“Speaking of,” she whispers, then tugs me close. “How’s it going?”
My stomach executes a series of loop-de-loops. “Too good,” I say with a wince, like I ate something sour. I whisper, “He came over last night with a surprise.”
“Was it his dick in a box?”
“Shut up,” I whisper, but I’m laughing. When I get a handle on it, I tug her away from the table, and tell her more, not only about the candy cane surprise he made on me, but the kiss on the street, the shopping for Mia, and the way Rowan seems…to have changed. “He’s still Rowan, of course. But he seems more open, and less…ornery.”
“Like he’s letting down his man-against-the-world facade?”
That’s it exactly. “Yes. I think his walls were all self-protection. And I understand why he’s had them,” I say, though I don’t share more details. They aren’t mine to share.
“And is that making you wonder if…?”
My heart catches. She doesn’t have to finish the sentence. “Yes.”
It’s embarrassing to admit, but hopefulness has a hold on me.
Mabel squeezes my arm. “Are you going to talk to him about it?”
I roll my lips together, considering. “Maybe I will. I’m looking for the right moment. I’ve been planning a special date for tomorrow,” I tell her. “We had a bet the other night, and I won. So I get to plan a date.”
Mabel shoots me adoes not computelook. “What kind of betting do you do exactly? I hate planning anything but recipes.”
I smile, a little secretive. “All kinds of betting.”
“Dirty betting?” she asks in a whisper.
I just give a coy shrug.
“Will you talk to him then?”
“That’s a good question. I’ll try to…feel him out later. He invited me over to his cabin for dinner. With his daughter and his parents. So don’t get any funny ideas.”
“There’s nothing funny about a man who cooks. That’sonlysexy.”
An image of Rowan making me an omelet flashes before me. “Yeah, it was sexy watching him work a spatula.”
She purrs, then adds, “Keep him. Just keep him.”
That’s the thing. I want to.
Right now though, I want to win. When the mayor reaches us, she arches a brow. “Ready to impress me, ladies? Other than with those aprons?”
I preen, plucking at the bib to show it off. “Are you even a team if you don’t have matching aprons?”
“Are you even a coach if you don’t design them and find a place in record time to order them at?”
I jerk my gaze back slightly, feeling…seen. “How did you know?”
Her eyes flicker with satisfaction. “I hear things, Isla. Word got out,” she says. “Clever.”
I feel like a kid in school being praised for doing extra credit. I straighten my spine. But before I say a word, I remind myself that my work as a team coach is to help the team members shine. It’s similar to being a matchmaker. I bring people together, help them along, then let them soar.
“Here you go. Hope you love it,” Eloise says, handing her a cup.
I keep a straight face as the mayor takes a sip of the one with the bourbon. She lifts an eyebrow approvingly, stares off in the distance for a beat, then…lowers her spit bucket.
She doesn’t spit in it.
