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)
“Sounds fun,” Isla says as we walk inside.
She sounds like she means it and for a second, my pulse kicks into high gear. Then reality clobbers me as I remember item number three on my list of Isla. She likes to gather info in her notebooks. And that’s all this is. That’s all today has been. It's just intel gathering. Nothing more.
Over takeout sushi, Isla artfully scoops up an avocado roll with her chopsticks while looking my way. “Earlier you said your mom was inking someone. Does that mean your parents run a tattoo shop?”
“They do. Just opened their third location. Over in Hayes Valley,” I say proudly.
“They didn’t stay in Vancouver?”
“Nope.” I dip a tuna roll in the wasabi, not even bothering with soy sauce. “My sister moved here first when she met her husband, and with both of us in San Francisco, my parents moved here and opened a shop in the Mission District. It wasn’t always easy, but they pulled it off. They still own one in Vancouver, but they have some local artists running it.”
“That’s fantastic to have them nearby,” she says, then tilts her head. “It’s a hard business though?”
“It can be,” I say, remembering a few years back when business was down. “Their shops have been through some tough times.”
“But my dad helped,” Mia chimes in as she reaches for an edamame.
That seems to spark Isla’s interest. “Oh, he did?”
“He paid for the ads, and he hired a…” She pauses, maybe trying to remember the word. “A consult…”
“A consultant?” Isla offers.
“That’s it! Someone to help market it,” Mia adds.
Isla turns to me. “That was kind of you.”
But I don’t want to make too big a deal of it. “They help me every day. It was the least I could do,” I say, since really, it was a pleasure to make life easier for my family.
“What did they do? The consultant?”
I pause, with my chopsticks holding another tuna roll. “Introduced temporary tattoos, partnered with influencers, marketed more specifically online. It really turned their shops into a premier tattoo destination.”
“And you made it happen,” Isla says with a smile.
“They make my business happen for me. It was a no-brainer,” I say, since I don’t want or need the credit. I’m just grateful I could help.
“But not everyone does that,” Isla says as Mia grabs another edamame.
“They’re taking me on a kid-grandparent cruise right after Christmas,” Mia offers.
“Lucky you. Where will you be cruising?”
“In the ocean,” she says. “They’re bringing some of my friends too. I can’t wait. Dad, can I get a tattoo?” Mia asks not for the first time, waggling the edamame while batting her eyelashes.
I scoff-laugh. “Absolutely not.”
Like a Machiavellian cherub, Mia turns to Isla and stage-whispers, “I ask him that sometimes just to tease him.”
“I like you,” Isla says, then boops Mia’s nose before glancing my way.
I pause, the tuna roll midway to my mouth. I did that to Isla earlier at the tree farm—ran a fingertip down her nose. Did she like it? She seemed to, judging by the flicker in her eyes, the catch in her breath.
My breath hitches now as she holds my gaze a second too long. Maybe two.
I look away, popping the roll in my mouth.
It’s nothing. All of this is nothing.
In the living room after dinner, I tug out the so-called Advent box. It holds all the wrapped books I snagged for my kiddo, some she chose and some I did, numbered for the days of the calendar. Mia hunts through it for the number three—for the third day of December—and rips off the brown wrapping paper. She squeals in excitement for The Reindeer Riders Club, clutches the book to her chest, then throws her arms around me. “Thank you, Dad.”
“You’re welcome. Now get ready for bed. And don’t trick me this time,” I warn her playfully.
“I’ll try not to,” Mia says, then runs upstairs.
Isla heads to the front door, sliding on her coat, then shouldering her bag. “Thanks again for dinner.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
“Thanks, Rowan,” she says, and I like the way she says my name too much.
I should stop noticing the little things. The way she blushes. The way her laugh is both husky and sweet. The way she fits so easily into my day.
We reach her car, and she stands beside the passenger door, her breath fogging in the chilly air. “I have a few initial women for you to meet on Saturday,” she announces.
Right.
Another reminder—tonight was for observation. Like I’m an animal at the zoo, and she’s writing the report. My shoulders slump, but really, I shouldn’t be bothered. That is the whole point of this time we’ve spent together these last few days. But to be sure, just so I’m crystal clear on where things stand, I ask, “You were figuring out who to introduce me to during our dinner?”