Mia leans against my seat, then chimes in once more. “That doesn’t sound fun, Isla. I think it’d be more enjoyable if we go to the library and donate books.”
I blink, a little confused. “Wait. I thought youwantedbooks for yourself for the calendar. Now you want to donate them?”
“I want both! My teacher told us about a program the library started—well, Josie started it,” she says, and Josie’s a librarian married to one of my teammates. “And the friends of the library are collecting gently used Christmas books, or really any books. Then they’re selling them for a Christmas fundraiser. I figured I could donate some of my old books, since I’m getting new ones.”
“Sounds like a plan. After Isla drops us off, we can do that.”
“Yay,” Mia says.
Isla just smirks from the driver’s seat, stifling a laugh.
“What’s so funny?” I ask her.
“She has your number, Rowan. She really does,” Isla says.
I can’t argue with her there.
Mia laughs, then says, “Dad! Don’t be silly. Isla doesn’t need to drop us off. I invited her to come along. She’s our friend. Isla, wanna come? I know how much you love books too.”
Ah, that’s reassuring from Mia—the use of the wordfriend. I’m grateful that’s how Mia sees Isla. But even so, Idon’t want Isla to feel obligated. “Isla was only doing us a favor by picking you up?—”
“I would love to go,” Isla says brightly, sounding like sunshine itself.
It’s not that I don’t believe her. It’s that I don’t trust…well, most people. Experience and all. “You would?”
“Of course.”
It’s said sweetly and for a second, or maybe several, my mind dangerously wanders a few steps ahead, picturing us all hanging out together. Stopping at a coffee shop after school. Going to the library. Walking Wanda.
Shit. Now I’m the one daydreaming. And I really shouldn’t like the idea of spending time with Isla so much. She’s my best friend’s sister. My matchmaker. A believer in love. But I say yes anyway. Mia wants her with us as a friend. I’m doing this for my kid.
There’s one little issue. I have no idea how long our adventure will be, and after Isla went to all that effort at the farm, I don’t want her tree to die. “But we should…” I begin, then pause because I can’t believe I’m about to say this to Isla, I truly can’t. “Get your tree home and put it in water.”
She flashes a warm smile my way, then turns her attention back to the road. “That would be great. I’d love help bringing it inside, now that we both know you can lift trees,” Isla says, then glances in the rearview mirror and winks at Mia.
My daughter snickers over their inside joke. “Yeah, it’s great how strong you are, Dad.”
“Good thing I worked out this morning,” I say, digging my heels in on this front. But also, I do want to visit Isla’s home. Even though I’ve glimpsed bits and pieces on our video call, I’m surprised how eager I am to see it inperson. “I’ll carry your tree inside,” I add in a stoic tone, not letting on I have ulterior motives.
“And maybe,” Mia pipes in, “we can help you decorate it.”
Oh hell no. That’s not happening. No way are we going to hang shiny red baubles on the tree, all while listening to Mariah Carey and munching on gingerbread. “Mia,” I begin.
But Isla’s faster, since she’s answering at the same time. “I’m decorating it with my friends this weekend, but you can put the first ornament on, Mia. How does that sound?”
Like torture.
“That sounds great!”
And once again, I say yes.
It’s weird, though, the idea of walking into Isla’s home. She’s my best friend’s sister, so it shouldn’t be. But for a while there today at the Christmas tree farm, the lines felt a little blurred.
Fact is, they still do as I hoist the Christmas tree from her car onto my shoulder, then haul it inside her building, into the elevator, and up to her third-floor apartment. It’s boyfriend work, carting a tree.
I do my best to put that out of my head though and focus on the chore. When we reach her place, I roll my eyes. Of course a massive wreath hangs from the front door. Of course it smells like pine and holidays. Of course it looks like it came straight from a Hallmark movie. “What a surprise. You’ve decorated.”
“Like you’d expect anything less,” Isla says.
