A Piece of Cake

by T. M. Franklin

  The doorknob rattled, and Emily tensed. There was a time she would have just walked in. That time, however, had passed. Her mother’s reproachful look when she answered the door told her she missed it as well.

  “Hi, honey,” she said as Emily leaned in to kiss her cheek. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Good to see you too, Mom.” Emily shrugged out of her coat and hung it on a hook in the entryway as she inhaled deeply, the rich scent of garlic and simmering wine wrapping around her.

  “Mmm . . . Chicken Marsala?” Emily’s stomach rumbled in anticipation.

  Eve smiled. “Of course, it’s your favorite.”

  She followed the scent into the kitchen, smiling at the familiar image of her grandmother hovering over the stove. Ellen looked up as she entered, and welcomed her with a hug and a glass of wine, waving off Em’s offers to help.

  “Just sit down and relax,” she said, eyeing her granddaughter carefully. “You look tired.”

  Emily raised an eyebrow. “Too much gray in my aura?”

  “More like the dark circles under your eyes.” She dished up a plate of chicken and added a slice of crusty bread before setting it in front of Emily. “You work too much. You need to have more fun.”

  “I have fun.”

  Emily’s mother snorted.

  “What?” Emily set down her wine glass, affronted. “I do. I have friends. I do fun . . . things.”

  “Like what?” Ellen perched on a stool across the counter with her own plate. “You’re not seeing anyone.”

  “You don’t know that.” Emily just sliced through her chicken, chin jutting out stubbornly.

  “Well, if you are, he’s nobody special.”

  “He’s nobody, period,” Eve added, sitting down next to Ellen.

  “There is no he!” Emily set down her knife and poured herself more wine. It looked like she was going to need it.

  “Exactly my point,” Eve said. “You need romance.”

  “She needs sex,” Ellen muttered.

  “Grandma!”

  “Don’t ‘Grandma’ me. You know I’m right.”

  And so it continued through dinner, and dessert—a tiramisu that was to-die-for and almost made up for the fact Emily had to switch from wine to coffee so she could drive home. Of course, she knew despite their disagreements that her mother and grandmother loved her deeply, and that they were only worried about her. To them, love was the be-all and end-all, and they simply couldn’t understand why Emily didn’t feel the same way.

  When she finally left the house later that evening, Eve and Ellen Valentine watched from the front windows until her tail lights disappeared around the corner.

  “We need to do something,” Eve said quietly.

  “Yes. And soon. The girl is fading away before our eyes.”

  “That might be a bit melodramatic, but she definitely has a hole in her heart.” Eve let the curtain fall over the window. “The saddest part is she doesn’t even realize it.”

  Ellen shook her head as they walked back into the kitchen to finish off the wine. “You see who she needs, then?”

  Eve sighed. “I see possibilities. The problem is how to open Emily up to them.”

  “There’s only one way, you know.” Ellen set her wine down and went over to the kitchen desk to open her laptop. “We’ll have to be sneaky.”

  Eve pulled over a chair to sit down next to her mother as she started up the computer. “She won’t be happy with us for interfering.”

  Ellen shrugged. “Maybe not at first. She’ll come around.”

  “I hope we’re doing the right thing.”

  Ellen looked at her daughter, a soft smile on her face as she touched her cheek. “It’s the only thing.” She turned back to the computer, and the two women got to work.

  “Are you sure about this? A cocktail party?” Jessica slipped out of her coat and patted her hair nervously as Emily led her through the hotel lobby to the lounge.

  “Just a small one,” she assured her. “I’ve narrowed down the list of potential matches to about a dozen, but it’s important for you to make the final choice.”

  “I don’t know,” Jessica hedged, toying with her earring. “I thought that was your job. That’s why I came to you.”

  “I know, and I won’t leave you stranded.” Emily held the door open, and the two walked through the bar toward a private room in the back. “I will give you my input as to who I see as your best options, but only you can decide if the attraction is there—the chemistry.”

  “All right . . . if you’re sure.” Jessica still didn’t sound convinced.

  “Trust me.”

  They passed through another door into the private room, elegantly decorated with comfortable leather chairs, rich carpeting and soft lighting from wall sconces and candles on the tables. The men were gathered in front of the gleaming bar, chatting quietly, the clink of ice on glass accenting their low murmurs.

  Jessica faltered, and Emily reached for her, careful to place her comforting hand on her sleeve, and not bare skin.

  “You’ll be fine,” she whispered before turning to the crowd.

  “Good evening, gentlemen. Thank you for coming.” Emily continued through her usual spiel, introducing Jessica and encouraging them to mingle, but to mind their manners and not monopolize her time.

  She paced a few steps to the left, then the right, meeting the gaze of each man as she spoke. “It’s imperative that Jessica has time to speak with everyone.”

  The crowd parted, and she saw the shape of a man leaning against the far wall. Curious, she craned her neck, but he stood in the shadows, and she couldn’t make out his features. She mentally ran through her list of prospective matches, ticking them off as she placed them in the group.

  “Emily?”

  Jessica’s voice should have drawn her attention, but at exactly that moment, the man stepped into the light and everything else faded into darkness. Emily’s gift flared up for a brief and powerful moment, and suddenly, like a lock sliding into place, she felt the connection.

  With trembling hands, Emily pressed her fingers to her cheeks and closed her eyes, focusing her thoughts and blocking her gift once again. It faded back, angry at being ignored, and she drew a deep breath before opening her eyes to find Jessica watching her, brow creased in worry.

  “Are you all right?” she asked in a hushed voice.

  Emily nodded curtly, gathering her wits about her enough to force a smile. “Have a wonderful time everyone!” she called out, giving Jessica a gentle nudge toward the men as she withdrew to a dark corner table, grabbing a bottle of water on the way.

  Heather burst through the door, curls wild around her face as she scanned the room. She crossed to Emily, skirting the circle of men surrounding Jessica.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said, sliding into the booth. “My car wouldn’t start.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Emily noticed the man hovering around the edge of the circle, sipping his drink and observing the goings-on with an amused smile on his face. Now that she could see him clearly, she recognized him from his file.

  Sam Cavanaugh.

  Age: 32.

  Professional cake designer who likes reading, camping and rock climbing.

  He’d been the last addition to the list of potential mates and seemed an odd match for Jessica on paper, but the algorithm had pegged him as high on the compatibility scale. Emily had run him through the system three times, and he kept making the cut, so in the end she’d had Heather invite him to the mixer.

  “Seems to be going well,” Heather said, as Jessica’s laugh tinkled through the room. “Looks like everyone’s having a good time.”

  “Mmm hmm.” Emily watched Cavanaugh carefully, observing him to see why he had pegged her match-o-meter like that. It was obvious he was Jessica’s ideal match, as far as her gift was concerned, but she didn’t like the fact that it had spurted out of her control like that. She’d thought she had a better handle on it. Perhaps s
he’d just been distracted, not as focused as she usually—

  “Em? Are you even listening to me?” Heather waved a hand in front of her face. “What are you looking at?” She followed Emily’s gaze before she could tear it away from Sam Cavanaugh and eyed her curiously.

  “Nice specimen.”

  Emily blinked, taking a sudden interest in her water. “I’m sorry?”

  “Sam Cavanaugh, isn’t it?” she asked, fighting a smile. “He’s an . . . attractive man.”

  Emily shrugged. “I suppose. I was just wondering why he scored so high on the compatibility scale, actually. Looking through his file, it really doesn’t seem they have much in common.”

  “Who cares?” Heather murmured, propping her chin on her fist. “Sometimes tall, dark and hunky outweighs compatibility.”

  Emily snorted. “Not in our line of work.”

  She couldn’t help glancing at Cavanaugh again, though. Heather was right, she had to admit. Tall, with wavy black hair and broad shoulders, Cavanaugh exuded an air of confidence that was undeniably attractive. Instead of a suit, he wore a simple dark button-down shirt and black jeans. She noticed the beginnings of a tattoo on his left arm, just peeking out beneath his rolled-up sleeve. She knew from his file that he had blue eyes, but in the dim light of the room they appeared dark, intent . . .

  And focused on her.

  Emily gasped and jumped to her feet. She couldn’t believe she’d been caught ogling one of her clients.

  “Em?” Heather looked up at her in surprise.

  “I’ve got to run to the ladies’ room,” she muttered. “Keep an eye on things and I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “Are you okay?”

  But Emily was out the door before the words were out of her mouth.

  Six deep breaths, some distracted mumbling, and a splash of cold water later, Emily had regained some semblance of control. She flashed an irritated look in the mirror, tucked her hair behind her ears and turned to head back to the mixer, a friendly smile firmly in place.

  Nodding at Jessica, she slipped into the group to pull her aside.

  “Have you met everyone?” she asked.

  Jessica blinked, flushing a bit. “I’m not sure. I’ve been talking to a lot of people.”

  “How about Sam?”

  “Sam?” Jessica looked around blankly.

  Emily fought down a surge of irritation. If she was to do her job right, she needed to make sure Jessica did her part. Any attraction—if that was what it was, and she wasn’t admitting that it was, because she was a professional, for God’s sake and didn’t give in to such silly ideas. After all, attraction, lust . . . they were all just chemical reactions resulting from years of evolution and we’d really moved beyond that, and an intelligent person didn’t take those things into account when choosing a mate anymore, not if they wanted the relationship to last longer than—

  Anyway.

  Any attraction she may or may not feel for one of her clients was irrelevant and needed to be put aside for the greater good—in other words, finding the proper mate for Jessica.

  “Sam Cavanaugh,” she said, trying not to grit her teeth as she led Jessica over to where he stood.

  “Sam, I don’t believe we’ve met.” She turned her attention to the man, covering her nerves with a businesslike mask. “I’m Emily Valentine, and this, as you probably know, is Jessica Samuels.”

  His full lips curved in a smile as he extended his hand, not to Jessica, but to her.

  “Pleased to meet you,” he said, voice warm and smooth like old whiskey, but without the bite.

  Emily faltered for only a moment before stepping back, all but shoving Jessica toward him. “You two should chat,” she said, pretending not to notice Sam politely ignoring her snub and turning to Jessica with a slight tilt of his head. Emily escaped to her table and slid in beside Heather, who was flipping through Jessica’s file and making notes on each profile.

  “I need a drink,” Emily muttered, taking a sip from her water as she reached for the file, fumbling a little with the pages.

  “Rough night?” Heather asked, producing Sam’s profile and handing it to Emily with a smirk.

  Emily glared in response, but took the sheets of paper and laid them on the table for closer examination. “I just don’t get it,” she said, running her finger over the spreadsheet columns. “They don’t seem to have anything in common, but the computer says he’s a perfect match.” She tapped the bottom of the page. “This is weird. There’s no analyst noted on the file.”

  “Online dater?” Heather offered, referring to clients who joined only for their limited service, with no one-on-one counseling involved.

  “Maybe, but then there shouldn’t have been enough information for an in-depth match like Jessica’s.”

  Heather shrugged. “Regardless, it looks like they’re hitting it off.” She nodded toward the couple across the room.

  Emily knew enough about body language to recognize the signs of attraction; the leaning toward each other, the eye contact, the smiles, the way Jessica twirled a finger in her hair.

  It hadn’t changed much since high school, actually.

  Again, Sam’s gaze lifted to catch hers and Emily turned away quickly, cheeks hot. She needed to get a handle on the rather annoying infatuation she seemed to have developed. Especially since—if Jessica’s giggling was any indication—Sam Cavanaugh would very soon be spoken for.

  Two hours later, Emily sighed in relief as the waiter set a glass of white wine on the table before her. She’d pulled Jessica aside, gotten her input on the three prospects she’d like to see again, and the evening was finally over. Emily took the opportunity to retire to the restaurant’s patio. It had an amazing view of Puget Sound, and the sun was just slipping beyond the horizon, filling the nearly-clear sky with oranges and reds. She took a sip of her wine and examined the three profiles laid out before her.

  Mark Jacobs. Yes, like the designer, but no relation. Age thirty-four. Entrepreneur who enjoys golf, tennis, travel, and—Emily had to keep from rolling her eyes at the cliché—polo. He and Jessica shared a love of animals and both contributed time and money to support local no-kill animal shelters. Jessica said he had dreamy eyes and a nice smile.

  Adam Keller. Age forty-eight. Owns a chain of convenience stores. A little old for Jessica, but she said he seemed young for his age. He was in great shape—a black belt in both Tae Kwon Do and Jujitsu—and enjoyed sailing. In fact, he’d once sailed around the world, something Jessica had said she found romantic.

  And then, of course, there was Sam Cavanaugh. Emily stacked the pages with Sam’s profile on top, examining his photograph with a frown. In the picture, he had a little more scruff—he’d been clean-shaven at the party—and his hair was a little longer, almost brushing his shoulders. His eyes were the same, though, blue and intense, as if they were looking right into her—

  “Checking up on me?”

  Emily started, looking up to find Sam standing next to her table, a slight grin on his face. She blushed, fumbling with her file and tucking the papers inside. “Of course not. I’m just . . . doing my job.”

  “I was only kidding.” He pulled up a chair and sat next to her. “I don’t usually do this, you know.”

  “Sit down uninvited?” She smiled to let him know she wasn’t serious.

  He laughed. “Computer dating. A friend signed me up for Perfect Match. I didn’t even know until your office called.”

  “We get that a lot,” she said, and took a sip of her wine. “But it worked out, right? You and Jessica seemed to have a connection.”

  He shrugged. “I suppose.” Sam waved down a waiter and ordered a beer.

  “What do you mean?” Emily pressed, not wanting to waste Jessica’s time if Sam truly wasn’t interested. And it had nothing to do with maybe, possibly, being interested in him herself.

  Really. Not at all.

  He sat back in his chair, legs extended and fingers laced over his stomach.
“She’s a nice woman,” he said. “Sweet, fun to talk to. She’d be fun to date, I guess.” He glanced at her sideways.

  “And the problem with that is . . . ?”

  “I’m not looking for a date. I’m looking for a mate.”

  Emily smirked. “Nice. I should hire you to write my catch phrases.”

  “That one’s on the house.” He looked up, tapping his lips with the tip of his finger and Emily tried not to stare at his mouth.

  She really tried.

  He grinned. “Here’s another one: Looking for love in all the right places.”

  “Meh.” She shrugged, feigning indifference.

  “No?” He looked surprised, but not offended. “Strike up a match?”

  “Now you’re getting desperate.”

  “So are your clients.”

  “Hey!” She mock-glared. “Do I need to remind you that you are one of my clients?”

  “Not by choice.”

  Emily laughed, then caught herself. She’d almost forgotten that she was talking—flirting, if she were to be perfectly honest, which she chose not to be—with a client, a client she’d matched with another client. Her smile fell and she cleared her throat, toying with the stem of her wine glass as she straightened in her seat, reinforcing her business façade.

  “Seriously, though. If you’re not interested in seeing Jessica again, I need to know now. It’s important that I only match her with serious prospects.”

  “Serious prospects?” He snorted slightly. “You make it sound like a job interview.”

  “It is, pretty much.”

  “Not very romantic.”

  “Romance has very little to do with it, actually,” Emily said without thinking. Her perspective might have been effective in her job, but the clients rarely wanted to hear it. They liked to think she was out to find their soul mate—their true love. The science of it usually faded to the background and they looked at the whole process with stars in their eyes.