There’s an infuriating flutter in my chest. A little hummingbird of hope, flapping its wings against my better judgment. I don’t want to be hurt again. Carefully, I turn to the final tab, with a mix of dread and excitement.
Someone who says he’s sorry.
“Well, I guess he already did that,” I say, a little irked. Since yup, this was an apology gift, and I’ve already heard his sorry loud and clear.
Footsteps sound, growing louder, and I close my eyesfor a second. The weight of all this hope is too heavy. I don’t want to hope this hard. I don’t want to be disappointed again.
It’s probably just a caroler. A late-night shopper. Somebody walking a dog.
But when I open my eyes, there’s a hockey player sporting a tailored tux and a scruffy beard heading my way down the street, a shopping bag in each hand, moonlight streaming across his handsome face.
When Rowan reaches the porch, he climbs two steps, then stops. “I know more than five things about you. I know you’re kind. I know you’re caring. I know you like gingerbread, for some unfathomable reason. I know you’re obsessed with snow. I know you’re neat. I know you not only like matching people—you like matchingthings. I know your friends mean the world to you. I know you adore your parents. I know you’re afraid you don’t believe in love for yourself, but also that inside of you, you never stopped believing. I know you’ve let my daughter into your life without a second thought, and with only open arms, and that means so damn much to me. I know you want to make people happy. And I know you deserve the best.”
My heart thumps unbearably hard, but I lift my chin and say, “Idodeserve the best.”
He’s not sayingheis the best. He’s just saying Ideservethat.
But he keeps going. “I’ve been paying attention all along. I’ve never stopped paying attention to you, Isla. I’ve never stopped falling for you. I don’t think I ever will.” He takes a breath, and in that pause, I dare to feel again, to want again. “I was scared. Of how much I needed you. Of how much I wanted you. Of what would happen if Imessed it up—if I lost you. But mostly, I was terrified that one day you’d stop loving me.”
I roll my lips together, sealing in my emotions, because I don’t want to miss a thing he has to say.
He holds up a hand and says, “Hold on. I need to backtrack, because I don’t want to assume you’re in love with me. I just really hope you are. Since my point is—I’m so in love with you that I’m terrified you’ll falloutof love with me. And I just want you to know—I’ve listened to everything you said.”
Did he say he was in love with me? I’m not sure I can breathe.
“You did?” I ask, since I can barely form words.
“I want to show you that I listened,” he says, then reaches into one of the bags and takes out a burgundy scarf with snowflakes on it. “You didn’t have one in this color. I thought you’d like one more matching scarf…”
I laugh lightly, take it, and toss it around my neck.
His hand dips back into the bag and he pulls out three face masks from, I think, a sundry shop—pink grapefruit, watermelon, and charcoal.
“Maybe we can do them together,” he says, his eyes wide, his smile bright. “Probably the coal one is better for me. I think you’re more of a watermelon.”
I hazard a smile, even though I’m not sure where this is going—but Iamsure where Iwantit to go. “I think you’re right.”
But I don’t tell him I want to do face masks with him. He has to earn that kind of fun.
“I brought all this because I know it’s not just salted caramel that’s the way to your heart. I know you love skincare, and face masks, and scarves, and winter, and holidays, and gingerbread coffee, and mushrooms. Whichincidentally, I couldn’t find at this late hour. But I even found this apron.”
Bending, he pulls out an apron from another bag. I laugh because it clearly hasoneuse. It’s a sexy red-and-white gingham apron that’s so tiny that it wouldn’t help with cooking at all. It would only help with some sort of Mr. and Mrs. Claus role-play.
“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself, Rowan,” I say, but my tone is light.
He shrugs. “It’s possible. But I like to overdeliver, so I’m not done.”
“What else have you got in that bag of tricks?”
“Honesty. Apologies. And, here goes—I messed up yesterday. I canceled plans. And I broke it off. But I want to make it up to you. In a very big way.”
He takes a deep breath, then reaches into a bag and removes a Hawaiian shirt and a flowery dress. “You said you wanted to go to Kauai on New Year’s. I can’t gothenbecause I have a hockey game. But if you’d want to catch a flight with me the day after tomorrow, I could take you there for a few days before my next game. What do you think?”
“With you?” I ask, because I’m too choked up to say anything else.
“What do you get a matchmaker for Christmas? A vacation in Hawaii. Since it’s what you want,” he says, then sets down the bags and the clothes. “But I know that’s not enough. I want you to know I’m sorry for not believing in us. I’m sorry for being scared. I’m sorry for not having the guts to tell you yesterday how utterly, ridiculously in love with you I am. And I’m sorry it took me so long to realize—I want to take a chance with you. I want to takeallmy chances with you.”
I bring my hand to my heart, trying to process this surreal moment. Rowan laying himself bare on the front porch of…the Love Shack.
