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)
I stare even harder at my team, like I can laser all my attention on our fabulously fashionable snow-woman.
“Talk about accessories,” Josie admires.
Aurora whips out the pièce de résistance—a tube of red frosting from her bakery. “Voila,” she says, holding it up triumphantly.
“Brilliant,” Eloise declares as the two women clutch it together and paint on a bright red snow mouth.
Subtly, as the ladies work, I shift my gaze to Rowan. When I find him, our eyes lock for a hot second from across the square.
Heat roars through me as he stares my way—like last night is all he can think about too. With a subtle chin nod, he turns to his team, and I follow his gaze, then groan.
Are you kidding me?
He’s making a dog.
It’s wearing Wanda’s clothes.
Not fair.
Mia’s next to him, cheering him on like Josie’s cheering us on. Mia points and whispers while Rowan gives directions to Oliver and JJ. It’s Rowan the coach. My chest warms, then melts a little more when he wraps an arm around his daughter’s shoulders. Did I just go from hot for him to sweet for him and his daughter? Yes. Yes, I did.
“Earth to Isla.”
I jerk my gaze back to Josie. “What is it?”
She bumps her shoulder to mine. “So, you and…”
“No,” I say quickly, too quickly, then I tug her away from the action. “It’s not anything. It can’t be.”
“But you want it to be?”
My stomach twists—it’s an uncomfortable but hopeful feeling too. “It’s just…not a good idea.”
“Nor is offering you my eyeglasses for the snowwoman, but I have a backup pair so I’m going to do it anyway.”
“I’ll take them,” I say.
She removes them, swapping on her backups as she whispers, “Sometimes bad ideas are the best ideas.”
Is Rowan a bad idea? Yes, he probably is. He’s still a client. Our next practice date is supposed to be tomorrow night. He said he doesn’t want me to match him anymore. I haven’t totally failed at Cupid’s Confidante, since I’m still coaching him. I can still do that. Dating lessons and matchmaking are separate things. And there’s Mia, another thing I can’t stop thinking about. Her bright eyes and eager smile. The way she claps and cheers as the guys finish up. Then, how she bounces with nervous and excited energy as the judges take their time checking out each snow creation. I watch the judges patiently, then wait as they give their decisions to Mayor Bumblefritz.
She heads up the steps, grabs her megaphone, and says, “And the top three contenders are…” She makes a drumroll sound. “The Ice Queens.”
That’s Phillipa and Sabrina’s team, and they made a snowwoman with a tiara and ice skates, among other items. I cheer for them.
“And in second place…the Sugar Plum Ladies.”
That’s us. “Yay,” I say, then gather Eloise and Aurora into a group hug.
“And the winner of this Snowman Fashion Show is…The Grinches.”
Who would name themselves that?
The answer is Rowan, who is fist-bumping with Oliver and JJ. A laugh bursts from me. Of course he did. And of course they won—you can’t beat a dog.
When Rowan scoops up Mia into a victorious hug, I’m not so sure he’s a grinch all the time. I am sure, though, that I like this side of him. The man he is with his daughter. But I liked the man he was last night too. Attentive, a good listener, passionate.
And consumed by me.
My stomach executes a loop-de-loop.
“Let’s give a big cheer for The Grinches,” the mayor booms, and I focus on the present, clapping for the winner.
As the town’s photographer snaps pics of the snow dog, then of each team, I can’t help but notice Aurora’s gaze sailing away to the other side of the town square.
To Rowan’s team.
But she’s not looking at him. She’s checking out the guy Rowan was peacocking in front of yesterday.
That night, I’m in the front row, center ice, rooting on the Sea Dogs with my parents, my brother, and his family, all while trying to figure out how to work my matchmaking magic.
I’ve been mulling over the Oliver–Aurora situation all night as the Sea Dogs thrash the New York team. It’s glorious—they’re up by four in the last period. The game’s been fast, loud, and rough—my favorite kind of hockey as the teams battle for the puck. Out of nowhere, Rowan slams a New York defender into the boards. The guy shoves back, hard, sending Rowan into the wall with a deafening crack.
My heart stalls when Rowan doesn’t move for a few seconds. Panic races through me until Rowan shrugs his shoulders. I breathe again, my heart starting up at a rabbit pace as Rowan shoots the guy a careless stare—his jersey tells me his last name is Karlsson, and I’m pretty sure I’ve heard my brother say he’s the biggest asshole in the league. I’ve heard the same from my friends—this guy is a notorious misogynist who insults women. Rowan attacks the puck, stripping it from the NY forward and flicking it to Wesley, who sends it sailing right into the net.