Rowan: Here you go. Five things I know about you.
1. Your memory is a steel trap.
2. Kristen Bell would play you in the Webflix movie of your Christmas matchmaking life.
3. You want the world to make sense, so you try to decipher it with your planners.
4. You’re a formidable competitor and would absolutely destroy me on game night—then gift-wrap my defeat and put it under the tree, tied up neatly with a red ribbon.
I let it marinate for another minute. My thoughts keep returning to her pink scarf and how pretty she looked in it today. More than that, how it simply suited her. Somehow, it just made sense that she’d wear a pink scarf. That’s not an observation worthy of her, though…
Until…
I smile and add the final item on my list.
5. You have that scarf in every shade of Christmas—and to you, that’s red, green, white, pink, and midnight blue.
I add it to the draft and hit send. Let’s see what she does with that. The bubbles dance, but she doesn’t reply right away. As I’m waiting, a message from Jason pops up.
Jason: How’s it going? Has she found the future Mrs. Bishop yet?
Rowan: Yes. I got married tonight.
Jason: Congrats! Want some candlesticks?
Rowan: Does anyone want candlesticks?
Jason: What even are candlesticks for?
Rowan: Fuck if I know.
Jason: Bet Isla would say they’re for Christmas.
Rowan: No doubt.
“No one loves Christmas like Isla does. Right, Wanda?” I say to the sleeping dog.
My little pup lets out a soft sigh and tucks herself into a tighter dog ball, her flag tail thumping against the down-alternative pillow. She’s such a little princess. I scratch her chin.
Seconds later, Isla replies with a photo of four Christmas scarves, neatly laid out on…is that her bed? Yes, yes, it is. A fluffy white duvet covers it, with an artfully folded—no, messily folded and deliberately so—coral blanket on the end of the mattress. There’s a cushioned bench at the foot of it, all blush pink and feminine. The photo is a secret window into her world. Her bedroom is so pretty and suits her so well.
I pull my gaze away from the photo to read the text.
Isla: Four scarves, actually. Pink, white, red, and mint green.
Rowan: So, I was right.
Isla: I don’t know, Rowan. Are you?
I roll my eyes, then write back.
Rowan: Isla, I came damn close.
Isla: Is this horseshoes?
Rowan: No, it’s life, sweetheart, and I nailed it.
Isla: Maybe…but you said I had five scarves, and your colors were slightly off. Don’t worry. I know how we can resolve this.
