The Match: An EXTENDED edition rom-com from the author of the TikTok sensation THE CHEAT SHEET! (It

Chapter 6

I’ve only seen Jacob and Samantha twice since the day, three weeks ago, that he filled out an application to purchase one of our service dogs. And both times were to introduce Samantha to one of our dogs and see if they were a good fit.

The first dog, Max, I could tell straightaway was not right for Sam. He’s an amazing dog and very gentle, but even when Sam was excited and engaging with him, he looked as if he had a show recording on his DVR that he couldn’t wait to get home to.

Sam and Jacob both seemed to get a little nervous at that point, thinking a service dog wouldn’t work out for her like they had hoped. But I assured them it was normal to not match with a dog right away and that choosing one is a lot like choosing your life partner. You don’t always find Mr. or Ms. Forever on the first date.

Or in my case, the second, third, or eighteenth. But I’m getting off topic.

The next option was Daisy. She’s basically Charlie’s twin, just a little smaller. When I brought her to visit, there was an instant connection. I let Daisy off the leash, and she went right to Sam and laid her head in her lap. It was that magical moment when I saw both human and animal sigh with relief that they had found each other.

It’s hard for people who don’t need the hope that a service dog can provide to understand the bond between a dog and a person. But as someone who knows firsthand what that feels like, it brings tears to my eyes every time.

And now today is the official start of what we call “training camp.” It’s a weeklong program where I help Sam and Daisy get comfortable with each other, teaching Sam exactly how to work with and utilize her dog.

I’ve instructed at least twenty of these training camps over the past three years, but never have I been as nervous as I am now standing outside Jacob Broaden’s front door.

He and I have not interacted at all outside of updates concerning Sam’s application and scheduling days to meet the dogs. No texts. No phone calls. And he’s been all business when we correspond through email.

I had thought that he was flirting with me that night he texted (and a few times over our coffee meeting), but I guess I was wrong about whatever I thought I was picking up on. My antenna must be busted. And now I’m staring at the black front door of his gorgeous, expensive house, and I can see just how wrong I was that he would ever have been interested in me.

I knew from Jacob asking me to meet him and Sam at his office for the last two visits that he is an architect and owns his own firm—Broaden Homes. But this place is the physical representation of just how out of my league this man is. Like, he’s playing for the major leagues, and I’m not even on the farm team. I’m in the nosebleeds eating a box of candy that I snuck into the game, just happy to have scored a free ticket from one of my friends.

I may come from a prestigious family with a fortune that could solve the nation’s debt crisis, but none of it is my money. I’m just Evie. A girl floating from cereal box to cereal box, trying to figure out exactly what it is I want out of life (and also trying to collect all the prizes in those cereal boxes to get that free MP3 download).

I wipe my sweaty palms on the sides of my dress and then ring the doorbell. I’m armed with a service dog on either side of me (Charlie and Daisy), and I’m eager to get going on this day of training. Also really hoping there’s going to be some snacks inside. My stomach rumbled loudly on the way over, making my Uber driver look even more uncomfortable than he did when I first got in his car with not one but two service dogs.

Why does this woman need two of them?!

While I wait, I assess the large modern swing on the front porch. My mind takes a speedy nosedive, and suddenly I’m sitting on the swing and Jacob is joining me. He’s wearing the same Henley from the day in the coffee shop, highlighting the muscles in his shoulders and arms. His grin is playful as he takes a seat beside me, and he says he has wonderful ideas for groveling today, and next thing I know we’re making out as the sun is setting behind us.

The door opens, and I jolt as if Jacob might have just caught me kissing him in my imagination.

Dammit. He looks good. Too good. He’s wearing a black T-shirt (it fits him so well I’m skeptical that he didn’t pay a fortune to have it tailored), brown chinos, and a watch with a leather strap around his wrist. How does this man manage to make wrists look sexy? It’s not fair, and I’m worried that I might be drooling.

Nothing about Jacob Broaden screams money. At least not in the way Tyler’s ridiculous suits do. But he has this air of confidence that says he should be taken seriously, and it leaves me feeling a little shaky-legged.

“Good to see you, Evie. Come on in.”

Now, that is one thing that has changed. After our heart-to-heart at the coffee shop, Jacob has stopped calling me by the formal Miss Jones. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still polished and businesslike, but I like to imagine that maybe he sees me as a friend now. Not sure why that gives me hope, because remember, I’m up in the nosebleeds just lucky if my binoculars reach as far as the field.

“Good morning!” I step inside the house, and a choir of angels starts singing around me.

This place is . . . glorious. That’s the only word I could possibly use to describe it. It’s a big open floor plan with high vaulted ceilings lined with dark wood beams, and from where I stand at the doorway, I can see everything from the living room to the dining room to the kitchen. There are massive windows all around the house, letting in tons of natural light, and, oh look, there’s a pool outside too.

I grew up in a mansion with a maid staff, and yet it never gave me the urge to dive onto the plush living room rug and make snow angels the way this house does. Everything is white and light-colored wood with contrasting black-steel trim on the massive windows. It’s sophisticated yet homey, and it smells like vanilla and teakwood and something else that I’m realizing is Jacob’s natural scent.

I’m really trying to control myself and not dive onto that big gray couch. What I wouldn’t give to take a nap nestled into those puffy cushions.

And, oops, I apparently said that out loud, because Jacob replies with a grin, “Is there a naptime factored into the schedule every day?”

“There is now that I’ve seen your couch. I’d even be content on your carpet. It’s so plush. . . . How is your carpet this nice?”

“I’m starting to think you actually weren’t joking about the nap.”

“What made you think I was joking in the first place?” He laughs as I continue running my eyes over every inch of the house that I can see. “Did you design this house?”

“Depends. Do you like it or not?”

“I love it.”

He lets out a theatrical sigh of relief. “Then, yes. I did design it.”

“I think I could fit twenty of my apartment inside it.” I probably didn’t need to say that. In fact, I wish I hadn’t. It’s only going to prove to him what a small fry I am compared to him.

I’m resisting the urge to open my arms wide and turn a full circle in slow motion. That’s what living in a five-hundred-square-foot apartment will do to a person.

I turn just in time to catch Jacob’s eyes dart up to mine as if he had just been checking out my legs.

It gives me a nice little boost of confidence until he says, “Your shoes . . .”

I look down at my scuffed-up white running shoes, and now I’m a ripe strawberry. “Oh. I’m sorry. Are you a shoes-off house?”

I’m frantically trying to toe out of my sneakers when Jacob’s calloused hand lands on my forearm, but then he pulls it away just as quickly. “No, I wasn’t insinuating you had to take them off. I was just going to tell you I like them.”

I try to will my skin to cool as I meet his gaze. “Oh. Thanks. You’ll be seeing a lot of them. I’m not able to drive because of the seizures, and I live close to downtown, so I usually walk most places. Helps to wear tennis shoes.”

His expression looks a little too concerned for a conversation about sneakers. He runs a heavy hand through his perfectly mussed hair and puffs out a breath. “That’s something I hadn’t even thought of yet. Driving. Sam won’t be able to drive, will she?”

I shrug, ignoring my sudden urge to wrap my arms around his middle and tell him everything is going to be okay. And it will be okay. They’ll find a new normal, and life will go on—just in a new direction.

But for now, it’s important for me to be transparent. “Depends. If her medication helps and she goes the state’s specified number of months without a seizure, she’ll be able to drive. But if she’s like me . . . then no.”

I can see his mind processing that information, and it immediately triggers my memories of being sixteen and angry at my life too. But you know what? I got through it, and I learned to love my new life. Hopefully, Sam and her dad will too.

I turn around and face the main living area of the house again. Everything is so clean. Surely, a single dad doesn’t have time to keep a house this clean all the time. Unless he isn’t single. There is absolutely no reason why that thought should crush me as much as it does, but I feel as if I’ve been stuffed inside a trash compactor and it’s turning me into a tight little square.

Wanting to escape my unjustified disappointment, I invite myself and the dogs farther into his immaculate house.

Seriously?!Where’s he hiding the little knickknacks and doodads that prove they really live here?

I briefly consider lifting up the couch cushions to see if I find any crumbs or loose change living underneath. Would he think it’s weird if I open that hall closet and have a little look around? I wonder if his bedroom is on this floor or up the stairs? Does he sleep on a king-sized bed? I think he would have to, otherwise those long legs of his would dangle off the end for the monsters to grab his toes.

“Evie!” Sam’s voice breaks from the top of the stairs, and she comes barreling down, all teeth and sparkling brown eyes. She really is adorable. Her face is open and excited today. I remember that feeling well. Hope is in the air.

“Hey there, darlin’!”

For a brief moment I think Sam is going to run right up and hug me, but in the end she doesn’t. She lost the courage at the last second.

I glance back at Jacob, and he looks puzzled—as if he is wondering the same thing. His hands are shoved in his pockets. An uncomfortable statue with no intention of ungluing himself from the front door. He’s reenacting a BBC movie set in the 1800s where the gentleman is afraid of being caught alone in the room with the lady.

Don’t worry, Jacob. You won’t be forced to marry me.

Sam eyes me cautiously. “Can—can I pet her?” She glances down at Daisy, whose tail is wagging. Daisy looks as if the only thing she wants out of life is for Sam to wrap her up in a hug.

I know why Sam’s nervous. Everyone is at first. They see the big, scary Do Not Pet patch on the bright-blue vest and remember me asking them not to pet Charlie on our meeting day. They all worry that they are going to be doing something wrong.

“Of course you can. Daisy isn’t just any working dog, she’s your dog. I want you to pet, snuggle, and play with her as much as you can.”

“Really? That’s not against the rules?” Her small freckle-dotted nose wrinkles.

I shake my head, trying not to smile too big and make her feel silly for asking. “No. Not against the rules at all. The more you and Daisy bond, the better care she will take of you.”

Sam drops down to her knees in front of Daisy and reaches out to pet her. She’s cautious at first, running her hand over Daisy’s head and neck, and then something snaps in Sam and her restraint disappears. She wraps her tiny little-girl arms around Daisy’s neck and shuts her eyes with a peaceful smile. The sight tugs at something deep inside me.

I know that relief.

Suddenly, my back feels hot, and I’m aware of a new presence. Jacob has peeled himself away from the door and is now standing right behind me, watching his daughter over my shoulder. I don’t want to look at him. I’m afraid that if I do while standing this close, it’ll be like throwing gasoline on that spark of attraction and I’ll burst into flames.

Out of my league.

“She looks happy,” he whispers close to my ear, doing nothing to help my buzzing nerves.

I cave and turn my head ever so slightly. He’s watching Sam with an expression of such raw hope I feel like I could cry. Training camp weeks are always emotional for everyone involved, including me—but this . . . this feels different for some reason. Personal in a way that it shouldn’t. Inexplicably, I feel what he’s feeling.

“Can my dad pet her too?” Sam’s voice is a bucket of water.

“Yep. He sure can. Seizure-assist dogs have to be working twenty-four/seven, and because of that, we want Daisy to be able to just be a dog sometimes too. It’s best to not let other people pet her while you’re in public because we want her to stay focused on taking care of you. But when you’re home, she can definitely enjoy some TLC from your dad and friends.”

We spend the next few minutes going over what we will work on that day, and Sam is jumping out of her skin with excitement.

And then Jacob says something that has me halfway falling in love with him.

“Oh, by the way, there are chocolate chip muffins in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”