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 think you should, Miss Christmas.” He leans forward, that stare darkening, hardening, almost turning into a midnight sort of glare. “I bet you’d like to do just that.”
Heat flashes through me, but I wash it down with a sip of my latte then roll my eyes. He is a client. Not a crush. “I was only joking. How would hoarding details about you help me match you? I’ll be sharing these details with your future dream woman so you can find the love you deserve,” I say, then fasten on an even bigger, brighter smile. “And so I can win the bet.”
He laughs, then shakes his head. “You love to goad me.”
True, needling him is fun—especially since he’s so difficult about romance. It’s such a stark contrast to how he is with kids. I’ve seen him at events and get-togethers with my brother, sometimes with my niece and nephew in tow, and Rowan’s always been amazing with them. Patient, playful, and surprisingly warm. It’s a side of him that, frankly, is lovely to see.
But with me, when it comes to matchmaking? He’s a hard-ass.
And that’s intel too. Little does he know, everything he does gives me intel. I tap my pen against my notebook. As much as he winds me up, I have a mission here—to match this unmatchable man. And I will not fail.
Maybe I’ve failed at finding the right person for myself, but I won’t fail for my clients. Nope. I want only satisfied customers. The more I succeed at making matches, the less my own story will sting. The less I’ll dwell on how my ex deceived me.
As I adjust my scarf, Rowan’s eyes follow my moves for a few seconds. Does he like the way I look in it? But that’s a ridiculous thought, best dismissed, so I sweep it into a corner as I say, “Allow me to tell you what I see in you.”
He huffs, but when he says, “Fine, have at it,” there’s a note of…interest in his tone. Real interest. Well, that’s not surprising. Most people like it when you talk about them.
“You’re protective,” I announce, then write it down, capping the i with a fun, frothy dot and taking a sip of my latte to punctuate my point.
When I look up, his I-can’t-be-bothered attitude is gone, replaced by curiosity. He leans closer to me. “Where’d you get that?”
I wave my hand. “Oh, that was easy.”
“Tell me then.”
“You want your daughter to eat only organic food,” I begin.
“That means I’m protective?” he asks, more intrigued than I’ve seen before.
“Yes. It’s a form of protecting her—in this case, from toxins. But I bet it applies to the broader world.”
He narrows his eyes, then hums. “Seems a stretch.”
Slowly, deliberately, my gaze drifts down to the little cutie in his lap. “And you held your dog the entire time we were in the store. Keeping her safe.”
“She’s seven pounds. Didn’t want her to get stepped on.”
“Hence, protective.”
“What dad isn’t concerned about his kid’s welfare?”
I smile, shaking my head with amusement. “Oh, Rowan. You can say that, but I think we both know you’re very protective. Of her and the dog, and I bet of your whole family. I suspect you’re that way with all the people you love,” I say. Am I going out on a limb with my conclusion about him? Maybe. But it’s a sturdy limb. “I’ve noticed, too, the way you hold Mia’s hand, look around to make sure she’s safe at all times. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots…” I screw up the corner of my lips, then throw down with, “But if I’m wrong, I can just cross this out?”
It’s a challenge. A dare, really. I hold the pen over the word in my notebook, poised to scratch it.
With a sigh, he relents. “Fine. Maybe you’re right. It’s not like I think about it that much. You only get one chance to take care of them, you know?” He owns it at last, but in a way that kind of warms my heart.
“Exactly. It’s a good thing,” I say.
“Glad you think so,” he says, the gruffness gone from his tone for a brief second, replaced by warmth.
“I do. And I’ll make sure it’s part of your profile…Protective,” I say, underlining it.
“Fair enough,” he says, and those two words embolden me—partly because of how he says them. Simply. Without irritation about this whole matchmaking thing. I’ll take it as a good sign, a tiny crack in his grumpy armor, that maybe, eventually, he’ll come around and see the benefits of what I do.
Since he’s just given a little, I decide to go for something easy next. “And presumably, you love sports? All sports, right? You have an open mind about them,” I ask, keeping the momentum going.
“Fuck yes,” he says.