Chapter 14 A Tough Christmas Nut
A TOUGH CHRISTMAS NUT
ISLA
“You can’t host a Christmas cookie swap without mistletoe,” I say with a smile, stretching on the step ladder to add another sprig to an archway inside High Kick Coffee. “Right, Birdie?”
The former Vegas showgirl and owner of the shop gives me a decisive nod from the front counter, where she’s arranging a string of green garlands.
She lets me host matchmaking events here from time to time, like today.
The shop’s technically closed, but she’s keeping it open on a Saturday night for this private event.
She’s a lover of love, and she’s also the grandmother of Tyler and Miles Falcon from the Sea Dogs.
“I’m pretty sure you would be arrested by the Underground Grandma Matchmaking Society if you skimped on the good stuff,” she says, hanging a section of the greenery alongside Leighton.
My photographer friend adjusts the garland and flashes Birdie a playful look. “You would know, since I think you’re the president of that now, aren’t you?”
Birdie presses a finger to her plum-lipsticked mouth, then flicks her red-and-silver feather boa jauntily around her neck. “Don’t tell a soul—I was promoted.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” Leighton says, then meets my gaze. “You know Birdie was instrumental with all of her underground machinations for Miles and me.”
Birdie’s jaw drops in mock horror. “Me? Machinations? Never.” Then she nods, mouthing “yes, yes, yes.”
Leighton rolls her eyes, but there’s obvious affection between them—soon-to-be granddaughter-in-law and grandmother—that tugs at something deep in my chest.
Rowan’s close with his mom, isn’t he? At least, it sounds like he is. And that thought warms me more than it should.
I shake it off and slide the mistletoe onto a hook just as boots click across the floor, growing louder by the second. Sabrina emerges from the back room with a box, declaring, “More decorations!”
“It’s hard to believe we could need more,” Leighton says, surveying the shop. It’s already decked out for the holidays. Ornaments and pine cones are everywhere. Even Dolly, the mannequin showgirl who greets customers at the door, is in the holiday spirit, sporting a cute little elf costume.
“Hush, darling. There’s no such thing as too many Christmas decorations,” Birdie says.
“I couldn’t agree more,” I say as Sabrina sorts silver baubles from the box, adding them to the garlands on the counter.
I arrange another sprig, then climb down the step ladder to check out my handiwork. Looks like we have about six sprigs, total.
Sabrina hums, considering the placement. “What exactly are the rules of mistletoe? Like, do people have to kiss if they’re under it? What if they don’t want to?”
“Yes, there is a law of mistletoe,” I say solemnly. “You must kiss. But it’s not actually enforceable. Because consent and all.”
“We like consent,” Sabrina says, and everyone nods.
My mind wanders briefly to kissing, but I shove the thoughts aside before they take root. I need to focus on hanging mistletoe, not imagining kissing under it. Or who I might kiss. The holiday season isn’t a time for me to pursue romance. It’s time to find love for others, and that’s that.
Besides, there will be time later for me to think about kisses with a certain—
Wait. That thought was no better.
Moving on, I smooth a hand down my dress then add, “The mistletoe’s just for ambiance and fun, unless someone wants to kiss, of course.”
The doorbell chimes, and in rushes Mabel, hauling a big white bakery box from her pop-up bakery, her thick hair cascading in waves over her shoulders.
“I am here, and I come bearing cookies,” she sings, a torrent of energy.
“Thank god,” I say, because while guests are bringing cookies, I’m also providing some—thanks to my friend. You can never have too many cookies. Also, sometimes guests have…baking incidents, so I like to have backups.
The second the door clinks closed behind her, the scent of her chocolate chip cookies hits me, turning me into Pavlov’s dog.
“This is embarrassing,” I groan. “My mouth is literally watering.”
Mabel bobs a shoulder. “That’s the goal. Mouthwatering cookies.”
Sabrina smirks as she grabs an Elf on the Shelf from the box. “What if the guests actually like the cookies better than the people they’re matched with?”
Birdie chuckles, shaking her head. “Studies show that an orgasmic experience with food or drinks can make the person you’re with seem even more attractive.”
Leighton shoots her a side-eye. “I don’t think that’s true.”
Birdie pats Leighton on the shoulder. “Darling, you’re engaged to my grandson. You met him at my shop. My coffee drinks are orgasmic. I don’t know what further proof you need.”
Leighton blushes while Sabrina points to the Elf on the Shelf figurine she’s adjusted on the counter. His hand is between his thighs. “He likes your theory.”
“Elves are so naughty,” Birdie declares.
I shoot Sabrina a look. “While I appreciate your dirty mind, can you please make sure he’s not whacking off at the event?”
Sabrina sighs but relents. “Fine.”
“But he can play with himself later, right, Isla?” Mabel chimes in as she arranges cookies.
“Mabel,” I chide, with a playful grin.
We work for a few more minutes, then I peer around, loving the extra sprinkles of Christmas cheer as well as the demure cross-legged pose Sabrina eventually selected for the elf.
“Well, then this is the perfect spot for a matchmaking event,” I say, smoothing down a garland. “It’s going to be so conducive to love and romance.”
That’s what I say out loud. What I don’t say? That I need a little fake-it-till-you-make-it hope.
Because Rowan isn’t an easy case.
He’s resistant every step of the way. He’s been testing me. Challenging me.
Leighton gives me a skeptical look. “Are we really sure though? I mean, I just get the impression that Rowan is…I don’t know. A tough nut to crack.”
Oh, it’s not even an impression. He is the toughest of nuts. But that’s where I thrive.
“With a man like him,” I say, grinning slyly, “you have to stay one step ahead. And fortunately, I have a fantastic plan for this evening.”
Mabel’s eyes light up. “So you think you’re actually going to match him tonight?”
“I think I’m going to be one step closer to helping him find love,” I say.
But my stomach twists a little.
Yes, I have a plan. Yes, I do think I’ll make progress. But there’s a part of me that…likes spending time with him.
Which makes no sense.
I’m not someone who’s attracted to grumps. I don’t enjoy the whole grumbly, stern man who hates everything.
Except…does he really hate everything?
I’ve actually been learning about all sorts of things he likes.
Like books.
And showing up for people he loves.
And…thwarting me. Yes, Rowan loves thwarting me.
I square my shoulders. Good thing I have a plan for today. A masterful one.
Ah, this has always been one of my favorite parts of matchmaking.
The chance to be a spectator when love is in the air.
My friends and Birdie have taken off, with Mabel having swept out right when Rowan walked in.
I swear the minx gave me a naughty look.
But now it’s time for the speed dating event.
As the host, I’ve got a front seat to the action, and this has always given me a little bounce, a spring in my step.
Dressed in a red sweater dress, I hang back by the counter, perched on a stool, ready to step in and answer any questions, if need be, as “Winter Wonderland” plays overhead.
This is my moment to shine…only, there’s a weird tightness in my chest. A low-level ache in the back of my skull.
It’s strange, since I don’t usually get headaches, but I feel one coming on as Rowan chats with Hannah, a kind dog groomer with a mischievous sense of humor.
She’s blonde but not too bubbly—an excellent counterpoint to his grinch, since she’s not a Cindy Lou Who.
Plus, she likes dogs, so she seems perfect for him.
He looks sharp tonight, dressed in a—black, of course—Henley that shows off his forearms, and nice slacks that hug his thighs and ass.
He’s seated across from her at a table, and she gestures to her tray of cookies—chocolate chip with candy cane pieces in them.
She’s ideal for him. And fine, fine, of course I coached her.
Of course I suggested the candy canes, knowing his affection for them.
But that’s my job—to lubricate the path to love.
So why the hell is my head throbbing as I watch him pick up a cookie, take a bite, and then moan in obvious culinary pleasure? He smiles at her, too, and I don’t have to read lips to know he’s saying this is incredible.
She laughs, then flicks some hair off her shoulder and says something to him. Probably thank you.
He shakes his head, clearly answering with, “No, thank you, Hannah.”
Okay, so he’s getting on well with her, and I should be a fizzy glass of soda just poured. Instead, I’m lukewarm tea that’s steeped too long.
I fold my arms across my chest and tear my gaze away to the other singles, trying to get a read on how Jalen is getting along with Emily. He’s an engineer and sporting a handsome blue cashmere sweater that brings out his eyes. The man has charm, and Emily seems enchanted by it.
I’m not sure they’ll be a match though.
I look to Sandeep, who’s fidgeting with his cloth napkin, the one with the illustrations of penguins sporting Santa hats.
He’s folding it and unfolding it as he talks to Imani.
My heart lurches. Sandeep has battled some anxiety issues, but said he wanted to try group speed dating because it seemed less stressful than a one-on-one.
I’d thought it would be a good introduction too.
Now I’m worried though.
But a minute later, he stops folding and appears to be listening intently. That’s good. Very good. So very good I can check out Rowan one more time, since he’s my wild card.