Chapter 17 I Dare You to Date Me
I DARE YOU TO DATE ME
ISLA
As I wait outside the main entrance to the Ferry Building by the San Francisco Bay, I’m playing a word game with Mabel on my phone.
We have to beat the timer and each other to make the most words out of six given letters.
Bonus points for innuendos. Contemplating whether “chad” can be a euphemism for “dick,” I check the time on the clock tower.
I’m a few minutes early and Rowan should be here soon. The game was meant to keep my mind from wandering to last night for the four-thousand-and-ninety-first time, but I’m struggling to think of words other than kiss, more, and melt.
The breeze from the bay carries the scent of the ocean and draws my focus from the game. Hmm. Has the water always smelled this good? Like a strong, sturdy man rising out of its depths, droplets of water glistening on his chest, sliding down his pecs?
I close my eyes briefly and let the alluring scent wash over me. It smells good. Familiar. It reminds me of—
“Still thinking of last night?”
My eyes snap open. Rowan stands in front of me, dressed in jeans and a navy blue Henley, a light jacket slung over his arm. His lips quirk up in a teasing grin. His beard is neat and trim, like last night, when that yummy scruff barely whisked across my face.
My pulse skitters. “Just thinking of all the gifts I can buy with you to carry them,” I snap back, hoping the lie isn’t as obvious as the flush spreading across my cheeks. “And why did you sneak up on me like that?”
Rowan arches a brow. “I didn’t. I just walked over like a normal person. You had your eyes closed, standing next to a very public lamppost with a Christmas garland on it.”
Ugh. Fine. He’s right. “But why would you say that instead of just saying…I don’t know…hi?”
He tilts his head and studies me for a beat. “Just having fun, but no worries. I’ll stop. No fun today. I swear.” He gives a gentlemanly tip of his head. “Hi.”
Shoot. I overreacted. I gulp, then fasten on a smile. “Hi.”
Rowan smirks, his green eyes sparking with…secrets. “Hi,” he says again, like it’s a game, and this time he speaks with a little more gravel in his tone.
The rasp in his voice makes my stomach flip.
So does his cologne—since now that I’m closer to him, it’s clear I wasn’t lusting after the bay. I was longing for him and that unfairly sexy scent. What, do I have a crush on freaking Poseidon now, for fox’s sake?
This is not helping—my libido’s overactive response to him.
I shake it off, gesturing to the building’s entrance. “Ready to carry all the heavy things?”
“Ready and waiting for purchases and dating wisdom,” he says as he flexes an arm, the fabric of his shirt stretching over his rippling biceps. Why do athletes have to be so muscly?
Because they work with their bodies, you dingus.
Drawing a deep, fortifying breath, I head inside, patting a white tote bag with the word Merry in a pretty scripted green font on the side. It centers me—it has my list and everything I need in it for our working shopping trip, like canvas bags for the gifts I’ll buy.
“Got a shopping list in there? Wait, no. A notebook with a shopping list?” he asks.
“Of course I do, but I know them all by heart now,” I say, getting my bearings.
As we weave past other holiday shoppers meandering through the long row of boutiques, cafés, and quirky stores, I rattle off the items on my list. “I can check off Jason, Natalie and their kids too. I’ve been keeping track all year of the things they’ve mentioned they might want—things that are special to them.
I can even get some things for my dad. He’s addicted to cheese and the cheese shop here is the best in the city,” I say, and these details are grounding me.
“He’s always asking me to bring cheese up to Evergreen Falls.
Which is a dating tip for dating 101, if you think about it.
Listen to your date. Pay attention to what they say. Don’t fake it,” I press.
There. I’m in dating coach mode. Like this, I’m not so tingly anymore. Not so floaty. Or drifty. I’m steady.
He mimes checking off a list. “Noted.” He tilts his head my way, his eyes roaming up and down me for a few hot seconds. “I’m not faking a thing right now.”
My chest heats, but I ignore the flush. “Good.”
“I’m present and engaged,” he adds.
“You listened. That’s very good,” I say.
He lifts a playful brow. “I hear some women like good listeners.”
Pretty sure he’s referring to our conversation at the tree farm, but slingshotting back to that moment of emotional intimacy won’t help my cause. “Most people do.”
He scans the Ferry Building. “Let’s do this,” Rowan says, then adds, “I have two hours before I need to get to the arena.”
“Right. You have a game tonight,” I say, then it hits me—he made time for me on a game day.
That’s the kind of thing my ex would never do.
Fine, my ex didn’t play hockey. But he also never fit me in.
He was too busy tending to his other life, his other woman, his other…
everything. I shake off some of my earlier frostiness like it’s a snowflake in my hair.
“How’s my favorite little reader? She can come over and hang more ornaments on my tree anytime. ”
“Don’t tempt her,” he says.
“That’s the point, Rowan. Tempting her with something she likes.”
He waves a hand. “She’s good with Matilda,” he says, and I’m not so sure about that but far be it from me to argue.
And yet…I do it anyway. “Can you even imagine all the bookish ornaments she could hang from a bigger tree? She could make cute little mini decorations of her favorite books.”
“Temptress,” he mutters.
If the shoe fits. “Maybe I will invite her over then.”
“Troublemaker too,” he adds, then clears his throat, answering my earlier question. “Mia’s at a toy collection drive with some friends from school, then my parents are bringing her to the game,” he says, a note of fondness in his voice that’s nice to hear.
“That’s great,” I say, meaning it, and this topic—family—will surely cool my raging hormones. As I nod toward the first store I want to pop into, Elodie’s Chocolates, a pack of shoppers race-walking through the building barrels right toward me. “Oh,” I say, startled, and feel a tug to the right.
My shoulder smacks Rowan’s sturdy one.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“You okay?” he asks, steadying me with a hand on my elbow. I glance down. Everything happened so quickly I didn’t realize he’d pulled me out of the way.
I blink. Breathe. Count the beats of my racing heart. I hardly feel okay around him. I feel amped up. I feel electric. I feel supercharged. “Definitely,” I say, then I smile cheerily and return to the list.
“Chocolate for Jason,” I say. “He has such a sweet tooth, and he’s always mentioning this shop is his favorite.”
“Got it—don’t sabotage a date by buying the wrong chocolate,” Rowan says.
Not exactly. “No. I’m just saying I took notes on what he likes,” I point out. And to make this a dating tip, I add, “So rather than pretend you like someone who’s all wrong for you, maybe focus on the traits you have in common.”
“Do you like chocolate, Isla?”
What? Why is he asking that? “Of course I do,” I say as we swing into the chocolate shop, where the scent of cocoa tickles my nose but a sign on a display shelf of red and silver gift boxes taunts me—Holiday Date Night with Chocolate: the perfect gift to spice up your winter nights.
Not helpful, Elodie’s. Not helpful at all.
Rowan strides over to the box next to the sign, gesturing to it. “Should we get this for Jason, to spice up his holiday nights?”
Ding, ding, ding! Rowan’s handed me the perfect buzzkill. In slow-mo, I turn my face to him. “Did you really just talk about my brother’s sex life?”
Rowan’s eyes widen. His smile burns off, replaced with a look of horror. “Shit. I did.”
I snort-laugh. “Real smooth, Rowan,” I tease, and yes, yes, yes! I finally have the fix for my Rowan lust. The man himself gave it to me. My brother.
“I was just…” Rowan starts, but he’s flustered, and it’s cracking me up. I found the cure. And I’m going to take another spoonful of the medicine.
“Tell me more about the date night you want to plan for my brother. I want all the details,” I goad, grabbing the box like it’s a treasure I’ve been hunting for in the jungle. “We’ll get him this, and what else? Some candles? Some rose petals?”
Rowan drags a hand across his beard, shaking his head, but knowing the game is on it seems. His gaze drifts off beyond the store to shops on the other side of the hallway—a bespoke candle maker and a fancy lotions and potions store.
He turns back to me. “Why stop there? Let’s do it up. How about champagne? Bath bombs?”
Two can play, I see. “We can get massage oil next,” I suggest, holding my ground. He has no idea how much I need this—the chance to eradicate inappropriate thoughts of my brother’s best friend.
“We’ll make a playlist of seductive songs,” Rowan adds.
“Christmas ones, of course.”
“You probably already have that,” he says.
“Of course I do. I play it a lot. We can use my top-ten-sexy-holiday-songs one. And…we can even get him a card game full of naughty dares too,” I say, upping the ante.
“Shop for underthings,” he adds, seemingly not to be outdone.
This gamesmanship has worked so exceedingly well that I point the chocolate box right at him. “All brilliant ideas.” I pause, then deliver the final punch. “And while I appreciate your creativity, I’m a little concerned you’re not any good at dating.”
He scoffs. “You said the same thing about kissing, and I proved you wrong.”