Chapter 23 I Just Rhymed Partridge
I JUST RHYMED PARTRIDGE
ROWAN
Proof that self-improvement for men doesn’t end at toilet training? That. Right there. What I just pulled off—transforming myself into a sexy St. Nick.
Hell, what I’m still pulling off as I sit parked here at this table in a bakery that’s piping out “Jingle Bell Rock” on its sound system. A song that’s been known to cause a slow death in grinches like me.
But nope. I am a changed man. With Mia off with Natalie, Jason, and their kids, and me here with Isla, I’m the new and improved Rowan, and I’m learning.
I might only have a few dating lessons slated with my matchmaker, but I am going to make the most of them.
That means giving the woman what she wants—Christmas, Christmas, and more fucking Christmas.
And fine—if in the process I happen to keep her away from that too-charming, too-handsome, too-smart British dude, then I will win the game.
Like I do on the ice, I defended the fuck out of my position, using everything I’ve got—Christmas sweater, Christmas mug, and Christmas competition intel.
Take that, Ollie.
As Isla finishes her coffee, I stand. “Let me rinse that off so you can take it home,” I say.
“Thank you,” she says. I stride to the restroom—then it hits me.
Shit. I left the goal unattended.
A hockey player should never do that. But I’ll look rude if I ask Aurora to wash the mug I bought for Isla, so I’ll make it fast. In the restroom, I rinse the mug, then dry it with some compostable paper towel and head back out.
But as I return to the table, it’s like something’s crawling up the back of my neck. The hair on my arms stands on end.
Are you kidding me?
Oliver’s standing there.
At the table.
Talking to her.
Laughing with her.
I loathe him.
When I reach the table, he’s rapping his knuckles on the white wood and saying to Isla: “Here’s your tip—this year, bet against ‘Joy to the World.’ It won two years ago and the same song just can’t win that close together.
” He gives me a friendly nod as I’m walking over, like he wasn’t just horning in on my woman, then finishes, “No song’s ever won the caroling competition twice in the span of five years.
” He pauses, seems to give that some thought.
“Actually, now that I think about it, the guy who won that year was disqualified. Which would mean the song that wound up winning was—”
“‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree,’” they say in unison.
What. The fuck. They’re finishing each other’s sentences? And they speak in Christmas carol, no less? This man is a fierce competitor.
“How’s it going, gingerbread man?” I ask my archnemesis when I arrive at the table.
Oliver laughs, then cocks his head. “I like that. I’ll use it. Thanks, mate.”
It wasn’t a fucking compliment.
Isla gestures to public enemy number one. “Oliver and I were just reminiscing about who won the caroling competition a couple of years ago. The whole thing was complicated, but the rendition of ‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree’ was quite rocking.”
“Truly, it was smashing,” Oliver says. “I even remember there were some singing lumberjacks. And the owner of the new minor league team sang ‘Deck the Halls.’”
“Tried,” Isla corrects. “He tried to sing it.”
This feels like an inside joke I’m not part of. And not for nothing, but I’m a competitive asshole, so even though I hate pears, partridges, and this damn song, I shrug and sing, “On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…a scrimmage on an ice rink.”
Isla whips her gaze to me, her blue eyes wide. “Did you just rhyme partridge?”
I stroke my chin, like I’m considering this feat of language flexibility. “You know…I think I did.”
It feels like I’m skating off with the puck, leaving the opponent in a spray of ice.
Before Oliver can say a word, I nod to the door, where the owner of the minor-league hockey affiliate and his wife stride in followed by an older woman in a Santa hat, a man her age, a Golden Retriever mix, and about a dozen townspeople.
After I take my seat next to Isla, she leans in closer and whispers, “That’s the new mayor.”
Her sweet cherry scent fries my brain. “Who?” I ask, and yeah, points for me for getting a word out with this intoxicating smell swirling near me.
“Mayor Bumblefritz,” Isla says, nodding to the group near the display case, including the woman with the Santa hat, who looks like a traditional Mrs. Claus.
I scrunch my brow. The name Bumblefritz sounds familiar though. I could have sworn I heard it mentioned before. Or maybe saw it on campaign signs in yards a year ago? “Wasn’t she already the mayor?” I ask Isla.
She shakes her head. “Her husband was. She campaigned last year—against him. And against their dog. The Golden mix with her. That’s Nick.
He hangs out at the library during the children’s story hour.
And she won, beating both of them. She had a great plan for protecting the trees so they couldn’t be bulldozed with new construction. The town loved that.”
“Did that cause any problems between them? When she won?”
“The new Mayor Bumblefritz and the dog? Oh, no Nick was quite happy. He came in second so he’s the vice mayor.”
“I meant her husband.”
Isla shakes her head again. “He said he was thrilled. During her swearing in, he handed her the key to the mayor’s office and said next time it would be a key on a diamond necklace for his darling wife.
She’s apparently even more beloved in the town than he is.
He said he didn’t mind losing to his dog, because…
dogs. And losing to his wife felt like winning. ”
I take a moment to mull that over. “That’s something else. But I guess it makes sense, in a way.”
Isla flashes a soft smile. “It does. He’s besotted.”
The former mayor looks at his wife with doting eyes and pride in his expression.
Something warms in my chest. That’s odd. I’m not a warm and fuzzy guy. But I suppose it’s nice that he’s so fond of her.
As he takes a seat at a table, I steal a glance at Isla. She’s watching with avid interest. And dammit—the warmth doesn’t go away.
I shift in my seat, like I can shake it off.
I square my shoulders and focus on Mayor Bumblefritz as she strides to the front counter, Fable and Wilder standing next to her.
The mayor parks her hands on her hips and flashes a pleased grin.
“Hello there, everyone. Isn’t it wonderful to see all of you eager elves here, ready to help out with our Evergreen Falls Annual Best in Snow Winter Games Competition?
I’d say I’m dreaming and sugar plum fairies are dancing in my head, but when I pinch myself,” she says, stopping to pinch her wrist, “I can tell this is all real. All of you. And we’re simply thrilled for this year’s competition.
We’ve got some extra fun stuff planned, don’t we, Mr. Blaine? ”
She sweeps her arm toward Wilder, who gives a professional nod, then says, “We sure do, and thank you, Mayor. I couldn’t be happier to be back in this town this year.
With the Evergreen Falls hockey team having such a great season already, I was delighted when the town asked the team to sponsor this year’s event along with…
” he sets a hand affectionately on Fable’s shoulder, then adds, “the Renegades football team.”
That’s Fable’s baby, so she chimes in. “And we all want to bring in even more people to this amazing town we love so much. And to give back to local charities. My husband and I will each be donating twenty thousand dollars to the local charity of the winning team’s choice.”
“Nice,” says a bearded dude wearing a flannel shirt. “My vote is Little Friends.”
Fable smiles. “Noted.”
“That’s four times the amount last year. Yes, I can math,” says a woman with a warm voice, and a dry sense of humor.
“And it’s very impressive, Eloise,” Fable says to her, and I make note of everyone’s name so I can remember them for later.
The mayor jumps back in. “We’re excited about their generosity.
Which is why we’ve already asked some fantastic folks to help us out.
This year, we’re going for maximum Christmas,” she says with a fist pump, like she’s a coach prepping the team to take the field, and it’s a little much for me, but then again I’m trying to mend my Grinch ways.
What the hell. I give a fist pump, like I would in a team meeting.
A twinkle shines in the mayor’s eyes as she looks my way. “That’s the spirit.”
Might as well kick it up a notch. “Extreme joy,” I shout out.
Another voice chimes in. “The height of holiday cheer!”
I burn. It’s Oliver, in his charming accent, getting in on the act too.
Well, two can play. I do read my word-a-day calendar. “The jolliest of jingle all the ways.”
Isla’s smile spreads, like the sun rising, blanketing the sky. “The mostest of merry and the bestest of bright.”
The mayor slow claps, then points at Isla. “And that’s how we do it in Evergreen Falls. Thank you, Isla. Thank you very much.”
Isla preens and it’s the cutest thing I’ve seen—how much she loves that game. She’s like a teacher’s pet. “Anytime,” she says.
The mayor’s all business again as she says, “This year, every team will be assigned a coach, someone with a connection to this town. We’re thrilled that local hockey legend, Rowan Bishop, will be leading a team.”
“Glad to help,” I say, doing my best to give off just happy to be here vibes. Because I am. Well, I’m happy to be next to Isla, that is.
“And we’ve asked some other notables to help coach too,” Fable adds, before she taps her chin. “I wonder who?”
Wilder flashes her a smile, clearly enchanted by his wife. “Gee, I wonder.”
They’re so taken with each other, it almost, almost, makes you think romance is possible. Well, it is, I suppose, for other people. That’s the key, I always remember. Some people are cut out for love. And some people are black-hearted hockey players.
Fable sets a hand on her chest. “And I’ll be coaching a team along with my husband Wilder.”
Isla sits up straighter. “I can’t wait to find out who the other coaches are,” she whispers to me. “This is so cool.”
That’s one way to put it. Another way would be it’s like Christmas on steroids and it’s everything I hate. Correction: used to hate. I’m Rowan 2.0 for the rest of the season.
“Sure is,” I say, then glance down at my sweater. Hell, maybe Santa’s ass crack on my chest is giving me Christmas cheer by osmosis. Stranger things have happened.
“We have some other locals we want to invite to be coaches,” Wilder says, then nods toward the bearded guy in the back of the bakery, the one wearing the flannel who suggested Little Friends.
He looks vaguely familiar, but I’m not sure why.
“We’d like to include Doctor Chris Lennox.
When he comes to town from San Francisco, he’s the one the vice mayor wants to see. ”
Nick sits up and barks his approval. That’s when it hits me. I do know that guy. My sister watched his online series The Hot Vet, but he’s originally from here. Doctor Lennox rose to vet fame when he helped save a dog who’d eaten a pair of panties.
With a smile, he says, “Thanks. Happy to help.”
The mayor names a few other coaches. The whole time Isla’s watching her with avid eyes, like this is the best thing she’s ever heard. Hmm. I wonder if she’s wishing she could compete? I swing my gaze down to her hands folded in her lap and she’s crossed her fingers. On both hands.
Holy shit. Is Isla hoping to be picked as a coach? That’s adorable. I lean in next to her and say, “Bet they pick you.”
“Oh please,” she says, like that couldn’t possibly happen.
But then Fable smiles in that I’ve got a secret way again and says, “And finally, we’d love it if the former dating podcaster Isla Marlowe and hometown heroine with her fantastic romance advice could be one of our coaches?”
Isla gasps.
It’s the loudest gasp I’ve ever heard.
And the most authentic. Her reaction—the sweetness of it, the authenticity of it—squeezes my heart.
Great. Another reason to like her. There are too many of them. They multiply, I swear.
“I’d be honored,” she says, clearly serious.
“Wonderful, you Santa’s helper, you.” Mayor Bumblefritz beams, then takes a beat. “I feel like I should ask for a drumroll.”
From behind the counter, Aurora happily provides one.
“And are you ready for your teams?” the mayor asks.
“Yes,” Isla says, and for a flicker of a second, it occurs to me how much Mia would like to see Isla right now. Isla’s excitement. Isla’s cheer. Mia would eat that up. But I bat the thought away. Mia’s hanging out with friends.
The mayor looks to Isla. “You’ll be teamed up with none other than our very own social media maven Eloise Langston and baker extraordinaire Aurora Dubois.”
“Oh! She does social media for the bakery and Aurora’s great. This is going to be so fun,” Isla tells me.
“Perfect for you,” I say, enjoying her enthusiasm.
Wilder and Fable rattle off more names. Wesley will be competing this year, and he’ll be working with the guy who owns the Mistletoe Emporium.
A woman named Phillipa who waits tables at the Candy Cane Diner will be in the running, under Fable’s tutelage, along with Sabrina who’ll be coming to town soon.
Someone named Liam will be paired up with Tyler, for Wilder to coach.
“And Rowan, I’m as pleased as Christmas punch—you might even say Candy Cane-infused punch,” the mayor says with a laugh and a wink, and I guess word got out about our auction cocktail creation, “to let you know you’ll be coaching JJ Washington from the North Pole Nook and…
none other than our popular professor, Oliver Abernathy. ”
Kill me now with a nutcracker.
I need to coach the guy who’s sweet on Isla? Play nice with the man who wants my dating coach?
Fuck that. If Christmas hates me, and clearly it does, then so much for Rowan 2.0.
I’m going to have to play dirty.