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)
“Got a shopping list in there? Wait, no. A notebook with a shopping list?” he asks.
“Of course I do, but I know them all by heart now,” I say, getting my bearings. As we weave past other holiday shoppers meandering through the long row of boutiques, cafés, and quirky stores, I rattle off the items on my list. “I can check off Jason, Natalie and their kids too. I’ve been keeping track all year of the things they’ve mentioned they might want—things that are special to them. I can even get some things for my dad. He’s addicted to cheese and the cheese shop here is the best in the city,” I say, and these details are grounding me. “He’s always asking me to bring cheese up to Evergreen Falls. Which is a dating tip for dating 101, if you think about it. Listen to your date. Pay attention to what they say. Don’t fake it,” I press.
There. I’m in dating coach mode. Like this, I’m not so tingly anymore. Not so floaty. Or drifty. I’m steady.
He mimes checking off a list. “Noted.” He tilts his head my way, his eyes roaming up and down me for a few hot seconds. “I’m not faking a thing right now.”
My chest heats, but I ignore the flush. “Good.”
“I’m present and engaged,” he adds.
“You listened. That’s very good,” I say.
He lifts a playful brow. “I hear some women like good listeners.”
Pretty sure he’s referring to our conversation at the tree farm, but slingshotting back to that moment of emotional intimacy won’t help my cause. “Most people do.”
He scans the Ferry Building. “Let’s do this,” Rowan says, then adds, “I have two hours before I need to get to the arena.”
“Right. You have a game tonight,” I say, then it hits me—he made time for me on a game day. That’s the kind of thing my ex would never do. Fine, my ex didn’t play hockey. But he also never fit me in. He was too busy tending to his other life, his other woman, his other…everything. I shake off some of my earlier frostiness like it’s a snowflake in my hair. “How’s my favorite little reader? She can come over and hang more ornaments on my tree anytime.”
“Don’t tempt her,” he says.
“That’s the point, Rowan. Tempting her with something she likes.”
He waves a hand. “She’s good with Matilda,” he says, and I’m not so sure about that but far be it from me to argue.
And yet…I do it anyway. “Can you even imagine all the bookish ornaments she could hang from a bigger tree? She could make cute little mini decorations of her favorite books.”
“Temptress,” he mutters.
If the shoe fits. “Maybe I will invite her over then.”
“Troublemaker too,” he adds, then clears his throat, answering my earlier question. “Mia’s at a toy collection drive with some friends from school, then my parents are bringing her to the game,” he says, a note of fondness in his voice that’s nice to hear.
“That’s great,” I say, meaning it, and this topic—family—will surely cool my raging hormones. As I nod toward the first store I want to pop into, Elodie’s Chocolates, a pack of shoppers race-walking through the building barrels right toward me. “Oh,” I say, startled, and feel a tug to the right.
My shoulder smacks Rowan’s sturdy one.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“You okay?” he asks, steadying me with a hand on my elbow. I glance down. Everything happened so quickly I didn’t realize he’d pulled me out of the way.
I blink. Breathe. Count the beats of my racing heart. I hardly feel okay around him. I feel amped up. I feel electric. I feel supercharged. “Definitely,” I say, then I smile cheerily and return to the list.
“Chocolate for Jason,” I say. “He has such a sweet tooth, and he’s always mentioning this shop is his favorite.”
“Got it—don’t sabotage a date by buying the wrong chocolate,” Rowan says.
Not exactly. “No. I’m just saying I took notes on what he likes,” I point out. And to make this a dating tip, I add, “So rather than pretend you like someone who’s all wrong for you, maybe focus on the traits you have in common.”
“Do you like chocolate, Isla?”
What? Why is he asking that? “Of course I do,” I say as we swing into the chocolate shop, where the scent of cocoa tickles my nose but a sign on a display shelf of red and silver gift boxes taunts me—Holiday Date Night with Chocolate: the perfect gift to spice up your winter nights.
Not helpful, Elodie’s. Not helpful at all.
Rowan strides over to the box next to the sign, gesturing to it. “Should we get this for Jason, to spice up his holiday nights?”
Ding, ding, ding! Rowan’s handed me the perfect buzzkill. In slow-mo, I turn my face to him. “Did you really just talk about my brother’s sex life?”