The Funny Thing about Love: Feel Good Sweet Romance stories

by Laura Burton

  “I’m not too cool for love.”

  She grinned. “Oh, I know that. But I don’t think you do.”

  Amy

  I watched him sip his coffee and try to relax. He’d reached the point in the initial appointment where he’d resigned himself to giving me a chance.

  There was always a bit of resistance involved whenever the client had been signed up for our services by a friend or relative. If they didn’t seek us out themselves, that usually meant they didn’t think they needed us. And if they didn’t think they needed us, that was for one of two reasons: A, they thought they could find love on their own and didn’t need any help, or B, they weren’t interested in finding love at all. Whichever reason it was, it was my job to show them they were wrong. Because everyone could use a little help, and everyone wanted to find love, whether they admitted it to themselves or not.

  “So, first things first.” I crossed my legs in the exact same way he had, leaning in the same direction, mirroring his posture completely—to make him feel as subconsciously at ease as possible. “Your mom has already purchased the VIP package, so I know she’s confident in our methods. But I want to you to be equally confident since you’re the one going through the program. Do you have any questions for me about what we’re going to be doing?”

  “Why are you a matchmaker?” he asked, eyeing me closely.

  “Why are you a Marine?”

  “I thought it was my turn to ask the questions.”

  I cleared my throat. “I said you could ask me questions about what we’re going to be doing ... you know, as it relates to your love life. This isn’t a free-for-all to ask about me.”

  Dex shrugged. “I want to know why you want a career sticking your nose into other people’s love lives.”

  “I do this because I love making a difference in people’s lives. It’s a great feeling to know that the next meeting I take could lead to a lifetime of happiness for someone.”

  “Or heartache.”

  I blew out a breath. “Ouch, Marine. That is just cruel.”

  “It’s true, though, right?”

  “I suppose. But that’s not the part I choose to focus on. And you’re not going to get very far with this if you focus on the negative. Try to have fun with the experience. Come at it with a feeling of hope, not cynicism.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He winced when I gave him a look for calling me “ma’am” again, then he redirected. “How long have you been doing this?”

  “I’ve been a matchmaker for seven years now, but I’ve been with the company for fifteen years. I started as a freshman in college just getting coffee or running errands for Julia and the other matchmakers.”

  He made a noise like he was impressed. “Started from the bottom, now you’re here.”

  “Next stop, world domination.”

  His gaze flickered over my body, seeming to note how I was sitting. He changed his posture by uncrossing his legs and leaning forward. Knowing how closely he was watching me, I refrained from mirroring him again. This guy was much sharper than the average tack. And much, much, sharper than the Marine in my own past.

  In fact, with such a keen sense of observation, I wondered how he could be so blind to things like flirting. He really hadn’t noticed that I’d been attempting to flirt with him by picking up his coffee earlier? He must have twenty-foot walls around his heart, and no matter how good of a match I found for him, I’d need to kick those down before the date. The sooner I did that, the fewer dates he’d need to go on before he found a match. And that meant a better score for me against Bibbity-Bobbity-Belinda.

  “Any other questions?” I asked, feeling the urge to get down to business. “Or can I get started with mine?”

  He held out a hand. “Please.”

  “Great. First, your dating history. Who was your high school sweetheart?”

  “Zelda.”

  My pen hovered over the paper and I froze. “Please tell me you dated an actual girl named Zelda, and you’re not talking about the video game character?”

  He pursed his lips. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “So, you didn’t date at all in high school?”

  “In high school, I had braces and acne. I was in the chess club, the mathletes, and the debate team because my dad thought it would get me into Yale or Harvard. All of that plus weekly RPG nights with my buddies didn’t leave much time for girls.”

  “RPGs?”

  “Role-playing games … Dungeons & Dragons, World of Warcraft.”

  I snorted, scribbled some notes, and then sat back in my chair. “So even in high school, you prioritized everything else before love?”

  “It was high school.”

  “Fine. I know from your file that you joined the Marines at eighteen. All of that prep work didn’t get you into an Ivy League school?”

  “It did. I got into several.”

  “But?”

  “But that was my dad’s dream for me.”

  Interested, I leaned forward. “How did the Marines come into the picture? Because I won’t lie, all of that talk about the mathletes doesn’t clear it up for me. You didn’t exactly sound like a Marine in the making.”

  He chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that did funny things to my insides. “Oh, man. Recruiters love kids like me. Great grades, excellent scores on the military entrance tests, and a serious love for all things strategy—thanks to all those hours clocked in World of Warcraft. It took me a few months to be able to do a pull-up, but I got there eventually.”

  Noting the size of his biceps and the shoulders that were so broad I could probably balance a tray of coffees on them, I silently praised him for coming so far. There was virtually no evidence remaining of the high school kid he’d described from all those years ago. I met his bright blue eyes and instantly realized he’d caught me admiring him.

  I blushed, then hated myself for it. What was wrong with me? I never fell for clients. Ever. Dex was a means to an end, one of three clients whose successful love matches would secure my spot at the head of this company. Under no circumstances would he become the client that would get me fired. Julia only had a few rules for her matchmakers—just kidding, she had many—but a big one was that we were absolutely, positively, prohibited from dating clients.

  “Anyway,” I said, my eyes scanning the papers in front of me but not really reading them. I just needed my cheeks to return to their normal coloring before I could look back up at him. “You didn’t date in high school. Where does your dating history actually begin?”

  He shifted in his seat. “Japan.”

  “Japan?”

  “I was stationed there for six years,” he explained. “It was my first duty station.”

  “And who did you date in Japan?”

  “A Japanese woman.”

  I rolled my eyes and checked my watch. “Dex, do you have all day? Because I certainly don’t. Chop, chop. Give me the goods.”

  The smile came back, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “Her name was Harumi. I met her when I was nineteen. We didn’t start dating until I was twenty. She was a bit of a hard sell at first. Lots of … cultural differences. Complications. But we figured it out, and we were happy. We were together until I left Japan.”

  “I see.” I was afraid to say too much. It had taken a lot of elbow grease to get him to open up and I didn’t want him to stop now.

  He held out his hands. “And that’s it.”

  I slumped forward, dropping my head. “Dex. Throw me a bone, here.”

  “We were engaged.”

  I popped my head back up. “You were?”

  “Yep.” He crossed his arms over his wide chest. “We’d been together for two years and it was time for me to sign my reenlistment paperwork. We talked about it a lot. Her family was afraid I wanted to take her away from them and off to America, and they didn’t want that. I told her that as long as I could be with her, I’d get out of the military and stay in Japan with h
er.”

  “So, you were going to stay there?”

  He ran a hand over his cropped dark hair and exhaled deeply. “I would have. I would have done anything for her. But she said she’d come with me to America. I signed the contract for another four years in the service and proposed later that night.”

  I bit my lip. “Then what happened?”

  “We had a long engagement. I didn’t see it at the time, but now I think she was just delaying the inevitable. Two years later, my time in Japan was over. I was in the middle of a contract. I had to leave. And when the time came, she broke it off with me. Turned out she didn’t want to leave Japan for me after all.”

  My heart ached for him. You could see it in his eyes that some part of him had never recovered from the pain Harumi had caused him. Sure, on the surface, he was one tough-looking guy. But on the inside, the walls around his heart were spray-painted with a big fat H for Harumi. She’d done this to him, and it wasn’t going to be easy for any woman to get through to him. This did not bode well for my competition.

  And as much as I hated to admit it … what Harumi had done to Dex sounded an awful lot like what I had done to the Marine in my own past.

  Dex

  “Why are you early?”

  I jumped, not expecting to hear Amy’s voice from behind me. Turning to face her, I was immediately struck by the way her royal-blue shirt made her skin almost glow in the dim restaurant. The neckline of the shirt started at her shoulders and sloped across her chest, not too low, but wide. Her brown hair was piled high on her head, and the combination of the hairstyle and the shirt drew my gaze down her neck and over her collarbone. My lips tingled at just the thought of tracing light kisses along that route.

  “Earth to Dex. Why are you early?”

  “I like to be early,” I said, clearing my throat and trying to wipe away my surprising train of thought.

  Amy checked the time on her watch. “An hour early, though? That’s a little extreme.”

  “I had a rough day at work and wanted to get out of the house. Why does it matter?”

  “Because you’re not my only client, and I strategically plan several dates for the same very long and tiresome evening so I’m not working sixteen-hour days all week. You coming early just cuts into my time between dates and stretches my availability too thin.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and shifted on the barstool so I was facing her. “Are you serious? So, what, you hang out at the bar during the date in case your client needs you?”

  “I would have explained that to you when you arrived—on time—for your own date. But, yes. Anything to help my clients. I’ll be in the wings in case it’s not going well or if you need a little push. And right now, I’m supposed to be focusing on my other client and how well his date is going, not over here talking to you.”

  I turned to scan the dining room of the restaurant from my seat at the ornate bar along its edge. There were couples everywhere. A few four-tops, one larger family celebrating a birthday, but for the most part, the dark steakhouse seemed to be a prime date-night joint. Just as I was about to give up on figuring out who her other client was, I saw a guy with thick-rimmed glasses knock over his water glass right into the lap of this date.

  I pointed in their direction. “I hope that’s not your client.”

  She whipped her head around and made an exasperated squeak. “Oh, Simon.”

  Simon’s date leaped from her seat with a shrill cry. “Oh. My. Goodness. Are you serious right now?”

  “I’m so sorry,” Simon yelped, his voice cracking.

  He crossed to the sopping-wet blonde and attempted to pat her down with his white cloth napkin, causing white lint to cling to her black dress. She swatted his arms away, telling him he was making it worse. I tore my gaze away from the spectacle in the center of the room and looked at Amy. She was partly mortified, partly amused. Her delicate hand covered her mouth in shock and embarrassment for her client, but I could see the corners of her lips twitching like she was trying not to laugh.

  I cleared my throat. “You know, you should tell your clients to request black napkins from the servers if their dates are wearing black.”

  Amy’s eyes flew to mine. “What?”

  “Nice restaurants like this usually have both colors because of the lint factor.”

  “I mean, I know that, but I’m surprised you do,” she said, one brow arched.

  “You haven’t met my parents. Anyway, I was just thinking it would get the guy some brownie points if he was the one who requested the napkin change. My dad always did that for my mom when she was wearing black.”

  Amy’s mouth hung open slightly in response, but before she could reply, Simon’s soaked date made a show of picking up her clutch and stomping over to us. Amy’s posture instantly changed to the perfect professional.

  “Courtney, I’m so sorry,” Amy said, holding her hands out to the saturated woman before her.

  “Amy, do me a favor. Next time you want to call me for a guy like Simon ... don’t.” She started to turn away, then did a double take and met my eyes. “That being said, if you’re a client of FCL, I would love to go on a date with you.”

  I chuckled at her retreating form as Amy and I watched her tromp through the restaurant, water dripping from her dress and leaving a trail of droplets on the floor behind her. I couldn’t be sure, of course, but I thought I might have seen Amy’s nostrils flare the slightest bit when Courtney had turned her attention on me.

  Eager to distract myself from that dangerous line of thinking, I looked back at Simon. He’d slumped into his chair, head in his hands, shoulders sagging in defeat. My heart went out to the guy. This whole dating thing was rough on the nerves, I’d admit it. I wasn’t a professional by any means, but spilling my ice water all over the girl? I shuddered. How embarrassing.

  “I’ll be right back,” Amy said over her shoulder to me as she rushed to Simon’s side.

  She knelt beside him, one hand on his shoulder, no doubt whispering words of encouragement. I knew I should mind my business. Everyone else in the restaurant had turned back to their own meals after the Ice Queen made her exit, but I was still riveted to the scene. To the girl. To the way her face softened as she spoke to her client. She may have been about to laugh when it first happened, because—let’s be honest—Courtney’s reaction was pretty funny. But now, as she crouched beside Simon, I could see the empathy in her eyes. I could see that she really cared about him and his happiness.

  Amy stood and Simon followed suit. She put her hand in the crook of his elbow to lead him out of the restaurant, and when they approached me, I quickly turned away and pretended to be very interested in reading the label of one of the bottles of liquor on the bar in front of me.

  A few moments later, she dropped onto the vacant barstool beside me. “This is why it’s bad that you arrived so early.”

  “Well, I didn’t realize I’d get dinner and a show out of this date, so I’m glad I did.”

  “Hilarious.” She rolled her eyes and flagged down the bartender. He nodded and began preparing a drink for her as if he already knew what she wanted. I found myself irrationally jealous of him, then pressed the feeling back down again. That didn’t make any sense. Why did I care to know her drink of choice?

  “So,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck, “do all of your matchmaking attempts go so smoothly?”

  “Oh, absolutely. I’m the best of the best because my clients throw water on their dates and cause them to storm out. That’s just step one of my master plan at a love connection.”

  I snorted. “Sorry.”

  “You should be.”

  “Let’s talk about my date, then. You mentioned you were going to explain some stuff to me before it started.”

  The bartender brought over her drink, she thanked him, and took a sip. “Mm. Refreshing.”

  “What’s your drink?”

  “A Manhattan.”

  I raised a brow. “A Manhattan?”


  “What? Are you going to analyze my drink now?”

  “I think it says you want to look grown-up, but you still like having the reassurance of a cherry on the bottom of the glass.”

  She snickered. “Okay, Mr. Beer in a Bottle.”

  I picked up my beer. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, it’s just as no-frills and straightforward as your black coffee.”

  “At least I’m consistent,” I said with a wink. “Do you always share a drink with your clients while prepping them for their date?”

  She sat up straighter and cleared her throat. “You’re early.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “No, I do not ever share a drink with my clients while prepping them for their date. Which is why I’m going to take my well-deserved cocktail to the other end of the bar and relax after a long day and a disastrous match. You. Are. Early.”

  And with that, she picked up her drink, gracefully stepped off the barstool, and strolled away.

  I quickly wondered if the date she’d picked out for me would get my heart racing the way she did. Because as I sat on my barstool—dumbfounded and alone—I realized just how much I hated to see her leave … but loved to watch her go.

  Amy

  I watched from my seat at the bar as Dex stood and greeted his date. I’d just taken a sip of my Manhattan when I realized that the blonde woman who stood before him wasn’t who I’d chosen for the date. She was not the woman I’d spent ten minutes talking up to Dex when it finally became time to prep him. And she was absolutely, one hundred percent, the wrong match for this Marine.

  Alarm bells went off in my head as I scrambled to set down my drink and pull out my leather-bound notebook. I unzipped it, my fingers shaking, and flipped to the section that held Dex’s date card. Sure enough, Lindie Miller was on the card for tonight. I frowned. I always wrote out my plans by hand, even though we stored everything in the office computer network. If I wrote it here, it should have been what was stored on the network, too. And the network was what my assistant, Claire, used as her guide when sending the date info to both parties.