh Bell Special.
She said she liked trains. But will she like this?
Here’s hoping. We walk into the tiny depot, where a life-size wooden Santa opens his jaw and mechanically greets us with a: “Ho, ho, ho.”
Lights wrap around the old-timey departures board, flickering in pinks, purples and blues for the holiday.
Isla looks up at the board. “We’re leaving in five minutes,” she announces, then spins around, scanning the empty depot with curiosity. The only person here is the woman working the ticket counter. “I’d have expected more people,” Isla says in a whisper, like we’re in a library. It’s quiet like one.