She was famous for her gut instinct. It made her a damn fine matchmaker. And annoyingly arrogant at times.
“I had one about Jeremy and Crystal.” She shot me an optimistic look. “Jeremy fought me on that match at first, too. Look how great that relationship turned out. They’re perfect together.”
I shrugged. She had a point, but I didn’t like it. In my case, it was moot.
“I’ve been optimistic on one level or another about all of the women I’ve matched you with. But I haven’t had a hunch like this, this powerful and insistent, about any them. You know that. I’ve never been this excited about any of them or this sure.”
I didn’t reply.
“Will you trust me on this?” She raised her eyebrows. “Let me at least talk to Laura, show her your picture, and see if there’s any interest?”
My heart was still galloping away, riding a trail of hope. Enough so, that I couldn’t bring myself to shut her down completely.
“You’ll be wasting your time.” But it might be amusing to watch her try.
“Maybe,” she said in a pragmatic tone. “But it’s mine to waste.”
I shrugged. “Suit yourself. Go ahead, if you must.” I was confident in my position.
“I will.” She set her jaw. “But if she says she’s interested, you have to promise you’ll take her out at least once.” Her tone was so pointed that she may as well have been poking me with a cattle prod. Or wagging her finger at me.
I furrowed my brow, giving her my dark, brooding look. “I don’t like wasting time, either.” Or getting my hopes up for nothing.
Ashley pinned me with her penetrating look. She was so damn good with that look that resisting was pointless.
I held my hands up, defenseless. “All right. Fine. You honestly convince her to go out with me, with full knowledge of who I am—and by the way, you have more chance of teaching a pig to fly—I’ll take her out. But I’m not promising anything more than coffee and as few minutes of my time as she and I can tolerate.”
Ashley’s answering smile was the smug, self-satisfied look of a conquering matchmaker. Her expression made me extremely uneasy. I liked Ashley. But she was about to get burned by a flaming arrow from her Cupid’s bow.
2
Ashley Harte
I left my meeting with Dylan and returned to the office, frazzled and disappointed. It was just my luck that he knew, and apparently disliked, the match I was so excited about for him. Laura was lovely, exactly what Dylan was looking for.
If he could just see past whatever had happened in their past, their childhood past…
Kids can be silly and cruel. Hurtful almost as a defense. They succumb too easily to peer pressure. For all I knew, Dylan and Laura had actually had crushes on each other and not known how to express their feelings, resorting to taunting and teasing to get the other’s attention.
A week ago, I’d been excited when Laura’s member application came in through our online form. My assistant Lottie prescreened the applications for me. She had a good eye, a fantastic eye, for matches. There were times I wish she’d take me up on my offer to become a matchmaker herself, but she preferred her other office duties. I still remembered her excitement when she brought Laura to my attention. Lottie usually kept her cool, but we’d both been looking for the perfect woman for Dylan for a long time. Finding tall women who fit Dylan’s list was no easy task, let me tell you.
I’d tried to hold my excitement in check. Laura looked great on paper, but would she be a dud in real life? Meeting her had not only allayed all my worries, I had actually become more excited. Laura was wonderful. We hit it off immediately. Down the line, I could see us being friends. I could see her fitting into to our friend group along with Lazer’s other friends and their wives, fiancées, and girlfriends. Wedding bells were already ringing in my daydreams.
I racked my brain, trying to remember if I’d ever had a situation like this before. I’d had a lot of doozies in my matchmaking career, many wrenches thrown into my matchmaking works, but nothing where the two people I had in mind for each other had disliked each other years ago as children and teenagers.
The news loves to show stories about teenage sweethearts who break up and find love again with each other later in life. But I couldn’t think of a single story of two teenagers who didn’t like each other later reuniting. Not that it couldn’t happen. Maybe it just didn’t have the same newsworthy, aaahhh, clutch-your-heart kind of romance to it. Friends to lovers—great. Reunion romances—perfect. Dislike turning to love? Not so romantic? Why? It could be an epic love story if done right, right?
I had no experience to draw on with situations like this. None. Zippo. I turned to Lottie. She had nothing either. But she completely agreed with me—we should not give up. We would not give up. The battle had only just begun. One failed skirmish in the game of love is nothing. I’d just have to use common sense, psychology, and wing it.
When I met Laura, I’d been so excited that I broke one of my own cardinal rules and blurted out that one of my clients was the perfect man for her. Never set expectations so high.
Perfect. I’d called Dylan perfect for her. I shuddered at the memory. As any good salesperson knows, and yes, matchmakers are the consummate salespeople, always under-promise and over-deliver. Never the opposite. Now I was in the proverbial pickle. Damn, I hated pickles, even sweet ones.
Laura had looked so grateful that she simply radiated with hope and beauty. She’d melted my heart, which wasn’t easy to do. I’d been in the business long enough to be jaded and cynical.
“You can’t imagine how happy the thought of a guy like you describe makes me.” Her eyes had sparkled and she’d momentarily looked dreamy. “Do you know how hard it is for a big woman like me to find a big man? Any man, really. Only the pipsqueaks seem to be interested. No thank you.”
She’d laughed, a deep, sexy, throaty laugh that filled me with envy. Men may say they like feminine women, but something about a beautiful, low female voice turns them on.
I couldn’t disappoint her now. But I also couldn’t lie to her. I’d have to come clean about Dylan being the perfect guy I had in mind for her. And be prepared to either eat crow or sell the hell out of it.
I had time to call Laura before my next appointment and give her the news, such as it was. I needed to be distracted anyway. I was meeting Knox, my late husband’s good friend who was now my client. I was both a little too eager to see Knox—he reminded me of my husband Ruck and my old hopes and dreams—and a bit wary. He’d been dating a woman for two months now. From his cryptic message asking me to have a face-to-face with him, I got the feeling he was going to end it with her and wanted to give me a heads-up.
*
Laura Fox
I was at work on my break when my personal phone rang—my matchmaker was calling. My matchmaker was an exaggeration. I wasn’t a client. I was what she referred to as a member, part of her dating pool she drew on for her clients. Even still, at the sight of her number, my pulse raced.
When I’d applied to be considered for her member dating pool, I hadn’t expected to have a prospect so soon, if ever. I’d filled out the application more out of desperation than anything else. And for a laugh and an adventure. I’m an engineer. I knew if I was going to find the right guy, I had to up my odds. Because right now? The odds weren’t ever in my favor at all. I’d also been mildly drunk, which had both given me courage and made it seem like a better idea than it might otherwise have. Did beer goggles apply even to signing up for matchmaking services? Apparently so.
As a member of Ashley’s dating database, there was no guarantee I’d ever get a date with any of her clients. Clients, I might add, who were handsome and successful enough to be picky about their dates. Most of them were way out of my league. But my dating life was nonexistent. I had nothing to lose, not even my dignity. That had gone long ago. If things didn’t change, I was destined to be the old aunty to all of my friends’ kids. If only I was more e
ccentric…
My petite and average-height friends have no problem getting dates and boyfriends. We live in a city where there are slightly more available men than women. I’m a data geek. I’ve done the analysis and run the numbers. I know what kind of dating scene numbers like these produce. You wouldn’t think the slight advantage the women have would lead to the dating market we have here where women are in complete control. But when you drill down into the data, most of the available men are techie and geeky. Well paid, true, but nerds. We are the new Silicon Valley. Being geeks puts our tech boys at a dating disadvantage.
Like me, geek guys are a harder sell than your charming business major or frat-boy types. Women who aren’t as tall as I am could afford to be as selective and picky as they choose until they found their Geek Charming. As a result, my friends, even the fairly plain ones, were seldom single long.
They didn’t even have to try if they didn’t want to. They crooked their little finger and a line of men formed. They were never between boyfriends unless they wanted to be.
But I intimidated men, both with my height and my intelligence and technical bent. I needed a guy who liked big women and didn’t feel threatened by my skill with coding and software.
I grabbed my phone and stepped into a conference room, closing the door behind me for privacy. “Ashley.”
“Laura. I hope I’m not interrupting?”
“Not at all.” I tried to hide my excitement.
“Good.” She sounded almost falsely chipper. “I have news—I have a client who’s interested in getting in touch with you and asking you out.”
I relaxed and slumped into a conference room chair. I must have misread her. There was no falseness to her. “That’s great. The guy you have in mind is interested? Your hunch was right.”
I was so relieved. You’d think I’d be able to find a basketball player sized guy in a city this large. My tiny friends did.
“Well…yes—”
“Fantastic.” In my excitement, I clutched the phone so tightly that my knuckles were white.
She laughed. “Before you get too excited, I’ll give you a rundown of my dossier on him.”
“Fire away,” I said, almost too excited to listen carefully. Maybe I shouldn’t have put so much hope into the matchmaking process, but I trusted Ashley to screen out the duds and the douches. She screened everyone and seemed to be a normal person. Why shouldn’t I trust her?
She’d explained the process when she met me—she approached the man and told him about me. If he liked the sound of me, she gave me the details on him. If I liked him, she let him know and he got in touch.
As Ashley began describing her client, I thought I must have been dreaming. He liked tall women—preferred them, in fact. He was a successful software developer himself and preferred a woman in a technical field. He was a multimillionaire, and liked gaming and cosplaying. Had never been married. Had no children. Was my age. Had a similar small-town background to mine. He’d grown up around horses and had an adventurous spirit. There seemed to be nothing to dislike.
She finished her glowing description.
“He sounds perfect.” I hoped I didn’t sound as dreamy as I felt. At heart, I was a romantic.
“There is a catch,” she said. “Well, not exactly a catch, more of a complication, a hitch.”
I frowned. Of course there was.
“The thing is… Well, let me text you his picture,” she said. “Once you see it, I think things will be clear to you.”
“A picture is worth a thousand words, is that it? All right.” I waited for her text to come, a little leery now. What was wrong with this guy? Was he that ugly and disgusting? When the text came in, I looked at it cautiously, expecting the worst and lecturing myself for being too superficial.
Instead, my breath caught—the guy in the picture was hot. Chiseled cheekbones. Brown hair and deep-set, hooded eyes that were dark and piercing. A great smile. But then that smile, even when it had been couched in a softer, younger face, had always set my heart racing. “Dylan Wayne?”
Ashley’s responding laugh was obviously nervous. “Ah, you remember him.”
My mouth was suddenly dry. My words stuck in my throat. I’d made a lot of mistakes with Dylan. Done things that seemed cruel that I hadn’t been able to explain to him at the time. Karma really is a bitch.
“He’s certainly aged well.” It was an inadequate statement, but the best I could come up with as stunned as I was.
Deep down, I’d known he would be a success, once he got out of that town where everyone thought cowboys were the only thing worth being and anyone who was cerebral or nerdy was made fun of.
“He has, hasn’t he?” Ashley sounded almost as proud as if she were his mom. “He’s lost a fair bit of weight and gotten in shape. Acquired a sense of his own style and a lot of self-confidence. He cleans up well.”
I was almost speechless. This wasn’t the Dylan I remembered, the funny, smart guy who hated the inside of a gym as much as pretending he’d ever be a good cowboy. The guy my grandpa made fun of for being slow and not athletic, and a Wayne. Grandpa hated the Waynes. Said they were poor horsemen and cheats. For a man his size, I’d always thought Dylan sat a horse pretty well.
“How tall is Dylan now?” It was a silly, superficial question. But in my stunned state, it was the first thing that came to mind. There was so much more I wanted to know, mostly whether he’d forgiven me.
“Six-four.”
“About the same.” Six-four was a good height on a guy, in my opinion. But if his opinion of me hadn’t changed, there would be no us. “I’m glad he’s doing well. So he’s multimillionaire now. Wow.” That would shut Grandpa up, maybe. I caught myself, imagining what Ashley would think. “Sorry. That came out like a gold digger. That’s not what I meant.”
“Don’t worry. I didn’t take it that way.” Ashley paused. “But now we come to the crux of the problem—Dylan tells me that you and he weren’t the best of friends in school.”
We’d been friends, great friends. But we’d ended badly. I didn’t tell Ashley. I didn’t like remembering, but my pulse raced at the thought of seeing him again.
“He’s under the impression you’d never agree to go out with him, but dared me to try to convince you anyway.” She lowered her voice. “I’ll be perfectly honest—I don’t twist arms. I think you two would be perfect together, if you can get past your past. Is that if too big? I can’t say. I don’t know. Dylan wouldn’t give me any details of what went on between you. It’s up to you. Completely your decision.”
I bit my lip. “Let me get this straight—if I agree to go out him, he’ll ask me out?”
“That’s the size of it.”
“If I say no, does that disqualify me from being a member?” I liked to know all the consequences, as much as possible, when I made a decision.
“Absolutely not. I have no reservations about having you as a member. If you don’t want to go on a match date with Dylan, I’ll keep you in mind for other clients. I have to be honest and tell you that right now I don’t have one in mind.”
“Sure.”
“Can I speak honestly?” she said.
“Yeah, of course.”
“Good. Thank you.” Her tone remained friendly. “Not to lecture, but childhood and high school are impressionable times. It’s hard to move past the images we form of people then. But meeting each of you separately now, with no knowledge of your prior baggage, all I can say is that you’re both attractive and desirable. You’re fun and friendly. If you met now for the first time, I think there would be fireworks. You’d hit it off. I know you would. But you’re not meeting for the first time, and we can’t undo that. My question for you is—can you get past the past and act as if you’re meeting for the very first time? Do you want to give Dylan a shot?”
3
Ashley
Yes, it was turning out to be one of those days. Laura had been understandably reluctant to go out with Dylan, saying th
at, unfortunately, she thought that ship had sailed. That although they’d been kids back then, and people grow up, she was concerned their past would color their perceptions of each other now and get them off on a bad foot. She was of the opinion that a relationship needed as strong a start as possible. It was clear to me she’d been burned too many times. She didn’t completely rule a date with Dylan out. She was thinking about it, mulling it over. Not a good sign.
I was still noodling on the problem when I met Knox for afternoon coffee at a little shop in Pike Place Market. I was going to have a permanent jitter with as much coffee as I was drinking lately. It seemed like I was meeting all my clients for coffee. I could have switched to decaf, but where was the fun in that?
For the past few months, Knox had been renting a beachfront home on Bainbridge. He took the ferry across to Seattle, avoiding the traffic in the city that I had to contend with. He was waiting for me when I arrived, throwing off my game. I like to arrive first and assume the power position.
He was seated at a table in the dimly lit shop, made dimmer by a drizzle that had started falling outside. His face lit up when he rose to greet me, but I knew him well enough to read right away that my suspicions were mostly likely correct.
“Damn, Ash, do you always have to look so beautiful and put together?” He held me in his hug a little longer than was strictly necessary. But he’d always been a hugger and affectionate with me. A flirt, even when Ruck was around and particularly when he wasn’t. It was Knox’s nature. I knew better than to read too much into it.
The coffee shop smelled richly of brewing coffee, steamed milk, and warmed baked goods—homey and intrinsically Seattle. It was the kind of shop that roasted their own beans. In contrast, Knox smelled deliciously woodsy and masculine. He wore the same brand of cologne Ruck used to. Smelling Knox was almost too much for me, bringing back memories of long-buried youthful lust for a man I’d never have again.
I’d thought about mentioning the cologne issue and asking him not to wear it around me. But that seemed out of place and unprofessional. Feigning a scent allergy was beneath me. So I bore it the best I could, pushing thoughts of my hard-chested, warm-hearted husband away to simmer in the back of my mind.
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