Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“Don’t remind me,” he says.
“Oh, but I will. Many times, surely,” I say with a smile as I click the pen once and tap it against the planner. I love this kind of deep-dive work. This is precisely what I wasn’t able to do on the podcast, since I only had a few minutes with each caller to give advice and feedback. “Okay, Rowan. We have a lot of work to do in a short amount of time. I need to know likes and dislikes, wishes and wants. But I find the best way to start is this—what’s your perfect outcome from this dating adventure?”
Rowan shudders.
It’s not for show; it seems real and full of hurt, coming from the depths of him, and my heart softens.
I only know the broad strokes of his romantic story, heard in passing from my brother. Rowan and his ex, Mia’s mom, were together for a good while, but nearly five years ago, she simply took off. As someone who’s been left, I understand. I feel the pain of my own failed love story sometimes, all the ways I was foolishly deceived by my ex. But I refuse to wallow in that failure, especially when my business depends on success in romance. That’s why I give my all to clients—I believe that everyone deserves love.
Including people who think it doesn’t exist, like this man.
I give Rowan a reassuring smile, hoping to soothe the wound. “This can be a good dating adventure.”
“Just like ‘nut’ and ‘cracker,’ those are words that don’t go together,” he says.
I’ve got my work cut out for me, but that only drives me on. “I hear you. But even so, tell me what you want to accomplish. And don’t tell me you’re here under duress; I already know that part.”
“You want to know my goal?”
“Yes,” I say, hopeful I can get him there.
“My biggest goal right now?”
“I would love to know,” I say, ready and waiting.
He nods toward my Holly Jolly Martini, smirking. “To try that.”
Well, that’s easy enough. I slide the glass toward him, hoping it works as the icebreaker he seems to need. “Enjoy,” I say.
Rowan raises it to his lips, and for a split second, his skeptical expression vanishes, his green eyes flickering with something close to surprise. No, that’s real delight in his irises as he takes a drink.
His sweet tooth is something else, and I can use this intel as I plan outings for him with different women—Christmas cookie decorating, eggnog tasting, candy cane making. I write this down, saying, “A man who likes sweet things.”
“You’ve figured me out, Isla,” he says dryly, but then his expression shifts. His gaze turns serious. “But before we dive into this dating adventure, otherwise known as a high-stakes game of emotional roulette, there’s something I need to say.”
I haven’t heard that tone from him before—like something’s vitally important. I lock my focus on him, especially since he’s letting details slip about the state of his heart—terribly damaged. That’s good to know, even if it’s sad to hear. “Go on.”
He blows out a breath, then says, “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. The pointless comment about your business. I tried to apologize after the Case of the Candy Cane Punch Poisoning, but I did a bad job of it.”
Actually, I did kind of walk away from him when he tried. I should say I’m sorry too. “I didn’t give you a chance. I stormed off,” I admit.
His lips curve up. “That was a storming off?”
“I suppose that’s an exaggeration. But I still want to take responsibility,” I say.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” he says, his tone stern again. A little bossy. A slight chill runs down my spine. But…a good chill, perhaps?
“And you truly don’t either. I’m hearing you loud and clear that romance isn’t your favorite thing,” I say, since I’m hoping it’ll help us work together if he feels understood. “But I appreciate your apology nonetheless.”
He gives a crisp but grateful nod.
Then, it’s my turn to smirk. “Though honestly, the best apology will come when you say that wasn’t pointless at all, Isla! I’ve met the woman of my dreams. Thank you.”
The eye roll. Dear god, the eye roll from him could win an award. “Don’t count on it,” he says.
“It’s going to be so fun,” I add.
“It won’t happen,” he says, standing his ground.
I straighten my shoulders. “It will. I pride myself on having a very successful client list, and they’re extremely satisfied with my matchmaking. And you will be too.”
He snort-scoffs. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“I have faith enough for the both of us,” I say, but I clearly need to prove myself to him. And if there’s one thing athletes respond to, it’s a little healthy competition. Feeling bold, I say, “So much I’d be willing to bet on it.”