Chapter 34
EYE CANDY
ISLA
“Push harder,” I shout. “And faster.”
“Harder, faster. Got it. Should I go deeper too?” Eloise asks as she positions her forest green sled at the top of the hill.
I smirk. “Deeper is always a good idea.”
“Had a feeling, Miss Christmas. Also, don’t give our secrets to the enemy,” she says, wiggling her brows in the direction of Rowan’s team.
“I won’t,” I say, a little nervous, hoping that was the right response. But also—I’m still a little buzzed from that kiss he gave me. It was chaste, barely there, and yet I loved that he kissed me in public.
JD never did.
I didn’t realize how much I’d like not being a secret. Maybe I was made for fake-dating. That’s a brand-new thought, and there’s a lot to unpack in it. Best to save it for another time.
Eloise gives me a thumbs-up with her black mittens—the ones with white snowflakes on them—then flops down on the plastic disc, takes a steadying breath, and adopts a pure I’ve got this game face. When the mayor finally blows the whistle, Eloise is off and flying down the hill.
Aurora waits at the bottom in a green knit cap, blonde hair peeking out, bouncing on booted toes like a boxer, ready beside a bucket of candy canes.
Eloise soars down the sledding path, steering with focus and intensity, pointing her toes like she’s competing in the luge at the Olympics.
At the bottom, she pops up, and I’m already snagging a pink disc then launching myself down the hill to catch the tail end of the sledding-plus-fishing contest. They practiced yesterday for this relay event—each racer gets one sled run, then immediately joins their team at the candy cane fishing station to hook as many as they can with their candy cane poles.
The sledding is judged not only on speed but also on accuracy. You need to stick to your lane—if that doesn’t feel like a metaphor for life, I don’t know what does.
I reach the bottom, breathless, my heart beating fast. Popping up, I cheer them on as they hook candy canes together and dip them into the bucket, then fishes out others. It’s a numbers game, but Eloise and Aurora bring focus and determination.
Trouble is, they’re up against some folks who use their hands and eyes for a living.
Wesley’s on one of the teams, and he’s fast and steady a few stations down. But someone else is killing it too—Phillipa. She’s a waitress at the Candy Cane Diner. Makes sense. I’ve seen her balance five plates on her arms.
And Sabrina, her teammate, is excellent at it too. Pride blooms in my chest. She’s a former competitive figure skater with great hand-eye coordination and pristine focus. I love seeing my friends succeed.
Leighton’s here as well, taking pictures of the competition for the team’s socials, since she freelances for the Sea Dogs as a photographer.
During a lull in the action, she makes her way to me, her eyes straying to the place I stood at the start of the competition—right where Rowan kissed me.
“Okay, but when, exactly, were you going to tell us about that?” she asks, sliding up beside me, her gaze flicking toward Rowan.
Think fast. “About what?” I ask, forcing my voice to sound breezy, even though I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming. What the hell do I tell my friends? That it’s fake, or kind of real? That it’s not entirely pretend, but it is entirely temporary?
She stares at me, sharp and amused. “About you and the guy who gave you that church tongue you and Sabrina were talking about.”
“Oh. That,” I say, buying some time.
“Yes. That temporary lapse of reason,” she says, pointedly using my words from the day I told them about our mistletoe kiss. She sketches air quotes. “That thing that won’t happen again.”
A flush crawls up my neck. Leighton’s a good friend. But if Rowan’s not telling his teammates, am I supposed to tell my besties?
“He’s no longer a client,” I say quickly, because that’s important. “And it’s not a big deal.”
“Mm-hmm.”
I scramble for something else to say. Anything that isn’t I’m fake-dating my brother’s best friend and kind of falling for him.
“We’re just going to the gala together. That’s all.” It’s true enough, even though I hate lying to my friends.
“Right. Him giving you a kiss on the cheek looks like it’s just about the gala. More like he wants to unwrap you later.”
My cheeks burn. I raise a hand to my face, as if I can rub off the glow and the wish to be unwrapped. But I can’t. Might as well lean in. “Well, he gives good mistletoe kisses. And cheek kisses.”
“And other ones, too, I hope,” she says with a naughty glint in her eye.
So do I.
But I can’t entertain those thoughts. At least, not right now. I can take advantage of my fake girlfriend role. I no longer need to sneak glances at him. I can stare freely—and shamelessly—at Rowan.
I indulge.
It’s thirty-eight degrees, and the man is wearing a T-shirt. I can’t tell what’s on it, but I can definitely enjoy the view of those biceps. Especially since he’s giving good eye candy right now. He pumps a fist each time JJ or Oliver catches another candy cane.
“That’s how we do it,” he says encouragingly.
A soft smile tugs at my lips. I can definitely see him as a coach someday—strong, steady, and passionate in that quietly intense way. Down the road, he could lead a team of young players, shape a new generation.
And that…shouldn’t make my heart do what it just did. Speed up. Beat so fast I can hear it, faster than it did after I sledded down the mountain.
We said this fake-dating would end. That our secret sexy times would be no-strings.
So why does someday suddenly feel like something I want with him?
I tug off my red beanie, shake out my hair, and recalibrate to the here and now.
A little later, we’re waiting for the results at the bottom of the hill, when Mayor Bumblefritz brings the megaphone to her mouth and says, “And now, the winners of the combo sledding and candy cane fishing competition are…the Sugar Plum Ladies in third.”
We group-hug so hard.
“The Sleigh Beards in second place.”
Wesley smacks palms with his teammates.
“The Ice Queens in first!”
Sabrina, Phillipa, and Fable jump up and down in the snow.
Rowan’s team didn’t even place. My heart sinks a little.
I know he wanted to do well. I’m not even sure I can gloat.
That feels mean. Besides, it would be wrong to do that in front of Mia when the three of us get together later.
I don’t want to set a bad example for her.
Especially since I’m really looking forward to that outing.
Helping choose a tree for the two of them feels like a way to make up—maybe to the universe—for my failure as a matchmaker. I might not have been successful at finding Rowan the one, but at least the man is changing.
He’s softening on the holiday. More than a week ago, he told me he didn’t just dislike mistletoe because it’s toxic to pets. He disliked it because he hates Christmas.
Now, here in Evergreen Falls, he’s letting in some Christmas cheer—even if it’s only to make his daughter happy.
That feels like it could maybe, possibly, be down to me.
It’s a hopeful, dangerous thought. Because if I’m not careful, I’ll forget this is fake.