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)
“And is that making you wonder if…?”
My heart catches. She doesn’t have to finish the sentence. “Yes.”
It’s embarrassing to admit, but hopefulness has a hold on me.
Mabel squeezes my arm. “Are you going to talk to him about it?”
I roll my lips together, considering. “Maybe I will. I’m looking for the right moment. I’ve been planning a special date for tomorrow,” I tell her. “We had a bet the other night, and I won. So I get to plan a date.”
Mabel shoots me a does not compute look. “What kind of betting do you do exactly? I hate planning anything but recipes.”
I smile, a little secretive. “All kinds of betting.”
“Dirty betting?” she asks in a whisper.
I just give a coy shrug.
“Will you talk to him then?”
“That’s a good question. I’ll try to…feel him out later. He invited me over to his cabin for dinner. With his daughter and his parents. So don’t get any funny ideas.”
“There’s nothing funny about a man who cooks. That’s only sexy.”
An image of Rowan making me an omelet flashes before me. “Yeah, it was sexy watching him work a spatula.”
She purrs, then adds, “Keep him. Just keep him.”
That’s the thing. I want to.
Right now though, I want to win. When the mayor reaches us, she arches a brow. “Ready to impress me, ladies? Other than with those aprons?”
I preen, plucking at the bib to show it off. “Are you even a team if you don’t have matching aprons?”
“Are you even a coach if you don’t design them and find a place in record time to order them at?”
I jerk my gaze back slightly, feeling…seen. “How did you know?”
Her eyes flicker with satisfaction. “I hear things, Isla. Word got out,” she says. “Clever.”
I feel like a kid in school being praised for doing extra credit. I straighten my spine. But before I say a word, I remind myself that my work as a team coach is to help the team members shine. It’s similar to being a matchmaker. I bring people together, help them along, then let them soar.
“Here you go. Hope you love it,” Eloise says, handing her a cup.
I keep a straight face as the mayor takes a sip of the one with the bourbon. She lifts an eyebrow approvingly, stares off in the distance for a beat, then…lowers her spit bucket.
She doesn’t spit in it.
Yes! I had a feeling.
She looks to Eloise, then Aurora. “Bourbon. Good choice. But how is it without?”
“Try it,” Aurora says, reaching for the liquor-free one.
The mayor takes that cup, then knocks some back. “Mmm. It’s not too sweet.”
It’s just right, I want to shout.
But it’s also designed for the mayor’s taste buds. Aurora knew from the mayor’s visits to the bakery that she favored dark chocolate. Eloise knew from seeing her at the North Pole Nook and Tavern that she liked bourbon. And the apron love? Well, that’s just good sense.
Or really, it’s teamwork.
And it pays off, since a little later, she declares us the winners of the Cocoa and Cocktails competition.
Rowan’s team doesn’t even place.
And honestly, I might gloat this time. I just might.
As I wind up the switchbacks to Rowan’s cabin, the clouds hang lower in the early evening sky. A faint tint of orange rings them.
I steal a glance at the snowball cookies in the Tupperware container on the passenger seat. After the hot cocoa competition, I swung by my parents’ place, and when my mother learned where I was headed tonight, she thrust the container at me, saying, “Raccoons like cookies.”
“Mother,” I’d said. Because she deserved to be called Mother for that comment.
“It’s true. Plus, sugar will keep your energy levels up.”
“Really, Mother.”
“Yes, really,” she said seriously.
“His parents will be there. So will his daughter.”
She arched a brow. “Your parents were here. That didn’t stop you.”
I rolled my eyes, said goodbye, and left. But on the way out, she gave me a hug and said, “I have a good feeling.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her it’s fake. Keeping track of who knows what is making my brain hurt. But I’ll have to add them to the people I’ll disappoint when we break up. At least I won’t disappoint my brother. He already knows it’s fake.
The cabins are spread out here on Rowan’s street, the birds huddled together on power lines and in branches. I reach his driveway, scrunching my forehead when I see only his car. Maybe his parents’ car is parked in the garage?
I pop out and grab the cookies, along with a gift for Wanda, and head up the steps.
Before I even ring the bell, Rowan swings it open, and the air escapes my lungs.
He’s so painfully handsome. But even more so tonight in the cable-knit sweater and jeans, looking like he’s stepped right out of a top flick on Tinsel Takes, right down to the beard. The whole vibe is amplified by the music. He’s playing a Christmas carol—and it’s the Luther Vandross version of “A Kiss for Christmas.” The one that’s on the playlist for me. I don’t want to read anything into it, but I also want to read everything into it.