Blind Date With a Christmas Book (Pumpkin Spice Vibes--Signed by the author)

I can't tell you that! It'll ruin the blind date aspect of this whole thing happening here.

CAUTION! Possible Blind Date spoilers ahead. Do not read on if you want a surprise. But if you are worried you're going to buy a book you've already read then proceed with caution.
*
*
*
Okay, so you're the type who looked for your Christmas presents under your parents' bed when you were a kid. Got it. Carry on...
*
*
Last chance to back out and not ruin your own surprise!
*
*
SNEAK PEEK:

Dak caught Miranda Fairchild’s beat of hesitation before responding to his outstretched hand. He was curious if she’d tell him her real name or if she’d pretend to be someone else. Dressed casually, she was more his type than the version of herself he often saw on TV. In interviews, her clothing and impeccable makeup were like a much-needed armor against the vicious sportscasters who found fault and insanity in everything she did with and for her team.
Still, despite the difference between the two women, Dak was ninety-nine percent confident he was flirting with Miranda Fairchild, owner of the San Antonio Dragons hockey team. This woman in his café had the same thought-out certainty in the way she spoke. Although this woman had reddish streaks in her black hair. Too fine for the camera to pick up? And there were fine lines around her eyes that were faint, but not invisible. She was pretty. Both versions of her.
Finally, he released her smooth hand, realizing he’d held it a bit too long.
“And I’m a friend?” she asked, referring to his comment that his friends called him Dak.
Dakarai, a Shona name that meant happiness, wasn’t common in North America. On hockey teams, it was always shortened to Dak. And he’d been on teams so long the only person who still called him Dakarai was his mother.
“You’re a friend if you tell me your name.”
“Miranda.” Knew it. “But my friends call me She Who Slays All Day.”
Dak laughed. He bet the nickname fit her to a tee.
She gave a pert little smile that bordered on mischievous.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she replied.
Miranda Fairchild was flirting with him. If her drink wasn’t a virgin, he’d blame it on the Caesar because she didn’t come across as flirty on TV. She was much more the slayer nickname with her professional, quick briefs that were to the point and lacking in apologies or explanations for her unorthodox ways. It had almost made him want to rejoin the NHL just to be on her team.
“And how did you earn that mouthful of a nickname?” he asked, leaning against the counter.
“It’s a secret.”
Was she being coy? Or was she intentionally hiding her identity?
Whatever she was doing, she was definitely flirting with that sweet smile that bordered on unexpected shyness.
It was cute. It wasn’t the smooth, calculated game some women played.
But Miranda Fairchild shy? That didn’t seem possible. Maybe she had a twin sister.
Then again, he was pretty sure a woman who took so much public flak had to have earned some insecurities and reservations. That could account for some real-life shyness when without the on-screen armor.
“Another secret?” he asked gently.
She nodded and sipped her drink.
“You seem to have a lot of those.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve earned them all.”