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)
When we reach her parents’ home, I cut the engine. The porch light’s on, but the house seems quiet and still. Festive, though, since colored lights flicker on the bushes. Blue and white icicles blink on and off along the roof, and a white and silver decorative reindeer stands tall in the front yard.
“I can see where you get it,” I say.
Moonlight casts a soft glow across her face and her faint smile. “My parents are festive. And very much in love,” she says, then winces. “Sorry, I don’t know why I said that.”
I don’t either, but she sounds…thrown off. I really need to try harder. Not to seduce her. But to listen. “That’s good though. That they’re happy.”
“Is it?”
“Well, yeah,” I say, emphatic since she seems so…uncertain.
“I thought you didn’t believe in that,” she says, but sadness weighs down her words, and I hardly ever hear that from her.
“I believe in it for other people,” I say, then tilt my head, studying her face, trying to read her. Her blue eyes are more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen them. “But don’t you?”
She nibbles on her lips and takes a second too long to answer. “I do.”
“Isla,” I press, like I’m calling her on it.
She shakes her head. “It’s fine.”
“What’s wrong? Did I upset you?”
She locks eyes with me, concern in hers. “Why would you upset me?”
“Because…” I blow out a breath. “I was kind of a dick there at the end.”
“You weren’t. I promise.”
It’s an exoneration, and I’m grateful. But still, I want to clear the air. “I don’t know. I kind of was. I was sort of all—fine, whatever.”
“It’s okay. I ruined the vibe. It’s just,” she says, then stops, and sighs, “earlier, my mom was asking if I still believe in love, and it made me wonder…”
I’m careful as I ask the hard question. “If you do?”
“Yeah,” she says, frowning. “I mean, I do. I’m a matchmaker. It’s just…”
“What is it?” I ask softly.
“Sometimes…the past hurts,” she whispers. “You know?”
My throat tightens, and I do know. “All too well.”
“Sometimes I think about how it felt to be lied to, and my chest aches a little.”
Hell, I feel the same. “I get it,” I say, stripping away the teasing, the sarcasm, the attitude.
She lowers her face. “And sometimes the present hurts too.”
I didn’t realize she was ever sad. Isla’s always been the happy sunshine woman, capable and ready to spread cheer at a moment’s notice. Able to solve any problem. Handle any situation. It’s her matchmaker persona.
But I have a hockey player persona—tough, unruffled, grumpy. I understand the roles we have to play thanks to our jobs.
Right now, I drop the persona, asking gently, “Did it hurt tonight?”
“It didn’t.” She frowns, though, her tone desperate. “But I want to do my job. I’m setting up dates for you in the coming week. This is what I was hired to do. I want to be good at it. It’s just hard sometimes when—” She reaches for my hand, slides her fingers through mine, saying, “When I want things I can’t have.”
My chest goes up in flames. My heart slams against my ribs. “Same,” I say roughly, as the lights wink on and off in the winter night.
Her thumb traces a faint circle against my hand. One, two, three. Like I did to her hip bone earlier. It turns me on beyond reason. It’s the best anything’s felt in a long, long time.
All I want is more of her, but I won’t push. I suspect this is all she’ll allow. She lets go. “I can coach you, Rowan. But I can’t keep setting you up if I—”
She doesn’t say it. Doesn’t have to. I hear it anyway. If I want to kiss you.
“I didn’t mean to pressure you tonight.” Only, I was absolutely trying to seduce her. Then, fuck it. Might as well tell her I was playing dirty. “Not gonna lie—I wanted you to have a great time tonight. A better time than you’ll have with Oliver,” I bite out, his name bitter on my tongue.
“You know about that?” she asks, pulling back.
I can’t strip the jealousy from my tone. “Jason mentioned it. When is the date?”
A smile spreads on her face, slow and satisfied. “About that…”
I jump on those two words. “About what, Isla?”
Her smile changes shape. Turns a little wicked. “This explains everything.”
“Explains what?”
“You. You were peacocking earlier in the bakery.”
No point denying it. “Damn right I was.”
“Someone’s a little territorial.”
“A lot,” I say, but I want to return to the subject at hand. “What did you mean when you said about that?”
She blows out a breath. It’s playful—festive even. “I politely turned down my mother’s matchmaking efforts. That’s what I meant.”
Fuck yes. Hearing this news is better than scoring a goal. “Why did you say no?”
“You’re pushy.”