Kill me now with a nutcracker.
I need to coach the guy who’s sweet on Isla? Play nice with the man who wants my dating coach?
Fuck that. If Christmas hates me, and clearly it does, then so much for Rowan 2.0.
I’m going to have to play dirty.
24
A MOOSE IN MY HEART
ISLA
Since the competition begins tomorrow bright and early, I make plans with my teammates for a secret meeting tonight, pre-practice date.
I need to focus on work though, not on Rowan, so I spend the rest of the afternoon at my parents’ home, reviewing bios for new clients, then drawing up lists of potential matches I can connect them with in the new year. When the sun dips lower in the sky, a dangerous burst of excitement blooms in me. Time to get ready.
I really need to tamp down these feelings. How though? I just don’t know so I focus on the practical.
I change into a white sweater with soft silver sparkles woven into the yarn. I add my mistletoe necklace. I touch up my makeup.
“What are you doing?” I whisper to my reflection. I can’t stop primping. I can’t stop these damn flutters either.
I’m twisted and torn as I head to the door right as Mom sails out from the kitchen.
“I need to run some errands in town. Want a ride, darling?”
“Sure,” I say, relieved I don’t have to drive with all thiswanttaking up space inside me.
As she drives down our street, she tosses a glance at my top, visible since my red coat’s open. “Cute sweater. That would be nice for your date with Oliver.”
My heart pinches with guilt. But for a woman who’s usually agile with words, I have nothing to say.
Mom, though, has plenty. “Especially with that pretty scarf.”
Looking down, I take my time adjusting my newest scarf, a sliver of guilt wedging into my heart. Mom’s trying to play matchmaker. And Oliver seems like a good guy. But I didn’t wear or buy this midnight blue scarf for him. I picked it up yesterday in the city before I left. The sweater’s new, too, but I can’t tell any of this to my mom. I don’t want her to worry about me wanting someone I can’t have.
I raise my face and put on a smile. “Thanks for the tip.”
“You look lovely in anything, though,” she says, then shoots me a warm smile as we near Main Street. “So, does this mean I can set it up? The date?”
I can’t put this off any longer. Especially since I know the answer, thanks to that conversation with Mabel earlier. “I appreciate your efforts, Mom,” I begin as she maneuvers her car into a spot outside the Sugar Plum Bakery. “But I don’t feel sparks with him.”
“Oh,” she says, deflated. Her cheery expression falters as she turns off the car and looks to me. “I just thought…that you’d be a good fit. But it’s okay.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, somehow feeling worse. She’s trying so hard. “I can tell him—Oliver that is. I know how to let people down gently. It’s part of the job.”
She shakes her head. “First off—don’t apologize. Sparks are important. And it was only a conversation with his mother. I don’t think she brought it up to him yet, so there’s no need to let him down.”
I let out a huge sigh of relief. “That’s good. And I feel better for telling you.”
“You can tell me anything.”
I want to tell her I’m inappropriately lusting after a client, but I keep that to myself. “I know,” I say, then reach for the door handle.
“Isla.” There’s concern in her voice.
“Yes?”
