Chapter 41
MY CALENDAR ISN’T AS FESTIVE AS ME
ROWAN
Mendacious.
It’s December twenty-first, and that’s the word of the day on my app? It means false, fabricated, fake.
Maybe the app is seeing into my soul, demanding I do a little searching on whether my feelings are fake at all.
Those thoughts run through my head as I slip away from Isla’s love shack in the morning, after giving her a soft kiss on her forehead while she’s still asleep, then sending her a note that I needed to take off.
On the way to my car, I’m shaking my head as I check the app. Four days before Christmas and the word of the day ought to be something like…jocund. Mirthful. Vivacious. Some synonym for joyful.
As I reach for the door handle of my car, I freeze. Stare into my reflection in the glass on a chilly December morning.
Who the hell even am I?
I can’t believe I’m wishing an app would be more festive. I shake my head then yank open the door.
Must be this town. Must be overexposure to Christmas. The lights, the decor, the incessant music. That has to be it.
Or, as I slide behind the wheel, I turn over another possibility.
Maybe, just maybe, it’s the woman.
That thought chases me as I drive to my parents’ place.
Maybe it’s Isla’s love of the holiday that’s rubbing off on me?
Or maybe it’s that your heart is growing bigger.
That can’t be possible. Can it? Nah. My heart size is just fine. That organ has enough room for my family and my daughter and my teammates and my dog.
I arrive at the cabin my parents are renting on Wilder Blaine’s property—though they’re more like chalets the billionaire owns—and do my best to put these foreign thoughts far, far away.
I clear the steps two at a time, then rap on the door lightly a few minutes before Mia should be waking up. The sun has barely peeped its head above the horizon. But my mom is an early riser.
As I wait for her to answer the door, a kernel of guilt slithers through me. I’ve spent a couple of nights this week away from my kid and in Isla’s bed. But then, Mia loves my parents fiercely. And they love her just as much. It’s good that they’re helping me raise her. Takes a village and all.
Mom tugs open the door, arching an eyebrow. Wanda sure looks to be too, yapping at me demandingly, as if to say, “Where the hell have you been?”
Yeah, Mom’s been taking care of my dog as well. And she’s also been dressing her. Which means Wanda’s wearing a Metallica jacket.
But the trouble is Mom is wearing a cat-who-ate-the-canary look. She parks a hand on one hip, tapping her foot. “Well, isn’t this just like in high school when you liked a girl. Staying out all night and showing up first thing in the morning like I wouldn’t notice.”
I scoff as I toe off my boots in the foyer. “I didn’t do that,” I say, denying it.
I so did that.
She rolls her eyes. I swear Wanda rolls hers too. “You definitely did that when you liked a girl,” Mom says, then swats me with a kitchen towel.
As she shuts the door, her words echo in my mind. When you liked a girl.
Of course I like Isla. I know that. I’ve known that for over a year.
It’s more than that, dumbass.
Ignoring the annoying voice in my head, I join Mom in the kitchen as she waggles a carton of eggs. “Want a mushroom omelet?”
I smile. A little stupidly. “I made Isla one the other day. She loved it. Thanks for teaching me to cook.”
Mom sets down the carton with a smirk. “You really like her, Rowan Bishop.”
Our romance is fabricated, I want to say. It’s false. It’s pretend. It’s fake. But those words don’t come out of my mouth.
Instead, a pretty soprano voice carries down the hall. “He likes her so much, Grams.”
I fight off another smile. But it’s a struggle because my kid is right. When she hops on a stool next to me, I give her a hug.
“So, so, so, so much,” Mia adds, looking like a satisfied cat.
Mom stares at me with a look that says I was right. She is, but she’s also not.
Because I’m wondering what the word is for more than like.
At breakfast, Mom asks about my plans for the day. “You have a game early this evening. And morning skate, I presume.”
“Plus, the women’s hockey team plays after us. And I have plans to take Mia and all of you.”
“Can’t wait,” Mom says, then asks, “What are you doing in the afternoon?”
“We all know you’re too tough to nap,” Dad says as he pours another cup of coffee, the ink on his arms on full display. My birthdate and my sister’s are among his tattoos.
“I outgrew naps a long time ago, Dad.”
“Don’t remind me,” Mom groans.
“I did too,” Mia chimes in, popping a rosemary potato into her mouth. My parents can cook. “I’m pretty tough. I’m going to stay up all night on Christmas Eve and wait for Santa.”
Mom blinks, confused. Mia debunked Santa two years ago. “You…are?”
“Course I am,” Mia says, completely serious. “I talked to Luna and Parker about the science of Santa, and it just doesn’t make sense.”
“Really? Why’s that?” Mom asks.
Mia gives her a serious look. “Just think about it. Carrots and cookies aren’t good enough sources of fuel.”
This kid. Someday she’s going to prank like a pro hockey player. “Fair point,” I say.
Mom furrows her brow, parts her lips, then says, “You’re pulling my leg, Mia Bishop.”
Mia grins impishly. “Grams, I know all of you are Santa. But I still really like gifts. I wonder what Santa will bring me this year.”
That’s a very good question. I’ve already bought her tickets to see the Ice Spectacle in early January—Tyler recommended the ice show since they’re coming to San Francisco then. I’ve picked up other presents too.
But thinking back to the night we decorated the tree gives me another idea. It may be presumptuous, but after breakfast, I text Isla and ask if she wants to go Christmas shopping later today.
For Mia.
It feels entirely different than asking her on a date. More personal. More vulnerable.
And more right.
Isla swings open the door to the Love Shack before I even knock, her expression a mix of glee and triumph. She looks like the world’s sexiest elf wearing a red coat, a white scarf, a bright smile, and a bag that says Merry on her shoulder.
“I’ve been ready for this moment since the season started. I started a list the day Mia helped me with my tree.”
This is so Isla.
“Of course you did,” I say. “You want the world to make sense, so you try to make sense of it with your notebooks.”
“You were right,” she says with a proud little lift of her chin as she walks down the steps. She dips a hand into her canvas bag and whips out a notebook. It has illustrations of wrapped presents on it. “This is my gift notebook. This is where I keep all my gift lists.”
“Including one for Mia?”
“This surprises you?”
“Nope,” I say, though it does delight me. I don’t say that though. I’m not sure I’ve ever said the word delight out loud. It also…touches some spot in my heart that feels tender, and a little bruised. Isla made a list. For my kid.
I feel like I’m dreaming. But then, she’s kind of a dream girl.
Where did that thought come from? I don’t have dream girls.
Another voice answers—maybe from the crush you’ve had on her for the last year and a half.
“All right, let’s see this list,” I say, shaking off the mushy thoughts and sensations as best I can.
She snaps open the notebook and sticks out her tongue like she’s deep in thought as she looks for the sticky tab with Mia’s name on it. Because of course she has small Post-it notes for everyone. “Ha! Here it is,” she says, and turns it toward me.
As we walk to Main Street, I hold it and read. “Something clever, something with wit and nostalgia, something that isn’t too practical…”
My heart thumps harder. It looks like she’s added to it whenever she’s spent time with Mia.
A new pair of headphones to listen to audiobooks?
How about a set of the Cat Detective books? Has she read those?
A book of puzzles?
What about gel pens? Perhaps she makes lists too?
A bracelet-making kit for her and her friends?
Some books about the ocean and marine life for her kid-grandparent cruise?
Games for the cruise?
A build-your-own snow globe kit?
A jigsaw puzzle of Mia and Wanda?
I stop in my tracks, my chest tightening. “This isn’t just a list. This is…” The words catch in my throat. My throat feels gravelly and tight. “This is like a story of how you got to know her.”
Isla smiles brightly, all sunshine and cheer, like she was the night she swept into my world after my teammates bid on her services. “Well, I like to give gifts that matter. That say I listened and paid attention. You’re the same.”
“I am?”
She shoots me a look that says you know you are. “The train? The sleigh? The coffee mug with Christmas lights? The band playing my favorite songs? We’re birds of a feather.”
“If that’s the case, I’m a very manly bird,” I reply.
“Of course you are.”
“And that species of bird isn’t easy to know either.” I repeat her words from the other night as we turn onto Main Street.
“That’s not fair. In this case, I am easy to know. You know I like giving gifts. I was prepared and excited. I’ve been waiting my whole life for this moment.”
For a weird second, I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life for this too.
Right in the middle of the street outside A Likely Story, I stop in my tracks, tug on the lapel of her coat, and hold her face. “Give me a kiss right now, Christmas girlfriend.”
Subtly, she offers me her mouth, and I take and I take and I take—kissing her in the middle of the day, in the middle of downtown, for everyone to see.
Because even if this is temporary, I want her to know how it feels to not have to hide.
To show the world how you feel about somebody.
I feel so damn much for her I barely know what to do with the pressure in my chest when I’m near her.
With the thud of my heart. With the peace and the calm I feel when we’re together.
I kiss her for longer than I’d planned. Drinking her in. Savoring her. Sweeping my lips across hers.
Until I finally break it. And right when I do—there’s cheering.
I turn around and—holy shit. I scan up and down the street. It’s like the whole town is here.
Mayor Bumblefritz is at the end of the block, megaphone to her mouth, saying, “People of Evergreen Falls, it looks like we’ve got the first romance to come out of the competition! Our two coaches—let’s give it up for Isla Marlowe and Rowan Bishop!”
Phones flash. Eloise grins from a few feet away, snapping photos. JJ whistles. Oliver and Aurora are filming. Someone yells, “Finally!”
“You two had ‘holiday romance’ written all over you,” JJ says. “Oliver and I were betting on how long it would take.”
Oliver grins. “Not long at all.” He doesn’t sound mad. He turns to Aurora, “Right, love?”
She gives him a quick kiss. “Sometimes you just need a little nudge.”
“The competition must have been your nudge,” Phillipa puts in, “since you two were lovebirds the night you came to the diner.”
Right. She served us that night. We danced then, too, as The Mistle Bros played. My god, she’s right. I’m not even sure what to say, and I have media training. I speak to the press after games. But nothing’s prepared me for being the center of attention like this.
But Isla is a problem solver. She squeezes my arm, reassuring me, and says, “It’s the magic of this town.”
I’m grateful she said something. I don’t want to look like a deer in headlights.
People snap more photos.
“It’s to promote the competition,” Eloise says, lowering her phone. “We’ll put it on the town’s socials. A little romance always helps sell it.”
“A little romance makes everything better,” Aurora adds.
Isla laughs, bright and sunny, but I hear it—a bit of performance in her voice, along with a tightness in her grip on my hand.
“I knew it!” the woman from Rudy’s calls. “Had my money on them since day one. Pay up,” she says to the guy who runs the North Pole Nook and Tavern.
He forks over a bill.
“Two weeks till an engagement,” someone else adds.
That one hits like a slap.
Isla’s still smiling, but it’s more practiced now. Polished. Carefully in place.
Because how the hell do we break it to these people later that we were pretending? That the story they’re now investing in wasn’t even supposed to happen?
The magic of their town didn’t create this. A prank on my teammates did.
I stay quiet. I don’t want to say the wrong thing.
“I guess we’re not just fake-dating for my teammates anymore,” I mutter once the crowds thin and they return to their days.
Isla adjusts her scarf, her smile vanishing. “Nope. We’re fake-dating for the whole town.”
I shoot her a look. “You okay with that?”
She hesitates. “Of course,” she says after a beat. “I just didn’t expect to disappoint so many people when it’s over.”
The words are like a blow to the chest. Because she’s right.
The worst part is I don’t want it to be over.
But it will be in three more days. And the photographic evidence of the best dates I’ve ever had will live forever online.
It’s a sobering thought. The evidence of this fake romance will linger, even when we break up, claiming we’re better off as friends.
From the pictures being snapped now to the one from the sleigh ride that Everly posted on the team’s socials.
They tell a real story of a fake romance.
I almost wish we’d never agreed to that sleigh ride pic, because I’m pretty sure I’ll be looking at it after Christmas.
My stomach twists, but I’ve got to focus on the here and now. Not the end. As we walk down the street, I take her hand. “Can I tell you something?”
She glances up. “Of course.”
I swallow roughly, past the knot in my throat. “Right now, while we’re doing it, this doesn’t feel fake.”
She squeezes my hand. “No. It really doesn’t,” she says, but her tone doesn’t match her touch. “That’s the problem.”
Her words hit like a jolt. “Why?” I ask.
She gives me a bittersweet look. “Because it feels good. And it’s going to end.”
And when it ends, we won’t just be playing a fast one on my team anymore, all in the name of me behaving at a gala. We’ll be disappointing an entire town rooting for us.
Regret chases me, and I try to shrug it off, but it clings like cold air.
When we reach the toy store, I try on a joke for size. “Before we know it, we’ll be part of Evergreen Falls’ official marketing campaign.”
Isla doesn’t quite laugh.
She doesn’t like failing. Neither do I. And pretty soon, we’re going to have to admit we failed.
But not yet. Not today.
This afternoon, we shop for my kid. And it’s a damn good thing I have a game tonight, and plans to watch a game too—because otherwise, I could do this all day with her.
Well, maybe minus the crowds snapping our picture and asking about our future.
That part I could do without.
I have enough questions on my own.