Chapter 17 I Dare You to Date Me #2
Oops. Why did I go there? He’s right. But I can’t even get a retort in since a clerk in a red and white apron with dancing candy cane illustrations on the straps strides over to us.
The name Nkem is etched into a silver name tag on her bib and the straps are adorned with pins, including one depicting the Nigerian flag.
“Can I help you with a gift for the holidays? Something special perhaps?”
“Oh, we’re not—” Rowan begins.
“Together,” I finish.
“I simply meant something special for someone in your lives,” the woman says, smoothly.
Right, of course. I took her meaning the other way because of my dirty mind.
I straighten my spine and spin around, scanning the shelves in a flurry. Bonbons, truffles, salted caramels. Chocolate with peppermint—that could be perfect for Rowan.
Dammit. I need to stop thinking of him. I squeeze my eyes shut, then open them. This was a bad idea, bringing him shopping with me. I can’t stop thinking of him when he’s right next to me. “I’ll take the twenty-piece standard Christmas gift box, Nkem,” I say, regaining my composure.
“Wonderful. It’s a huge hit.”
“And the chocolate with peppermint,” I add, and she grabs that box too. “Some of the salted caramels, as well,” I explain to Rowan, “Leighton will like those. We have a Friendsmas every year, but it’s hard to resist stealing some of hers.”
Rowan smiles. “Thief.”
“They’re good,” I say, unrepentant.
I load up on chocolates for past and current clients, then reach into my tote for my phone to pay for the teetering pile. But by the time I’ve fished it out, Rowan’s midway through swiping his phone across the tap screen.
“I’ve got this,” he says with confident finality.
I turn to him, my brow knit. “You’re buying…my gifts? Most of these were for my friends and clients. That’s too much.”
“Yep.” He puts his body between the register and me, like he’s making sure I don’t try to kill his payment.
But I’m too stunned to knock his phone away with mine. I can only say, “Thank you.”
As he signs the screen, I hand Nkem some canvas bags from my tote. “You come prepared to shop. Love it,” Nkem remarks.
“I do,” I say as Nkem packs the chocolates in one bag, then another.
“Happy holidays, chocolate lovers,” she says with a smile as Rowan shoulders both bags.
“Happy holidays,” I say, still equal parts thrown off and amazed at Rowan’s gesture.
When we’re out in the busy hallway, throngs of shoppers rushing by, I ask, “Why did you do that? You really didn’t have to.”
“I sabotaged your cookie swap last night. I figured it’s the least I could do.”
“I thought being my shopping bag boy was your way of making it up to me,” I say, and I can’t lie—I do enjoy the view of him hauling my gifts.
“You told me it was important to you that someone isn’t afraid to say he’s sorry.”
My heart stutters. He remembered my words from the tree farm precisely. “Yes, I did,” I say softly.
“It was on your big three.”
My breath catches. It’s not from the money spent, but the meaning behind it. “It was. It is. I’m…touched, Rowan. You really didn’t have to though. You’ve done so much, staying to help clean up, and now this.”
“What can I say? I overdeliver, Isla. Consider that my dating tip—a man should overdeliver,” he says, locking his gaze on mine, and leaving his meaning hanging in the bustling holiday air.
I can’t think of anything else but him overdelivering in all the ways as we shop.
But I do my best to push it out of my mind once more.
We canvas the rest of the building, where I pick up a terrarium for my nephew, a science kit for my niece, several cheeses for my father, a board game for Natalie, and a kitschy tea set for my mom, who likes everything with a little quirk to it.
When we’re done, Rowan is loaded down with even more of the canvas bags I brought, but he carries them with ease.
“You don’t fuck around when it comes to Christmas shopping, do you?” he asks, glancing at his cargo.
“I don’t,” I say, relieved we made it through the trip without any more innuendo.
But as we head toward the exit, we wander past a vegan sushi place that opened more than a year ago. Longingly, I gaze at the window and the sushi bar beyond, where chefs wield sharp knives and slice up veggies to use in amazingly clever taste combinations when it opens soon for dinner.
“You ever been there?” Rowan asks.
I jerk my gaze away. It’s pointless to be sad about a restaurant. “I wanted to. I asked my ex, but he never wanted to go,” I say, like it isn’t a big deal.
“Because he wouldn’t eat just veggies for a night?” Rowan asks with a scoff that says my ex is a dickhead.
He’s not wrong.
“That’s not the reason,” I say, shaking my head. Best not to get into JD Voorhees right now. Or ever with a client.
“What’s the reason?” Rowan presses, concern in his voice.
I sigh. I don’t love talking about my horribly failed romance, but Rowan’s been open enough about his.
“He didn’t want to go anywhere special with me.
Not Kauai, where I wanted to go for New Year’s.
Not to the farmers’ market. Not to this restaurant.
He was with someone else at the same time,” I admit, but that hardly covers his transgressions.
“And I had no idea. No clue he was actually…married.”
Rowan seethes. His fists clench. “I will find him and kill him.”
“He’s not worth it,” I reply, and that’s the truest thing I can say about the finance guy I met at a farmers’ market when we were reaching for the same bouquet of flowers—like in a movie.
And like in a film, JD dazzled me while never letting on he was taken.
An image of JD’s charming smile flashes before my eyes. “He’s really not worth it.”
Rowan stops, forcing me to stop as well. Holding my gaze with an intensity that I suspect is reserved for the ice, he adds, “But you are.”
My chest flutters again in a whole new way. “Thank you. I appreciate that,” I say, fighting off the swoon I’m swooning. It feels good, even for a few seconds to believe he means it. But he’s just brightening my spirits.
“I’ll take you there,” he says, his jaw set, his eyes filled with determination.
Oh, my. He’s serious. This isn’t one of his fake date jokes. And I’m…touched. I hardly know what to say, even though I want to accept his offer so very badly. “It’s…it’s three in the afternoon and it’s closed and you’re playing tonight.”
Rowan’s silent for a few seconds, his gaze assessing the restaurant and the chefs in it, before he returns to me. “Another day then,” he says, still resolute. But then, a smile spreads nice and slow. His eyes flicker with…something like a plan. “After all, you said I’m not any good at dating.”
I scrunch my brow. “But what does that have to do with…the restaurant?”
“If I take you there. It’ll help with the matchmaking, you know,” he says, the grin turning cockier. More clever. “A practice date and all. For the grinch.”
I lift a hand to rub my ear. I can’t possibly have heard him right, especially after the way he’s teased me about me wanting to date him all along. “You want to go on a practice date to that restaurant?”
“Doesn’t have to be this place. Can be anywhere, really.” He gives an easy shrug. “Maybe even a couple practice dates. You want to make sure I’m dateable. I owe it to you, and Jason and my friends, to make more of an effort, especially after what I did last night. Sounds like a win-win.”
“Are you for real? Or is this another way of you trying to trick me into fake dating you, like you’ve done from the start?”
His casual confidence is as convincing as any argument. “I mean it. I want lessons. I want practice dates.”
I arch a brow, trying to scrutinize him. “You truly do?”
“I do.”
I should say no to his offer, since we don’t have much time for this kind of…
prep work. Rowan leaves for Evergreen Falls in less than a week.
My goal was to match him before he left.
But unfortunately, after the cookie swap fiasco, and considering his hockey schedule, that’s looking less likely.
While I do have a few more women I want him to meet—including an ER doctor who hired me last week and has some dating challenges of her own—I’m staring down his upcoming trip to Seattle for a game in the middle of this week.
And while I’ve been concocting a contingency plan for when he takes off to Evergreen Falls, I haven’t finalized anything.
This, though—practice dates—would delay it all further.
But his idea isn’t such a bad one. Maybe some practice for Rowan will actually help him stop…
upending opportunities. Maybe some coaching is just what he needs.
Some people are nervous or anxious on dates, and they need to learn how to feel calm.
Some put their feet in their mouths, and they need to learn what to say.
Rowan though? He needs to learn how to, well, treat dating seriously. Stop acting like it’s a game he must win. “Will you be real on the date?” I ask him, looking him straight in the eyes.
“I will.” He sounds earnest. He looks earnest.
I’m committed to finding him a match so practice dates will help my cause, though I’m not sure I can afford to put off matching him for a week.
I’ll deal with that later though. The other question is can I handle a practice date?
But since I earned an A-plus today for resistance, I’m sure I can resist him over practice dates, too, as I help him.
I stick out a hand. “You’re on.”
“It’s a date then,” he says as he shakes, the corner of his lips curving up in a grin.
“It’s a date,” I say, but my gaze drifts to our hands. He’s holding mine for a bit longer than you usually do. His hand is strong, and I like the feel of it. The way his fingers curl over mine.
But then he lets go, and he’s quiet, but it’s the kind of silence that says he’s amused, he’s having fun, since his eyes are sparkling. “But really, it’ll be a few dates.”
With an amused huff, I say, “Rowan, don’t push your luck.”
He gives that familiar cocky shrug, the one that sends a traitorous shiver down my spine. “It’s a few,” he repeats.
Shaking my head, I smother a smile. There’s no point arguing with him right now. Instead, I dip my hand into one of the many bags he’s carrying, fishing around for a box of chocolates with peppermint. I hand it to him.
“I got this for you. Well, I guess you got it for you,” I say.
He takes it, regarding it with…almost wonder, then he meets my eyes as he swallows. “Thank you. For the gift. I don’t care who bought it. It’s just…nice.”
And it sounds like that means the world to this world-class grump—the grump I’m suddenly practice-dating.