I’m terrified to ask the next question. But I ask it anyway. “And what was that?”
“She wanted to recreate the photo with the three of us—you, me and her. Then she said you knew where her apron was?—”
“In her suitcase,” I supply easily.
That seems to make it worse for some reason, since he puts his hand on his forehead like he’s in physical pain. “Exactly.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
Lowering his hand, he shakes his head and closes the distance between us, opening his arms like he’s going to hug me. But instead, he sets his hands on my shoulders like a consolation prize.
“Idid something wrong. I did.” It’s a harsh confession.
My body turns to ice. “What do you mean?” I hardly want the answer, but I also have to know.
“I thought telling her we were fake-dating was a good idea. I thought letting her in on this whole thing was the right move. Instead, I just set her up to get hurt because she got close to you, and she adores you, and she wanted to know if you were going to come over on Christmas morning too.”
My breath catches. All at once, I love the idea, but I see the problem. “She thinks of me as a replacement?”
He winces, like he’s eaten something sour. “I think so. I can’t keep stringing her along. I’m so fucking worried she’sexpecting a new mom. And then she’s going to get hurt. I think you’re amazing, and I’m having the best time with you, and I totally want to see you again,” he says, like he’s pleading with me to understand. “I have all these…feelings for you.” It sounds like saying that word—feelings—is as hard for him as having them is. “I feel things for you—intense things, passionate things, emotional things—things I haven’t felt in ages, Isla.”
That should make me feel better, but it doesn’t. Because I know what’s next.
He keeps going, running a hand roughly through his hair. “But what if it doesn’t work out? What if I break Mia’s heart again? What if it’s worse the second time around?”
Rowan sounds like he’s on the edge of a panic attack. His eyes are wide, filled with a fear I never see when he’s playing hockey. This is hisrealfear. That his daughter will be hurt again.
How can I argue with him wanting to be a good dad?
“There’s no guarantee in relationships,” I say, and it’s the same thing I tell my clients. “But you hope for the best. And you try.”
“But the thing is—what if the best doesn’t happen? What if it all goes to shit and then I’ve ruined the holidays yet again?”
“You didn’t ruin them in the first place,” I say, firm and clear.
“I know, but they were still ruined. Mia was still hurt. Her heart was still broken. And she’s finally having a good time again, and I don’t know if I can risk it.” There it is—the crux of it. Romance is just too risky for him. He cups my cheek. For a second, I think maybe he’s having second thoughts. Maybe he’s willing to give us a try. That he wants this no matter what. That all thesefeelingsare worthit. But regret swims in his lovely green irises as he closes the door, saying, “I just can’t take a chance again. Not when the stakes are this high.”
My heart craters. My chest feels like it weighs two tons. I want to tell him he’s not giving me—or us—enough credit. That maybe Mia’s not as fragile as he thinks. That maybe love is worth the risk. But I don’t think he wants to hear that.
Instead, I lift my chin and say, “I understand. But I also know your teammates want you there at the gala. We can go—as friends. Even though it’ll be hard.”
I can’t be the kind of person who abandons him at the end. Even if we’re not together the way I want, I still don’t want him to hurt more.
He blows out a breath but shakes his head. “I can’t make you do that. That feels unfair.”
Well, this whole situation feels unfair, but I don’t say that. “I can handle it. That was the whole point of…all this.”
“But if Mia’s getting attached, you and me going as friends will look the same to her.”
He has a terribly good point. “Right,” I say.
“I have to man up and deal with my teammates. No more faking it. And no more being a grinch and ruining their good time. I’ll deal with them. I’ll make sure they know this isn’t on you—you did what you said you’d do.”
Because that’s what matters? That I was a woman of my word?
But before I can say anything else, Rudy swings open the door and strides out with a silver tray full of dessert ingredients. “Anyone in the mood for some s’mores?”
That’s the last thing I want.
