Yes!I had a feeling.
She looks to Eloise, then Aurora. “Bourbon. Good choice. But how is it without?”
“Try it,” Aurora says, reaching for the liquor-free one.
The mayor takes that cup, then knocks some back. “Mmm. It’s not too sweet.”
It’s just right, I want to shout.
But it’s also designed for the mayor’s taste buds. Aurora knew from the mayor’s visits to the bakery that she favored dark chocolate. Eloise knew from seeing her at the North Pole Nook and Tavern that she liked bourbon. And the apron love? Well, that’s just good sense.
Or really, it’s teamwork.
And it pays off, since a little later, she declares us the winners of the Cocoa and Cocktails competition.
Rowan’s team doesn’t even place.
And honestly, I might gloat this time. I just might.
As I wind up the switchbacks to Rowan’s cabin, the clouds hang lower in the early evening sky. A faint tint of orange rings them.
I steal a glance at the snowball cookies in the Tupperware container on the passenger seat. After the hot cocoa competition, I swung by my parents’ place, and when my mother learned where I was headed tonight, she thrust the container at me, saying, “Raccoons like cookies.”
“Mother,” I’d said. Because she deserved to be calledMotherfor that comment.
“It’s true. Plus, sugar will keep your energy levels up.”
“Really, Mother.”
“Yes, really,” she said seriously.
“His parents will be there. So will his daughter.”
She arched a brow. “Your parents were here. That didn’t stop you.”
I rolled my eyes, said goodbye, and left. But on the way out, she gave me a hug and said, “I have a good feeling.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her it’s fake. Keeping track of who knows what is making my brain hurt. But I’ll have to add them to the people I’ll disappoint when we break up. At least I won’t disappoint my brother. He already knows it’s fake.
The cabins are spread out here on Rowan’s street, the birds huddled together on power lines and in branches. I reach his driveway, scrunching my forehead when I see only his car. Maybe his parents’ car is parked in the garage?
I pop out and grab the cookies, along with a gift for Wanda, and head up the steps.
Before I even ring the bell, Rowan swings it open, and the air escapes my lungs.
He’s so painfully handsome. But even more so tonight in the cable-knit sweater and jeans, looking like he’s stepped right out of a top flick onTinsel Takes, right down to the beard. The whole vibe is amplified by the music. He’s playing a Christmas carol—and it’s the Luther Vandross version of “A Kiss for Christmas.” The one that’s on the playlist for me. I don’t want to read anything into it, but I also want to read everything into it.
That’s the problem when you walk a tightropebetween real and fake, I’m learning. You don’t know what’s what.
“Hey, snow angel,” he says, using that nickname that does funny things to my belly.
“Hey, you,” I say, and that feels awfully intimate too.
Right as he leans in and brushes a kiss to my cheek, a cutie-pie of a dog trots down the hall, excitedly barking hello. When Wanda reaches me, she pops up on her back legs and bounces.
I waggle the stuffed toy for her. “I brought you a reward for all this fabulous dancing.”
As Rowan shuts the door, he shoots me a curious look. “You got Wanda a toy?”
