Chapter 27 Snow Couture
SNOW COUTURE
ISLA
Before the sun even rises, I wake with an iron focus. I need to work. To review bios from prospective clients. To plan dates in the new year. To work on my marketing material. So much to do, do, do.
I whip off the covers, ready to be the busiest bee before the competition starts later this morning. After grabbing my phone, I swipe it on so I can turn off the alarm before it blares.
Ha, I beat my alarm. I am Miss Determination.
I’m determined to make sure last night’s orgasm interruptus does not play on repeat in my mind all day long.
With the alarm silenced, I’m about to head into the bathroom to brush my teeth when I spot a text bubble from Rowan.
Rowan: It’s one in the morning. I can’t sleep.
I’m replaying everything about this evening.
Every single second, Isla. Every word, every sigh, every touch.
And just to be clear—I’m done with other people.
I won’t date anyone else when I want you this badly.
If I even went on a platonic date with some other woman, the only thing going through my head would be the sounds you might make in bed.
Tonight, I got a taste of those sounds. I want the full meal.
I press a hand against the wall so I don’t sway from the lust raging in my body. Yes, that was clear, Rowan. That was temptingly, dangerously clear.
A few hours later, I’m still doing my best to keep last night’s appetizer out of my head. In the town square, the snow from a few days ago—topped off by a light dusting overnight—sparkles in the mid-morning sun.
I glance to my right. Eloise is locked in on Mayor Bumblefritz, who stands tall at the gazebo steps in the town square, a red-and-white megaphone in hand.
It’s the one her husband’s used in past years.
I wonder if he gave her this one—“She’s the Boss” is written on the side, with a heart beside it. Nick sits dutifully at her feet.
“Does anyone know the golden rule of fashion?” the mayor asks, her voice booming through the megaphone.
I bounce on my boots and scan the crowd. Josie’s watching the event, with her dog Pancake at her feet. Fable’s here with her team. Wilder too. Rowan, Oliver, and JJ are off in one corner. Rowan’s arms are crossed—of course—but he’s holding Wanda in his jacket, and my heart tugs at the sight.
But my lady parts do a jig as other images flash by: the hot kiss, the incendiary grind, the sexy lift against the wall. And the dirty words: I could make you come outside.
Do I have outdoor sex fantasies? I steal another glance at him, and a zing rushes through me. What if he pinned me down in the snow?
And that answers that. I, Isla Marlowe, San Francisco’s top matchmaker, am daydreaming about snow sex.
I snap my gaze back to the mayor and laser in on the contest. The mayor waits for someone to answer her question. Twelve teams in all. Surely someone else knows the golden rule of fashion. But no one moves.
I lift my hand, then shout, “Accessorize!”
“That’s right,” the mayor says into the megaphone. “In this year’s snowman competition, we’re going to have a fashion show. You’ll want to grab scarves, mittens, earrings, buttons, ties, carrot noses—whatever you might find. And turn your snowman or woman—”
Nick barks.
“Or dog,” Josie pops in, speaking for the canine.
“Snow dogs are welcome, too, for turning into fashionistas, but they must be accessorized.” The mayor makes a show of looking at her watch. “You’ve got two hours to track down your best accessories and then one hour to build one. Go!”
I grab my teammates and usher them to a corner of the park, gathering them close. “All right, Sugar Plum Ladies. Accessories are my life. I have literally five matching scarves.”
Eloise arches a curious brow. “With you?”
“No, at my parents’ house.”
Aurora snort-laughs. “You’re from the city. You brought five matching scarves on vacation?”
“Obviously,” I answer, completely serious.
“That’s why you’re the leader,” Eloise says.
“Do we use the scarves? I have lots of aprons too, but they’re more ironic and I don’t want the judges to mistake them for domesticity,” I say, inviting their input.
Aurora scrunches her cute, upturned nose. “Mon chéri, I am a baker. I have countless aprons to contribute. But not everyone understands nuance. I say let’s do the scarves.”
Eloise arches a brow. “But we can’t use them as scarves. Let’s turn them into something else. Then we’ll get bonus points for creativity. And I have an idea.”
Eloise brings us closer and whispers her fashion plan. It’s not just fashion. It’s runway genius.
“Your brain is beautiful,” I say, loving my team, and needing them today, so much, to distract me from the line I crossed last night. I can’t cross it again. Really, I can’t. We leave, and I fight the urge to look at Rowan once more.
But…maybe one glance won’t hurt.
He’s setting up camp with his two team members on the other side of the square, his back to me, so I don’t get another glimpse of his captivating eyes—just the broad line of his shoulders, and the jeans that curve over his ass in—
Oh my god, Isla, stop!
Two hours later, Aurora’s tying the red scarf around the snowwoman’s waist, and Eloise is lining up the pink one, with barrettes at the ready. They fasten the scarves together with the hair clips.
“Yes!” I say, urging them on as footsteps grow louder behind me.
Is it Rowan, coming to gloat? I secretly hope so, even though I shouldn’t want that.
I whirl around to find Josie.
“Hey, friend,” she says, then tips her chin to the snowwoman my teammates built. “Nice ball gown.”
“Yes! That’s the look we’re going for!”
“I can tell,” she says, watching Eloise and Aurora wrap the scarves so they look like a tiered gown.
“Snow couture,” Josie says, watching with something like pride but also mischief in her eyes, from behind her cherry red glasses.
“Cute glasses,” I say.
“Thanks. They’re new.”
Eloise and Aurora move onto the corset, crossing scarves over the chest, then add macarons for a necklace. I focus on the scarves. The corset. The macarons. Not stealing glances at the man who nearly made me come through my clothes last night.
I stare even harder at my team, like I can laser all my attention on our fabulously fashionable snow-woman.
“Talk about accessories,” Josie admires.
Aurora whips out the pièce de résistance—a tube of red frosting from her bakery. “Voila,” she says, holding it up triumphantly.
“Brilliant,” Eloise declares as the two women clutch it together and paint on a bright red snow mouth.
Subtly, as the ladies work, I shift my gaze to Rowan. When I find him, our eyes lock for a hot second from across the square.
Heat roars through me as he stares my way—like last night is all he can think about too. With a subtle chin nod, he turns to his team, and I follow his gaze, then groan.
Are you kidding me?
He’s making a dog.
It’s wearing Wanda’s clothes.
Not fair.
Mia’s next to him, cheering him on like Josie’s cheering us on.
Mia points and whispers while Rowan gives directions to Oliver and JJ.
It’s Rowan the coach. My chest warms, then melts a little more when he wraps an arm around his daughter’s shoulders.
Did I just go from hot for him to sweet for him and his daughter? Yes. Yes, I did.
“Earth to Isla.”
I jerk my gaze back to Josie. “What is it?”
She bumps her shoulder to mine. “So, you and…”
“No,” I say quickly, too quickly, then I tug her away from the action. “It’s not anything. It can’t be.”
“But you want it to be?”
My stomach twists—it’s an uncomfortable but hopeful feeling too. “It’s just…not a good idea.”
“Nor is offering you my eyeglasses for the snowwoman, but I have a backup pair so I’m going to do it anyway.”
“I’ll take them,” I say.
She removes them, swapping on her backups as she whispers, “Sometimes bad ideas are the best ideas.”
Is Rowan a bad idea? Yes, he probably is.
He’s still a client. Our next practice date is supposed to be tomorrow night.
He said he doesn’t want me to match him anymore.
I haven’t totally failed at Cupid’s Confidante, since I’m still coaching him.
I can still do that. Dating lessons and matchmaking are separate things.
And there’s Mia, another thing I can’t stop thinking about.
Her bright eyes and eager smile. The way she claps and cheers as the guys finish up.
Then, how she bounces with nervous and excited energy as the judges take their time checking out each snow creation.
I watch the judges patiently, then wait as they give their decisions to Mayor Bumblefritz.
She heads up the steps, grabs her megaphone, and says, “And the top three contenders are…” She makes a drumroll sound. “The Ice Queens.”
That’s Phillipa and Sabrina’s team, and they made a snowwoman with a tiara and ice skates, among other items. I cheer for them.
“And in second place…the Sugar Plum Ladies.”
That’s us. “Yay,” I say, then gather Eloise and Aurora into a group hug.
“And the winner of this Snowman Fashion Show is…The Grinches.”
Who would name themselves that?
The answer is Rowan, who is fist-bumping with Oliver and JJ. A laugh bursts from me. Of course he did. And of course they won—you can’t beat a dog.
When Rowan scoops up Mia into a victorious hug, I’m not so sure he’s a grinch all the time. I am sure, though, that I like this side of him. The man he is with his daughter. But I liked the man he was last night too. Attentive, a good listener, passionate.
And consumed by me.
My stomach executes a loop-de-loop.
“Let’s give a big cheer for The Grinches,” the mayor booms, and I focus on the present, clapping for the winner.
As the town’s photographer snaps pics of the snow dog, then of each team, I can’t help but notice Aurora’s gaze sailing away to the other side of the town square.
To Rowan’s team.
But she’s not looking at him. She’s checking out the guy Rowan was peacocking in front of yesterday.
That night, I’m in the front row, center ice, rooting on the Sea Dogs with my parents, my brother, and his family, all while trying to figure out how to work my matchmaking magic.
I’ve been mulling over the Oliver–Aurora situation all night as the Sea Dogs thrash the New York team.
It’s glorious—they’re up by four in the last period.
The game’s been fast, loud, and rough—my favorite kind of hockey as the teams battle for the puck.
Out of nowhere, Rowan slams a New York defender into the boards.
The guy shoves back, hard, sending Rowan into the wall with a deafening crack.
My heart stalls when Rowan doesn’t move for a few seconds.
Panic races through me until Rowan shrugs his shoulders.
I breathe again, my heart starting up at a rabbit pace as Rowan shoots the guy a careless stare—his jersey tells me his last name is Karlsson, and I’m pretty sure I’ve heard my brother say he’s the biggest asshole in the league.
I’ve heard the same from my friends—this guy is a notorious misogynist who insults women.
Rowan attacks the puck, stripping it from the NY forward and flicking it to Wesley, who sends it sailing right into the net.
Boom! I’m up on my feet and cheering. Bubbles rush through my blood. My throat is raw from my cheers. I’m buoyant as I shout, “Take that, New York!”
The scoreboard shows another goal for the Sea Dogs—and an assist for Rowan.
A burst of pride floods me. He earned a point. After he claps Wesley on the back, he shifts his gaze to…center ice.
My heart stutters. Is he…looking for me? Is that a cocky grin on his handsome face? A knowing glint in his eyes as he holds my gaze? The crowd roars around me. I clutch the railing, high on adrenaline and some kind of dangerous hope.
Even though last night shouldn’t happen again. He might not want me to set him up right now, and I respect that—but I can’t date a client. I can’t just…give in.
But I’m still aching for him. And he looks at me like he knows it.
He skates off to the bench. As he hops over the boards, something about the clarity of that last play sticks with me through the rest of the game. There was no overthinking. Just action—decisive action.
As the team skates off with a win, Rowan tosses me a casual glance—and possibly a knowing grin that makes my pulse skip. I pop up. I saw Oliver here earlier, so I head up the steps, catching him as he’s gathering his coat. “Do you have a sec?”
“Sure. Just meeting Mum up there in a minute. She’s handing in her wineglass,” he says, nodding to the restaurants in the concourse.
Of course this new state-of-the-art, bougie arena serves wine. “I’ll be fast. Did you know our moms wanted to set us up?”
He chuckles. “Sounds vaguely familiar.”
“But here’s the thing—they should leave the matchmaking to me. Because I’d like to set you up with Aurora.”
He blinks a few times, like this is a shock to him. “But she’s a friend,” he says, but I don’t hear protest. I hear intrigue.
Sometimes, all you need is a little push. That’s my job. “Have you ever thought of her that way? Romantically?”
“I don’t know that I have,” he says, but he doesn’t sound uninterested.
I keep pushing the door open. “And now that you are thinking about it, what does your gut say? About going on a date with her?”
He swallows, purses his lips, then looks at me with curiosity in his eyes. “Do you think she’d be keen on it?”
My heart swells. He sounds so eager, so earnest. “I do. Can I set you up with her? No charge for my services of course.”
“I’d love that,” he says.
I’ve solved that conundrum.
If only I could solve my own so easily.
In the morning, I wake up to a note from a client.
Renee’s a former corporate lawyer from San Francisco turned nonprofit attorney for an environmental advocacy group.
She’s successful and confident, loves sports and animals, and is visiting her sister in Evergreen Falls for the holidays.
I’d been planning to set her up with Rowan.
But I had to cancel on her since Rowan has principles.
Dammit. Why do principles have to be so sexy?
As sexy as the other night on my parents’ porch.
Renee: Hi, Isla. No worries about the change in plans. Honestly, I’m not sure I want to date an athlete! I think I’m better off with someone a little more human.
I laugh, then write back, suggesting Sandeep. We text more and I set that up for next week. When I’m done, I’ve moved a few other couples along, clients, and friends. The issue is still—me.
I need to figure myself out soon since Rowan and I have another practice date tonight. It’s just a dating lesson. A chance to learn, to refine, to figure out the Wild West of dating.
And it really can’t end the way the last one did.
Or…can it?