“I can’t complain,” she says. “I’ve got a great coach for the competition.”
“Fable’s amazing,” I say.
After she takes our order, Rowan turns to me, his green eyes holding my gaze for a long beat. “So you’re going to teach me everything I need to know to date. Where do we start?”
Good question. My head is blank. I’m nothing but a skittering heart and flipping chest, thanks to his hot gaze. “Nice sweater,” I say, since I need to say something. “But it doesn’t seem like something you’d own.”
He glances down at it. “It’s not. But it seemed like somethingyou’dlike, so I got it today. What do you think?”
I stifle my gasp. I like it far too much that he bought it for me. “It looks good,” I say, as evenly as I can.
He leans closer. “Just good?”
I draw a shuddery breath. “Just good,” I say, getting my bearings.
“I like to aim a little higher thanjust goodon my dates—practice or not. Let’s see if I can finish with abetter than good,” he says, then lifts a hand and reaches for my necklace, touching it gently, grazing his fingers across the mistletoe charm, then meeting my eyes. “This is very, very pretty.”
I’m not sure who’s coaching who anymore. When he lets go, my head is a fog. My chest is buzzing. I try to clear my mind of anything but the competition. “What did you think of your team?”
He tilts his head. “Isla, are you fishing for intel?”
“Me? No. Of course not.”
“You’d never do that.”
“Never,” I say, primly.
He blows out a breath, shooting me a doubtful look. “But this raises a new issue.”
Is he going to nix these practice dates? Say they’re a conflict of interest since we’re technically competing? My pulse spikes in worry. “What is it?”
“Can you still be my Christmas advisor?”
My shoulders relax. Then it hits me—I was freaking out that he didn’t want to fake date me.
I’m so screwed.
“Fair point. I probably can’t,” I say, fighting to return to the way we were—colleagues, in a way. Client and matchmaker. “Since we’re competing against each other now.”
He lifts his chin, giving me a cocky smile. “C’mon. Just a little hand here and there.”
It’s said in a low, smoky voice. A rasp, nearly.
“Rowan,” I say, taking the napkin and spreading it in my lap. “That hardly seems fair.”
“Just a tip,” he says, but I hearjust the tip.
Or…shit. Is that what my dirty brain is thinking? Must ignore it. “That feels like insider trading. You’ll have to win on your own merits.” Then the full-blown competitive monster inside me comes roaring to life. “Let’s see how you do against a true Christmas elf like me.”
Rowan tosses his head back and laughs, deep and throaty. He seems like a new Rowan tonight. I’m not sure what to make of this side of him—the charming, flirting, playful side. But it’s time for me to take control of this practice date. “In fact, I bet my team will win.” There. A bet will return us to familiar territory.
He scoffs. “That so?”
I sit straighter. “You might have a moose on your sweater, but I have a Christmas moose in my heart.”
Rowan arches a dubious brow. “You have a moose in your heart, Isla?”
Well, that does sound a little silly, but I lean into it. “I do.”
