With Wanda curled up in my arm, since she’ll be going to doggy daycare this evening, I take a breath and head back inside, refusing to look at the stockings. I’d better get ready for the inevitable dating fiasco.
7
THE UNMATCHABLE
ISLA
Admittedly, I didn’t come to this impromptu meeting with Rowan expecting to learn so many juicy details about him. But I did. Oh Santa, did I ever.
“Someoneis a fount of information,” I say as the burly, surly hockey player arrives at the table that’s decorated with a tiny tree covered in mini pine cones as a centerpiece. With an arch of his brow, Rowan sets down a salted caramel latte for me and a drink for himself, all while balancing a very small dog, who’s now wearing a black jean jacket.
“Someone being a precocious nine-year-old who rivals a meddling grandmother?” Rowan asks as he sits, then adjusts the dog carefully in his lap, giving her a few strokes on her head and saying something to her in a voice too soft for me to hear.
“Yes, I learned so much about you in those few minutes with Mia,” I say, then lift the red and white mug and say thank you for the drinks he insisted on buying. I catch the sweet, minty scent of his beverage, my nose wrinkling in delight. “Is that a peppermint cocoa?”
Like a wary dog, he answers with a tentative, “Yes.”
“Rather Christmassy, isn’t it?”
“No,” he snaps.
“Aww, did I hit a nerve?”
“Nope,” he says, digging his heels in. “Just pointing out you’re wrong. Peppermint cocoa is good year round. Full stop.”
“I’m sure you down it during the summer months. While lounging in a hammock in your backyard as bees buzz in the nearby flowers.”
“Obviously I don’t drink peppermint cocoa in the summer. It’s a hot drink.”
“Right, of course. You probably drink iced peppermint cocoa in the summer,” I say, feigning seriousness.
With his chin held high, he says, “I do.”
“I can’t wait to have a drink with you in the summer then. And here I thought you were a—gasp—closet Christmas fan.”
“Hate to break it to you—you’re wrong,” he says. “And I will see you in the summer to prove it.”
This man takes stubborn to new heights. “I’ll put it in my calendar.”
After he drinks some of the cocoa with a purposeful appreciativeness, like he’s showing off how genuine his love for the drink is, he shoots me a hard stare that I bet he thinks scares me. News flash: he’s wrong. “You were saying you learned something about me. What could you possibly have learned in that short time? Other than the fact that Mia’s too smart for my own good,” he says, but he’s clearly proud of his daughter.
Understandably so.
I sit taller and smile like a Cheshire cat. “Maybe I shouldkeep everything I learned to myself,” I tease, then take a sip of the latte—it’s sweet and savory at the same time, and it reminds me of my favorite memories growing up.
“I think you should, Miss Christmas.” He leans forward, that stare darkening, hardening, almost turning into a midnight sort of glare. “I bet you’d like to do just that.”
Heat flashes through me, but I wash it down with a sip of my latte then roll my eyes. He is a client. Not a crush. “I was only joking. How would hoarding details about you help me match you? I’ll be sharing these details with your future dream woman so you can find the love you deserve,” I say, then fasten on an even bigger, brighter smile. “And so I can win the bet.”
He laughs, then shakes his head. “You love to goad me.”
True, needling him is fun—especially since he’s so difficult about romance. It’s such a stark contrast to how he is with kids. I’ve seen him at events and get-togethers with my brother, sometimes with my niece and nephew in tow, and Rowan’s always been amazing with them. Patient, playful, and surprisingly warm. It’s a side of him that, frankly, is lovely to see.
But with me, when it comes to matchmaking? He’s a hard-ass.
And that’s intel too. Little does he know, everything he does gives me intel. I tap my pen against my notebook. As much as he winds me up, I have a mission here—to match this unmatchable man. And I will not fail.
Maybe I’ve failed at finding the right person for myself, but I won’t fail for my clients. Nope. I want only satisfied customers. The more I succeed at makingmatches, the less my own story will sting. The less I’ll dwell on how my ex deceived me.
