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)
What the fuck is going on with me?
Get it together, man.
As Isla tracks down the ornament, I turn off the faucet and reach for a towel. It’s white and embroidered with nutcrackers. I’ve got to get out of here. It’s like Christmas has thrown up all over.
And really, with the tree standing and Mia hanging a moose, our work here is done.
Twenty minutes later, I’m walking up the steps to my home, an uncomfortable knot of nerves swimming in me. Will Isla be noting every detail of my home like I did hers? And do I even want her to? So much for my get it together warning.
I gird myself to stay strong.
The second I unlock the front door, Wanda flies over to her. Not me. Not Mia. But Isla.
My little dog bounces on her back legs, showing off for Isla.
“Look at this cutie. She’s a dancing dog,” Isla says, petting the happily whimpering Wanda, who’s pogoing in front of her. It’s the most adorable greeting in the history of dogs, and it’s one of the ways Wanda melted our hearts the day Mia and I met her at a rescue event the team hosted. Mia fell madly in love with Wanda that day, and fine, I did too. She’s the tiny dog I never knew I needed.
Wanda dances a little more then leaps into Isla’s outstretched arms.
Isla strokes her head, and Wanda responds with several face licks—gold in dog currency. “Aren’t you a charmer?” Isla says to the pup.
“Traitor,” I mutter to Wanda.
Isla laughs. “Always trust a dog. They know who the good people are,” she says, then drops another kiss to Wanda’s head.
She’s right. Dogs make it clear who to trust and who not to trust. I almost wish Wanda disliked her, so I could have another reason to dislike Isla. I harness my dog who’s due for a bathroom break. “I’ll take her for a walk,” I say. Besides, it’ll be good for me to clear my head.
“Have fun, Dad. Isla will help me pick my books to donate,” Mia says, and my daughter is clearly in charge.
Of everything.
Including her new friend. Friend. That’s a relief at least. I don’t have to entertain those worries anymore. Mia sees Isla as a friend. If only I could.
I take Wanda down the steps toward the sidewalk, where my dog shoots me a look like she can’t believe I was played that easily.
“I know, but what can I do?” I say to her.
She tosses me a dog look that says You’re a sucker, Dad.
“I’m not,” I protest.
“You kind of are,” she’s saying as she trots, tail wagging grandly.
“Nope. I’m not letting myself be charmed,” I tell Wanda as she sniffs a bush. Besides, how could I be charmed? Isla and I don’t want the same things in life. Just look at her home. It’s not only a shrine to Christmas, but also to what it means to her—real love. That’s what she wants. Hell, that’s what she strives to give others. She said as much to me earlier today at the tree farm. And I’ve got zero plans to let that kind of love ever happen to me again. Been there, done that, and my heart’s on ice. Best for me to keep some distance. I need to stick to business and fake interest in this matchmaking project. I don’t need to feed a crush that’s going nowhere.
Besides, Jason would never forgive me if I messed with his sister’s heart. Whether the dog or my daughter likes the matchmaker or not is irrelevant.
At the library, where a Christmas tree made of paperbacks adorns the entryway, alongside a menorah crafted from hardcovers, Isla helps Mia with her donations. They sort the books by genre, then thank Josie for running the fundraiser.
“Thank you for giving me your book friends,” Josie tells Mia, patting the stack of stories Mia’s given her. “I’ve no doubt these will find good homes.”
“That’s awesome,” Mia says.
When we’re done, we hop into my car this time, heading back to Pacific Heights. Once I park in the garage, I tell Isla I’ll walk her to her car. It’s evening now, and the sun has set.
“But don’t you want to invite her to stay for dinner?” Mia asks, innocently, so innocently that I’m sure she means it. Mia’s not making this easy for me—getting some space. I don’t want to be a dick, and if I uninvite Isla, I’ll seem like one.
What are the chances, though, that Isla will say yes anyway after spending the afternoon with us?
Isla surprises me—that’s getting to be a theme—with a simple and heartfelt, “I’d love to, but only if it’s okay with your dad.”
“Yep. It’s okay,” I say. It’s one evening. It’ll be fine. I’ll be just fine.
“We can do the Advent calendar too then,” Mia says.