When Mia stops laughing, she says, “See? She’s right, Dad. More books are more fun.” Then she swings her gaze to the woman in the snowflake scarf. “What a great idea, Isla.”
Isla grins at her. “I can’t resist reading or games.”
My sneaky kid grasps my hand. “Can I pick some books out now, Dad? I don’t have to be at Sabrina’s rink for fifteen minutes.”
“Make it fast,” I say, trying to wrestle some control back over the situation.
Mia hustles through the shelves like she’s a Supermarket Sweep contestant. I keep an eye on her even as I turn to the chestnut brunette. Isla’s teasing isn’t the worst thing in the world, but hell if I’m going to let on that being in her spotlight did something funny to my chest.
“Are you done poking fun at me?” Playing the hard-ass is safer with her, I reason.
“Was it that difficult to handle, tough guy?”
I shake my head. “Damn, you can dish it out.”
“And you can take it. I’ve seen you play hockey.”
Do you enjoy watching me on the ice?I want to ask. But that question needs to stay unasked for so many reasons. Like, one, it’s best not to flirt when I’m not looking for anything romantic, and two, she’s Jason’s sister.
I settle for a cocky, “So you’ve seen me win, then,” expecting a retort.
But Isla turns her attention to Mia, who’s standing on tiptoe to grab a book from the shelves. “That’s a good way to be practical. Fast book picking,” Isla says with fondness as Mia plucks a copy ofThe Reindeer Riders Club.
Isla looks back at me, giving me her trademark smile. “A book Advent calendar is pretty thoughtful,” she says in a soft voice.
“You were the one who worked out all the details,” I point out, giving credit where it’s due.
“Nah, you started it,” she says. “You had a good idea—I just made it better. Teamwork, right?”
In this moment, it almost feels like we’re friends, like she said the other night at the auction. But I don’t want to get lost in that feeling when we’re clearly either enemies or frenemies at best.
Speaking of teamwork—the underhanded variety—I grab my phone from my pocket at last, while checking to make sure Mia is still keeping busy in the kids’ section. “Guess I should see what the little meddler did. I hadn’t even read your full text yet.”
“That’s okay,” she says, lightly. “I was asking if you wanted to get together to talk about next steps for your Christmas matchmaking.”
I groan, dragging a hand down my face. With some dread, I open the text thread with Isla, and yup. Mia tookall the way over, responding with:Sounds great! Why don’t we meet at An Open Book right now!!! Be there in fifteen minutes!!!
Plus, she added a smiley face.
I look at Isla, aghast. Fucking aghast. “There are seven exclamation points and an emoji. You didn’t think, I dunno, I’d been kidnapped?”
She taps her chin. “You’re right. Kidnapping is much more likely than a sudden onset of enthusiasm from you.”
I roll my eyes, then check my watch. “It’s game day. I need to be at the arena in an hour. Another time?” Maybe I can just avoid this altogether. Get out of this whole matchmaking situation, since that’s what it’ll be—a fiasco.
But Mia zips by again, stopping short and saying, “It’s okay. Some time is better than none—this way you can get started. Gramps is picking me up from my lesson, and we’re going to a new make-your-own-pizza place—the one that only uses organic ingredients—so we’re all set, Dad. You go meet with Isla. Plus, you can tell her about Wanda. And anyone you date needs to know about Wanda.” Then, to Isla, Mia says, “Wanda likes girl pop.”
“Punk rock,” I mutter, then add, “also, you’re a meddler.”
“You’re welcome,” Mia says, then grabs another book.
She’s exhausting sometimes, sure. But damn, if her determination doesn’t make me proud. My kid didn’t just inherit my stubborn streak—she improved on it.
After I drop Mia off at the nearby rink, I stop at my car, grabbing the jean jacket I left there earlier. I switch Wanda’s duds and head back toward the bustling bookstore café, scanning the packed tables then catching a view of Isla in the window as I’m walking up. She tosses her coat over the back of her chair and fluffs out her hair.Each small movement draws my attention more than it should, and it’s tempting to watch this snow angel through the window a little longer. She fits here perfectly, her entire vibe matching the decor of the shop, down to the stockings hung on the wall.
Stockings.
A cruel memory flashes before me once more. A Christmas Eve years ago. A gift. A plan. But I bat it away as Isla pulls out that planner again—a reminder of the mission.
