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)
He pauses, and I think this is the highest number of words he’s ever strung together in front of me.
But it’s not just the words.
It’s the passion behind them.
This is the Rowan who talks about his daughter, about his dog, about his friends—the things he loves deeply. His career is no exception.
“That makes sense,” I say, nodding for him to keep going, since I’m spellbound.
His green eyes flicker with a brand-new intensity. “And every year, when the season ends, you hope for the next one. That’s the thing about playing at a high level—hell, doing anything at a high level. It’s not just talent and skill. You have to have hope. And you have to be willing to dip back into that well of hope every single year, every single game, every single season.”
“You do,” I say, since I want him to know I agree. I hear him.
“Some days, it’s hard to have that hope.” His voice drops slightly. “But I still have it. I have hope for next season. I have hope for this season. I have hope for many more. That kind of hope? It doesn’t seem to ever die.”
I’m actually deeply touched. More than I’d expected to be. My chest feels a little light, floaty in a way I wasn’t prepared for. “I like that,” I say quietly. “I believe that. I think we have to have hope, especially in a world where things feel uncertain every day.”
“Same,” he says. Then, after a beat, his lips curve slightly. “But if you really want to know…”
His tone is playful, like he’s dangling the last bite of dessert in front of me. And I want that bite. I really want it. I want to do right by him in the romance department. I’m desperate to find him the kind of love even a grump deserves. And, of course, I want to prove, too, that love matters. “I do want to know,” I say.
He licks his lips, then holds my gaze, his eyes softening with vulnerability once more. “I’d like to coach.”
My heart swells from the admission. Rowan really shared with me. No jokes. No posturing. Just real honesty. And I’m over the moon about it. “I can picture that perfectly,” I say, then try on the title for size. “Coach Bishop.”
“You can?”
“I can,” I say, meaning it completely.
He stares at me, seeming a little amazed. “I would’ve figured this was a prime opportunity for you to rip me apart.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
He scrubs a hand over his beard, his brow furrowing, but his tone curious as he asks, “Why do you say you can picture it?”
“Because of what you just said. I don’t think I could’ve pictured it before—you as a coach. I’ve always thought of you as just kind of a grump.”
His face remains stern, like he has to reinforce the tough-guy image he’s cultivated so well. An image he relishes? Or just an outfit he wears every day because it fits him—like a well-worn hoodie? I’m not sure why he wears it again and again. I just know he does. But he stripped it off.
“Now though?” I continue. “I see a different side of you. I can see you giving speeches to young hockey players. Motivating them.” The world around us is quiet, containing only a dusting of snow, the chirp of birds in the trees, the distant sound of wind through the firs. I imagine a version of Rowan beyond playing hockey. I see it. Most of all, I believe it. “You’re going to be a great coach someday.”
Something flickers in his expression. A rare hint of a smile breaks through his usual scowl. “Thanks,” he says, his voice quieter than normal. “I appreciate that.”
It’s said without ribbing. Without sarcasm. Just…sincerity.
And for the first time, I feel like I’ve really broken through with him. Like I’m getting somewhere at last. It gives me hope, this moment. It makes me believe that I can deliver on the Christmas miracle of finding him a match, stat.
“You’re going to use this against me, aren’t you?” he asks.
“Of course I am,” I say breezily. Then I point to the tree I’ve been eyeing. “Now, get sawing, Coach Bishop.”
“I will. But under one condition.”
Uh-oh. “What’s that?” I ask warily.
“Why don’t you do your podcast anymore?”
It’s a little out of the blue, but not entirely since we’re talking about our careers, and Love Unscripted was a big part of mine. “I swear. It’s exactly what I told you at the auction—I wanted to focus on this. On matchmaking. I also believe that to do this job well, you have to put your whole heart and soul into it. I didn’t want to be pulled in two directions, serving the goddess of subscribers and downloads, and trying to get great sound bites on social media to grow the advertisers, all while devoting time to finding love matches. I did it for a while when I was working for another matchmaking company, but once I went out on my own, I knew I needed to do one thing really well—find great matches for my clients at Cupid’s Confidante.”