Chapter 47
MAKE IT REAL
ISLA
The thing about outdoor sex is it makes you really cold.
Fireplaces though? They warm you up. And so does this man, who spreads me out on the couch a little later.
Then, with the electric fire flickering, holiday music playing, and the dog snoozing, Rowan settles between my thighs. “It feels real, Isla.”
I gasp. Then I roll my lips together so I don’t blurt out all my feelings right now. But I manage to say, “For me too.”
He shudders, then presses into me. He finds an easy rhythm, one that’s teasing, lingering. There’s no rush. We aren’t racing against the clock on the train. Or testing the limits inside a barn on a sleigh.
There’s nowhere to go. No one but us. We have time.
And as he swivels his hips, something seems to catch his attention just beyond me. He must have looked out the window, since he says, “It’s snowing again.”
That feels perfect too. A slow and lazy evening by the fire, the tree twinkling in the corner as snow falls, and Rowan takes me apart like we have all night together.
And maybe—just maybe—another day, and another, and another.
When we finish, both of us coming together, we straighten up and put on jammies—I borrow one of his warm flannel shirts that comes to my thighs—and curl up by the fire. A blanket is wrapped around our shoulders. A small dog is by our side. The world is quiet and still beyond us.
It’s as if there’s nothing else in the world. And maybe it’s the snow that makes me bold. But mostly, I think it’s the way he’s shown me he cares. I don’t feel like a dirty secret. I feel special, precious. Like I matter.
And sometimes, you just stop waiting.
You do.
I draw a fortifying breath. Rowan has told me time and time again he doesn’t want romance.
He hasn’t wavered from that. I understand why, too—the scars do run deep.
And we made a deal to end our arrangement after the gala in two more nights.
This is a huge risk. It feels like jumping off a cliff.
And still, I jump. “Rowan, would you want to go…” I pause, because these words are the full truth.
Nothing fake, nothing false here. “On a date, back in San Francisco?”
He’s still for a second. Then for several that feel like forever. He swallows. His brow knits.
Did I misread everything?
But I’m not backing down. I know what I feel, and it’s not fake. I want more.
Though I’m willing to start small. So I add, “Just a date. To see.”
He blinks, lifts a hand to my face, then says, “I was…going to ask you if I could take you to that vegan sushi place?”
My heart dashes through the snow. Even though I asked him first, I still say “yes” like he’s the one who asked me and made my Christmas wish come true.
It’s just one date. But maybe it’s the start of something real.