Like a date would?
Nope. I can’t get caught up in those thoughts. Best to think of her like Mia does—as a friend. A friend who came through in a pinch. Which means I should stop teasing her about dating me in any fashion or I’ll get too wrapped up in her. “Thanks again for the save. Really appreciate it.”
Isla gives me a knowing smile, one that says she’s aware I’m not great at this—accepting help, acknowledging kindness, letting someone in. “Anytime, Rowan.”
I walk Isla to the driver’s side door and she slides into her car, her fingers tapping the steering wheel as she hums a holiday tune, presumably. She drives off, her ridiculous Christmas-light-covered vehicle disappearing down my street.
While I appreciate, even admire, Isla’s efforts to excel at her job, that doesn’t mean I want to find real love.
I have to double down on my plan to play along. To fake it so I can finish this commitment. Yes, she helped me today and I’m grateful. But playing along won’t hurt anyone. In fact, it’ll help both of us be done with this romantic charade sooner.
When I go back inside, I head upstairs to Mia’s room. She’s all ready for bed in her reindeer jammies, her teeth freshly brushed, her book on the nightstand. After shehops into bed, she pats the side of the mattress next to her.
I sit down so I can listen to her read.
But she doesn’t crack open the book yet. Instead, she says, “You like her.”
I clench my jaw. This is bad. I can’t have Mia getting ideas. I scoff, but with a smile. “We’re friends. Like you and Isla.”
She rolls her eyes. “Sure, Dad.”
But this is exactly why I can’t just say we’refriendsand leave it at that. My daughter is too smart, but also, I don’t want to lie to her. Sure, Isla might fit broadly under the friend umbrella, but she’s not really in my life in that capacity. She’s sending me out on dates. Best to be honest with my kid. “She’s also looking for a date for me for the team’s Christmas Eve gala. My teammates hired her for me at the auction,” I say, rolling my eyes, letting her know what I think ofthatdetail.
Mia’s jaw drops. “She’s your matchmakerandyou like her?” Mia asks, but it’s hardly a question. Since she’s too busy laughing for me to even answer her scarily accurate assessment of my situation.
Just like that, I know I’m screwed.
13
ALL THIS AND I CAN BAKE
ROWAN
With his hands parked on his hips like a drill sergeant, Corbin surveys the grocery store haul I’ve dumped on the counter. His expression is deeply, personally offended.
He scans the flour, chocolate chips, butter, brown sugar, vanilla, and other ingredients. His disapproval deepens when his gaze lands on the peanut butter—homemade by me, of course—and Hershey’s Kisses.
“What?” I say, already defensive. “Wesley gave us a recipe for peanut butter blossoms. He swears they’re elite.”
Corbin rubs his temples like he’s getting an early migraine. “Rowan. Peanut butter blossoms are fine. But I told you, you’ll win if you make fudge cookies with orange ganache.”
“Dude,” I say, pointing at him, then to myself. “I can’t make fudge with ganache. I don’t even know what ganache is.”
Tyler, who’s been munching chocolate chips like popcorn, swivels toward me. “It sounds like a fancy knot I don’t know how to tie.”
“Honestly,” I say, thinking, “it sounds like something you buy in a bougie furniture store that you don’t actually need. Like,I’ll take a chaise lounge and a ganache to go with it.”
Corbin tips his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Why,” he mutters. “Why must I work with these idiots?”
I flash him an asshole grin. “Every day, man. Every day, I ask myself the same thing.”
Though technically, he doesn’t work with us. Corbin plays for our rivals in the city—the Golden State Foxes. But we don’t hold that against him at our get-togethers. Or thesingle dad’s club, as Isla calls it.
I picture the clever smile on her pretty lips when she said that the other day on our way to the tree farm. The twinkle in her blue eyes. And I swear, I catch a hint of that sweet and tart cherry scent that is her signature.
And…I’d better not drift off into memories of my agent’s sister. My best friend’s sister. My matchmaker.
I have to play along. Fake interest in this matchmaking for the sake of my friends. And the cookie swap tomorrow night is part of the game. I’ll show up, feign some interest, find someone to go to the gala with, then be on my fucking way to singlehood again.
