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)
Boom! I’m up on my feet and cheering. Bubbles rush through my blood. My throat is raw from my cheers. I’m buoyant as I shout, “Take that, New York!”
The scoreboard shows another goal for the Sea Dogs—and an assist for Rowan.
A burst of pride floods me. He earned a point. After he claps Wesley on the back, he shifts his gaze to…center ice.
My heart stutters. Is he…looking for me? Is that a cocky grin on his handsome face? A knowing glint in his eyes as he holds my gaze? The crowd roars around me. I clutch the railing, high on adrenaline and some kind of dangerous hope.
Even though last night shouldn’t happen again. He might not want me to set him up right now, and I respect that—but I can’t date a client. I can’t just…give in.
But I’m still aching for him. And he looks at me like he knows it.
He skates off to the bench. As he hops over the boards, something about the clarity of that last play sticks with me through the rest of the game. There was no overthinking. Just action—decisive action.
As the team skates off with a win, Rowan tosses me a casual glance—and possibly a knowing grin that makes my pulse skip. I pop up. I saw Oliver here earlier, so I head up the steps, catching him as he’s gathering his coat. “Do you have a sec?”
“Sure. Just meeting Mum up there in a minute. She’s handing in her wineglass,” he says, nodding to the restaurants in the concourse.
Of course this new state-of-the-art, bougie arena serves wine. “I’ll be fast. Did you know our moms wanted to set us up?”
He chuckles. “Sounds vaguely familiar.”
“But here’s the thing—they should leave the matchmaking to me. Because I’d like to set you up with Aurora.”
He blinks a few times, like this is a shock to him. “But she’s a friend,” he says, but I don’t hear protest. I hear intrigue.
Sometimes, all you need is a little push. That’s my job. “Have you ever thought of her that way? Romantically?”
“I don’t know that I have,” he says, but he doesn’t sound uninterested.
I keep pushing the door open. “And now that you are thinking about it, what does your gut say? About going on a date with her?”
He swallows, purses his lips, then looks at me with curiosity in his eyes. “Do you think she’d be keen on it?”
My heart swells. He sounds so eager, so earnest. “I do. Can I set you up with her? No charge for my services of course.”
“I’d love that,” he says.
I’ve solved that conundrum.
If only I could solve my own so easily.
In the morning, I wake up to a note from a client. Renee’s a former corporate lawyer from San Francisco turned nonprofit attorney for an environmental advocacy group. She’s successful and confident, loves sports and animals, and is visiting her sister in Evergreen Falls for the holidays. I’d been planning to set her up with Rowan. But I had to cancel on her since Rowan has principles. Dammit. Why do principles have to be so sexy? As sexy as the other night on my parents’ porch.
Renee: Hi, Isla. No worries about the change in plans. Honestly, I’m not sure I want to date an athlete! I think I’m better off with someone a little more human.
I laugh, then write back, suggesting Sandeep. We text more and I set that up for next week. When I’m done, I’ve moved a few other couples along, clients, and friends. The issue is still—me.
I need to figure myself out soon since Rowan and I have another practice date tonight. It’s just a dating lesson. A chance to learn, to refine, to figure out the Wild West of dating.
And it really can’t end the way the last one did.
Or…can it?
28
SECRET SANTA
ROWAN
Look, I didn’t want the money from the Nutcracker Auction to go to waste. I bid on the Christmas carolers for a reason. I used them last night as planned, and they were up for an encore this morning.
Mia and I walk Wanda along Main Street—I made an exception by coming into town—because maybe, possibly, fine, I do want to see Karlsson’s reaction.
We turn left, then a few blocks later we arrive at the inn where I know the New York team stayed last night. The carolers are long gone. I asked for an early morning serenade, after all. Mia and I hang around the front entrance. Soon, the players start trickling out. They trudge down the steps after their loss, with Karlsson the last to go. He’s built like a wooden block, and his ruddy face is still sour.
Good.
I tip my forehead toward the beefy D-man. “What’s wrong, Karlsson? Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed?”
He sneers at me. “Yeah, someone sent some carolers to sing ‘Good King Wenceslas’ outside my hotel room last night. And this morning they did ‘Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.’”