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)
Rowan chuckles as he leans an elbow casually against the counter. “The sandwich sounds delicious, but I’m good.”
“You sure?” Bennett presses. “You haven’t lived till you’ve had a cranberry and fake turkey sandwich.”
Rowan arches a curious brow. “What’s the fake turkey made of? Is it like a chicken pretending to be a turkey? A pig impersonating one? Or mushrooms and quinoa doing the catfishing?”
Kaiden points at Rowan with a smirk. “He’s a keeper. I approve.”
Heat rushes to my face, and I bet I’m as red as a fire engine. “Um, he’s not my—” I flail for words. “Boyfriend. Date. Person to keep. He’s not my—”
Kaiden hoots. “That so, babe?”
Bennett slaps his thigh. “You sure about that?”
The blush spreads down my neck as I scramble for an answer. “He’s…” I don’t want to say client—I keep my client list confidential—so I sidestep. “Friend. He’s my brother’s friend. And, you know the saying—your brother’s friend is…your friend.”
Rowan shoots me a look. “Is that really a saying, Isla?”
I double down, saying, “Yes. Yes, it is.”
“Also, you can tell them who I am,” he says smoothly.
I hesitate. Does he mean my client or the famous hockey player? I don’t know, and I want to protect his privacy. “You’re my…” I pause, searching for the right word. He makes a rolling gesture with his hand, urging me to continue.
Then, way too pleased with himself, he says, “Since you don’t want to admit you’re dying to date me, you can just call me…the guy you FaceTimed in your robe the other night.”
“So you’re dating again. Yes!” Kaiden pumps a fist in the air.
My hands fly up in protest. “We’re not dating. We’re just—”
Rowan leans in, whispering conspiratorially, “She wants me. So badly.”
Bennett’s eyes widen. “Get it, matchmaker.”
I swat Rowan’s arm. “Please.”
Rowan purrs—actually purrs. “She wants me so much it’s hard to keep up with, but I’m here for the task.”
Bennett grins wickedly. “Well, then, you should climb him like a Christmas tree, don’t you think so, hun?” he asks, turning to his husband.
Kaiden nods vigorously. “Like a raccoon.”
Rowan’s eyes sparkle, and his grin is the textbook definition of cocky. “Yeah, Isla. You really should climb me like a raccoon.”
Of course he’d pick now to be funny. And smug. And attractive.
I clear my throat, trying to clear away the naughty thoughts these three have planted in my head. “I’ll take a handsaw, please.”
“One handsaw, coming right up,” Kaiden says.
“And happy raccoon climbing,” Bennett says with a straight face. “With your date.”
Rowan winks at me. “Yes, Isla. Your date needs a handsaw to handle your tree, baby.”
I’m going to kill him.
11
MY LUMBERJACK KINK
ISLA
It’s not crowded today, so we’ve got the farm mostly to ourselves as we meander through the Douglas firs. “You’re in trouble for that whole thing,” I say, gesturing behind me to the shop. I still can’t believe he keeps saying this is some kind of date. And that a part of me likes it. I need to put that part of me in time-out. For the rest of the holiday season.
Rowan smirks, the saw dangling from his fingers. “Does that mean you’re going to ground me? No dates, no social life?”
“You wish. For that comment, I’ll make you go on more dates.” I stare sharply at him. “With other people.”
“Not with you, Isla?” he teases, holding his arms out wide, like he’s making the point that I took him on a date to a Christmas tree farm. The thought makes my pulse speed up annoyingly. Pulses are so inconvenient.
“Not with me,” I emphasize.
“We’ll see about that,” he says with a closed-mouth smile. Does he ever not have the upper hand?
“Just know that when you goad me, it only makes me stronger. It’s like Gatorade—except the electrolytes replenish my matchmaking cells,” I tell him.
He shifts a little closer, his voice lower. “Isla Marlowe, everything makes you stronger.”
It’s said like a dig but lands like a compliment, so I decide to take it. “Thank you,” I say with a little lift of my chin.
As we walk, I run my fingers along a low-hanging fir branch, knocking off a dusting of snow from earlier. “Let’s go a little farther. I’ve learned the trees are better the deeper you go.”
“That’s what she said,” he says.
I roll my eyes but have to give credit where it’s due. “And I walked right into that.”
“You really did,” he says, then adopts a more serious tone. “Do you come here every year?”
“I do. They do a great job with sustainable tree farming.”
He arches a brow. “What’s that? I mean, I can guess, but how is a tree farm actually sustainable? If you’re cutting it down, doesn’t that kind of defeat the purpose? Trees are good for the earth and all.”
“That’s a great question,” I say as we near a wooden sign staked into the ground. It reads White Firs with an arrow pointing deeper into the trees. I gesture for him to follow me.