Snap out of it, Isla. You don’t have a crush.
But the thought lingers, annoying me almost as much as it thrills me.
When he sets the glass down, he’s all laid-back attitude as he says, “You pick, sweetheart.”
That term of endearment shimmies down my spine, and I hate that I like how he says it.
“Fine. If I lose…” I hesitate, trying to think of something he’d actually enjoy and that won’t go against my romantic values. I’m not going to publicly admit matchmaking doesn’t work—that’d be a lie. Then it hits me. “You get to choose my date for my matchmaking event.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “You’re letting me pick who you bring to your big matchmaking event?”
Maybe I’ve lost my mind. But I need to show him how serious I am. How much faith I have both in my thorough, thoughtful ways and in the power of true love. “Anyone you want. No veto power,” I say.
His surprise melts into something far more devious—a grin that should make me nervous, but instead, it sparks a competitive fire. “You trust me that much?” he asks.
Not in the least. But Rowan’s a confident man who’s used to overpowering opponents. I need to prove I won’t bend, and I definitely won’t break as he tries to fight me every step of the way. I need him to see I’m the one who can succeed at this monumental task of finding a holiday match for the World’s Grumpiest Man and Certified Christmas Hater.
“Not at all,” I say breezily. “But it won’t matter because I’m not losing.”
“Interesting,” he says, stroking his chin. “How do you feel about seventy-two-year-old dudes who can’t drive? Or tech bros who douse themselves in body spray? Scratch that,” he mutters, almost to himself, his brow furrowedlike he can’t bear the thought of either. “They’d both be terrible for you.”
“And you know my type?”
He holds my gaze, his lips twitching in amusement, his eyes glimmering with…something else entirely. “Maybe I do.”
An unexpected tingle rushes through me. Or maybe it’s not so unexpected given where my thoughts have strayed a few times. I shake them off once again. “Whoever you pick, I’ll show up. But you should be prepared to admit that the match I find for you will make you believe in unicorns because she will be your dream woman.”
He lifts his scotch glass. “To the matchmaking challenge of the season.”
I clink my martini against his tumbler. “Now, tell me what you look for in a dream woman.”
There’s a long, weighty pause as he studies me. Then he says, “Brunette, blue eyes, sassy as fuck.”
He’s messing with me. I know he’s messing with me. And yet, those tingles have the traitorous audacity to race through meagain.
This is going to be the toughest challenge I’ve faced.
6
SUDDEN ONSET OF ENTHUSIASM
ROWAN
The rip-off calendar on my kitchen counter mocks me with the date.
Sunday, December 1.
As I reach for an apple cutter from a drawer to prep a pre-ice-skating lesson snack for Mia, something else on the page catches my attention: a handwritten note from my kid.
Dad, what’s the best way to count down to Christmas?
I scratch my head, wondering what she’s up to.
Wanda, my seven-pound Chi-Pom-Papillon rescue-mix, struts into the kitchen in her black jean jacket. Today, the jacket is decked out with metallic studs and a Ramones pin.
“Looking sharp, Wanda.” She hops onto her little dog bed by the table and curls up like she owns the place. Since, well, she kind of does. She lets out a tiny snort when I don’t immediately toss her a snack.
I get on with snack prep and find a Post-it note stuck to the apple cutter. Written in Mia’s unmistakable pink inkis:Santa’s elves sayThe Peppermint Patrolknows all about surprises!
