Chapter 43
I WISH HE’D SAID DATING
ISLA
In the morning, I pace through the Sugar Plum Bakery like a coach giving a pep talk. I am all focus. “This is our wheelhouse. This is our chance to shine, isn’t it, ladies?”
“Damn right it is,” Eloise says, her game face on, right along with her apron.
“If anyone beats me, I will retire,” Aurora declares theatrically.
I point at her. “Do not ever say such an awful thing. You will bake delicious goodies till the end of time.”
Aurora grins. “True. I may even serve cake in the afterlife.”
“And I will visit your eternal bakery. For now, in this life, we’re going to win,” I say, then gesture to the door. “Let’s go to the North Pole Nook and Tavern.”
We gather our ingredients for the competition today.
It’s one of the last ones—Cocoa and Cocktails.
The trick is to make the best hot cocoa and then a version of it spiked.
The judges taste test both versions to ensure the liquor isn’t masking the flavor.
It’s like the long and short program in ice skating. You need to nail both.
Since I’ve got a baker on my team, I’m betting on us. Plus, Mabel’s here in town as a sort of honorary coach. She’ll be helping out at our station as a volunteer, so if I need a piece of advice here or there, I can ask her.
Our team is in second place, but we’re inches away from the first team on the leaderboard—the Ice Queens. With a strong finish, we can take home the prize after the final competition, and give twenty thousand dollars to charity.
My jaw tightens as I think about how badly I want the victory—and I’m not even the one competing.
For the salted caramels.
For the charity.
But also…so I don’t walk away from Evergreen Falls with nothing to show for it.
After we pack up the ingredients, with Aurora handing the store reins on a busy day to her trusted employees, we head to the North Pole Nook.
I tighten my coat. It’s chillier than usual.
Along the way, the air bites my cheeks, but the cold isn’t the reason my chest is a metal ball of anxiety and want.
I hate failing. I’ve always expected the best from myself.
I excelled in school. I succeeded at work.
I built my podcast into one of the top dating podcasts around.
I used it as a launching pad for Cupid’s Confidante, which has been wildly successful.
Have I matched everyone? No. But my record is in the top tier of matchmakers—in just one year.
Then, I worked with Rowan.
And I didn’t finish the job.
My stomach plummets.
On top of that, I’m going to leave this town with a breakup on my track record.
My own. Fine, we’ll say we’re better off as friends, but anyone who saw us kissing each other’s faces off yesterday would know there’s nothing just friendly about the two of us.
They’ll know our romance fizzled. And I’ll look like I don’t know what I’m doing in the dating department.
Ugh. Why didn’t I think on that more deeply before I said yes to his wild fake-dating scheme?
Because you wanted him too much to weigh up the consequences.
And I still do. Especially after the way he surprised me last night.
With those dark thoughts nagging at me, we head inside, where other teams are setting up at tables in the tavern. Best to put aside all this…anxiety. It won’t help me.
Time to dominate.
At our table, I reach into my canvas bag and hand out aprons to my teammates. I just had them made in town this week. They say Sugar Plum Ladies and have nutcracker designs on the front.
“You did not,” Eloise says, her jaw agape.
“I so did,” I say.
Aurora clutches hers to her chest. “Aprons are like diamonds. You can never have too many.”
Rowan swings by, eyeing the new gear. “You made team aprons?”
“Of course,” I say, squaring my shoulders as we take a few steps away from my teammates into a quiet corner of my station.
He gives me a knowing look. “Let’s see. I’m going to need to add to my five things list. I got three new things yesterday alone.
You hang your scarves, you have candy cane undies, you like being tied up.
Which leads me to this—I bet you also have an apron for every season.
A Christmas apron, a Valentine’s Day apron, a Halloween apron…
” His smile is so pleased as he waits for my confirmation.
“Of course I do,” I say, bubbly inside from the way he’s nailed everything. From how he pays attention. From the way he remembers and cares.
“And panties, right? Bet you’ve got white hearts on pink panties, witches on orange ones, and probably even a clover on some green panties for Saint Patrick’s Day.”
He’s scarily, very nearly right. “Close, but I don’t like Kelly green.”
“Then we should get you some mint green lucky panties.”
He’s saying we, and he’s talking about future holidays. I grip the table to hold on, since my knees go deliciously weak.
His smile grows bigger as he leans across our station, his face inches from mine, then whispers, “Sometime, I’d love to see you in an apron and nothing else.”
I tremble, but inside I think—when is that sometime? Tonight? Tomorrow? Because it won’t happen in the new year.
“Stop trying to sabotage me,” I say playfully, trying to wrest control of this moment.
“How am I sabotaging you?”
“By being all bet your panties are magically delicious,” I say, adopting an Irish accent, and, I hope, buzz-killing all this sexy tension.
He cracks up, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you just went Lucky Charms on me.” His laughter vanishes though. “But c’mon. I’d never try to sabotage you with a little distraction.”
Then, he does just that, reaching for my face, and planting a slow, sweet kiss on my lips in front of the whole damn competition.
It’s everything I never had with my ex.
And everything I’m learning I want.
I stand at attention behind Eloise and Aurora, with Mabel by my side as the judges make their way down each table, led by Mayor Bumblefritz.
Mabel reaches for my hand, squeezes it. “You’ve got this,” she says.
“Well, I hardly did anything. Aurora and Eloise did the hard work.”
“You picked the ingredients,” she points out. “You used your matchmaker skills.”
“True,” I admit. I suggested a bourbon and cocoa concoction with a dark chocolate base. The splash of bourbon should pair with it to create a slightly smoky taste and balance the sweetness. But when the cocoa rides solo, it won’t be too sweet, thanks to the dark chocolate.
The mayor picks up a cup of cocoa the Sleigh Beards made, then takes a sip.
“Hey, do you think she’ll be tipsy or buzzed by the time she arrives here?” Mabel asks.
“Neither,” I say, nodding as the mayor spits out the chocolate in a spit bucket that matches her megaphone.
“Dammit,” Mabel mutters.
“You wanted her wasted?”
“I feel like it can’t hurt. Hey, I want your team to win.”
“Between you and Rowan, I don’t know who’s playing more unfairly.”
“Speaking of,” she whispers, then tugs me close. “How’s it going?”
My stomach executes a series of loop-de-loops. “Too good,” I say with a wince, like I ate something sour. I whisper, “He came over last night with a surprise.”
“Was it his dick in a box?”
“Shut up,” I whisper, but I’m laughing. When I get a handle on it, I tug her away from the table, and tell her more, not only about the candy cane surprise he made on me, but the kiss on the street, the shopping for Mia, and the way Rowan seems…
to have changed. “He’s still Rowan, of course.
But he seems more open, and less…ornery. ”
“Like he’s letting down his man-against-the-world facade?”
That’s it exactly. “Yes. I think his walls were all self-protection. And I understand why he’s had them,” I say, though I don’t share more details. They aren’t mine to share.
“And is that making you wonder if…?”
My heart catches. She doesn’t have to finish the sentence. “Yes.”
It’s embarrassing to admit, but hopefulness has a hold on me.
Mabel squeezes my arm. “Are you going to talk to him about it?”
I roll my lips together, considering. “Maybe I will. I’m looking for the right moment. I’ve been planning a special date for tomorrow,” I tell her. “We had a bet the other night, and I won. So I get to plan a date.”
Mabel shoots me a does not compute look. “What kind of betting do you do exactly? I hate planning anything but recipes.”
I smile, a little secretive. “All kinds of betting.”
“Dirty betting?” she asks in a whisper.
I just give a coy shrug.
“Will you talk to him then?”
“That’s a good question. I’ll try to…feel him out later. He invited me over to his cabin for dinner. With his daughter and his parents. So don’t get any funny ideas.”
“There’s nothing funny about a man who cooks. That’s only sexy.”
An image of Rowan making me an omelet flashes before me. “Yeah, it was sexy watching him work a spatula.”
She purrs, then adds, “Keep him. Just keep him.”
That’s the thing. I want to.
Right now though, I want to win. When the mayor reaches us, she arches a brow. “Ready to impress me, ladies? Other than with those aprons?”
I preen, plucking at the bib to show it off. “Are you even a team if you don’t have matching aprons?”
“Are you even a coach if you don’t design them and find a place in record time to order them at?”
I jerk my gaze back slightly, feeling…seen. “How did you know?”
Her eyes flicker with satisfaction. “I hear things, Isla. Word got out,” she says. “Clever.”
I feel like a kid in school being praised for doing extra credit. I straighten my spine. But before I say a word, I remind myself that my work as a team coach is to help the team members shine. It’s similar to being a matchmaker. I bring people together, help them along, then let them soar.
“Here you go. Hope you love it,” Eloise says, handing her a cup.
I keep a straight face as the mayor takes a sip of the one with the bourbon. She lifts an eyebrow approvingly, stares off in the distance for a beat, then…lowers her spit bucket.
She doesn’t spit in it.
Yes! I had a feeling.