7. Chapter Seven
Idrive down Main Street, and the morning sun glares through the banners still hanging from the Summer Festival as I park in front of Sugar Style, a stylish western boutique next door to Gemma’s Leather and Lace Custom Bridal.
The shopping strip has been around for decades, but Leather and Lace didn’t open its doors until this last year. When I step inside, I’m a little star-struck knowing that women travel all the way from New York to have Gemma create their dream wedding gowns. I threw my dreams of a fairy tale wedding out the window the day I let Jace talk me into running off to Vegas on a whim. The look on my mother’s face when I told her I got married without telling her and my dad is one that still haunts me to this day.
“You must be Rose! I’m so glad you made it.” She waves me over to a vintage pink settee near a wall of mirrors and a large sewing table. “My dad speaks very highly of you.”
There’s no question Gemma inherited Camille’s knack for knowing her way around a sewing machine, but seeing how her green eyes sparkle, it’s clear that not all her stunning features came from her mother.
“Good morning, Gemma. It’s nice to finally meet you in person. Some place you got here.” I say, trying to match her enthusiasm even though I have no idea why I’m here. “I’ll admit, I was surprised to get your text last night. You said you had a business proposition?”
She leans in, excitement painting her cheeks a rosy hue. “I do! So… I’ve been thinking about Dad, you know? And how utterly alone he is in that big house all by himself.”
I nod slowly, feeling an uncomfortable knot form in the pit of my stomach when she mentions Henry.
“And when he told me you were a legit matchmaker—oh my gosh! I knew I had to meet you.”
I’m speechless. All I can do is fake a smile and try not to look like a deer in headlights as she continues.
“Last week, I finally talked him into letting me create him a profile on Match, but you probably know better than I do how stubborn he is. I mean, the man hasn’t been on a proper date since my mother.“ Her laugh seems so effortless—like she has no idea how much I’m dying inside.
“Yeah, that sounds like Henry. He never was one to play the field. When your mom came into the picture, that was pretty much it for him,” I say, knowing all too well how right we both are. “So, I take it you want me to help him?”
“I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of doing some research online. Metro Matchmakers has quite an impressive portfolio, thanks to you. And while Match has plenty of members, I think my Dad could use a little one-on-one coaching, if you know what I mean. Something your company prides itself in. So I figured since you’re someone he already knows and trusts, who better to ask? Assuming you’re available, of course. You’d be doing us both a huge favor.”
The words ‘conflict of interest’ flash in the back of my mind, but I know I can’t let emotions cloud my judgment. I could use the money, and the thought of him meeting random women with absolutely no vetting involved makes my skin crawl.
Besides, the last thing I need is Henry Carter’s daughter suspecting that his married friend might be harboring secret feelings. “You know what? Sure… why not?”
Famous last words.
“Does Henry… know that we’ll be working together?”
“Not yet. I wanted to make sure this was something you were comfortable with before I pitched the idea. I was going to tell him tonight at family dinner.”
“Okay, so let’s start there,” I say, switching off the part of my brain that used to scribble Henry’s name in my Trapper Keeper and turning on the one where I’m a professional who loves her job. “And if he agrees, we’ll start by adding him to our database.”
“Oh, he’ll agree. I can assure you.”
***
When I get the email from Gemma with all of Henry’s preferences, I’m not sure if I want to laugh or cry.
When asked, “What are you looking for in a potential match?” the answer given by Gemma goes as follows:
My father needs someone who can laugh at his jokes. Someone who doesn’t shy away from adventure and wouldn’t mind any chaos that comes with life on a ranch. Someone who understands loss but looks towards the future with hope. Must be able to cook (bologna and cheese sandwiches do not count as cooking). Must love horses and the outdoors. Enjoys stargazing and is willing to go on regular outdoor picnics.
Is it bad that I haven’t even found his first match, and already I’m jealous?
I save her message as a document on my desktop and close out of her email when another catches my attention. It’s a reply from Brian Shaw at Donovan, Shaw Partners.
After my talk with Henry at the festival, I decided it was probably a good idea to contact my lawyer. Trying to reason with Jace felt pointless after our last conversation, and since I no longer trust him, seeking legal advice seemed like the only reasonable thing to do.
Hello Rose,
I hope this email finds you well. I’m sorry to hear that you are having issues with your business, but I want you to know that we are committed to helping you protect your assets and will be here for you every step of the way until these issues are resolved.
After reviewing the information you provided, we feel the best course of action at this time would be to launch a formal investigation of all finances connected to Metro Matchmakers, LLC.
We understand that your husband, Mr. Jace Thatcher, has obtained his own legal counsel. We will be working with them directly to obtain Mr. Thatcher’s personal financial statements, but we will need you to send us any bank and credit card statements you have access to as well at your earliest convenience.
Please contact us if you have any questions or concerns.
Kindest regards,
Brian Shaw
Donovan, Shaw Partners
I’ll be the first to admit I’m too trusting in my relationship with Jace. But Jace has always been a charmer. He’s the kind of guy who knows just what to say to get a crowd eating out of the palm of his hand.
We met for the first time at a Last Tuesday Happy Hour networking event at the Ritz-Carlton in Dallas. When I told him my vision of starting a matchmaking firm in the heart of the metroplex, he was drawn in immediately. I had never met someone so charming and charismatic.
We spent the next year dining at lavish restaurants while dreaming of how we could start a new business venture together. Looking back on it now, I’m not convinced he ever loved me as much as he did my ideas.
Oh, but I loved him. He was so beautiful and confident. And for the first time in my life, I felt like maybe I could be, too. I guess when you spend that many years in someone’s friend zone, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for a chance to be seen as more by the next guy that comes along.
***
Two days later, I meet Henry at the coffee shop for his first “practice” date, and I’m all nerves.
I’m sitting at a table half-hidden by a giant fern when he enters. He looks good—very put together and handsome—but I shake the thought away before it makes me regret my decision to help him.
“Over here.” I wave, and Henry perks up when he sees me.
“Do I look alright? It’s been a while since I’ve been on one of these things, you know?” Henry holds out his arms for approval, and I give a satisfactory nod. He’s wearing a clean pair of cowboy boots with a pair of Levi’s that hug in all the right places and a white, long-sleeved button-down shirt with a collar.
“You look great. But remember, today is just practice. I want to see how you do on a few test runs before we start narrowing down our options.
“Geez, you make it sound like I’m a used car or something.”
“Hey, as long as there’s a few miles left on those tires, someone’s bound to put in an offer.”
Henry smirks, pulls out a chair on the side of the table facing the front door, and joins me while I brief him on the woman on her way to meet him.
“Her name is Linda. She just moved to Sugar Plum a month and a half ago. She’s forty-two. Divorced. And she runs her own online Etsy shop.”
“And... how exactly did you find her?”
“Craiglist. Duh.“ He narrows his eyes at me, and I narrow mine right back. “Seriously, Henry, relax. Remember, it’s just a practice date. I’ll be right here if things start to go south.”
A few more minutes pass when the door opens, and a tall, slender blonde enters. Recognizing her immediately from her pictures, I wave her over to join us.
“Rose?” Her voice is thick with a Texas drawl, and her brown eyes are so big and wild that I wonder how many cups of coffee she pre-gamed with.
Henry and I both stand, and I walk over to greet her. “Linda, hi. It’s so nice to meet you. Thanks for coming out to meet us on such short notice.” I turn to look back at Henry, who’s wearing an adorably sheepish grin.
“Hi, you must be Henry!” Her voice carries across the room like a peppy ringtone as she thrusts out an arm.
“Guilty as charged.” Henry’s deep voice starkly contrasts hers as he shakes her hand. “Should we... grab a table?” He looks over at me with questioning eyes.
“You two feel free to sit wherever you like. I’ll just be a fly on the wall over here. Enjoy yourselves and pretend I’m not even here.”
Henry nods, then looks over at Linda. “Shall we?”
They take a table in the far corner--the same one Henry and I sat at the day after I arrived back in Sugar Plum--and I catch myself staring begrudgingly. “Good grief, Rose. Hold it together,” I mutter as I find a table on the opposite wall near the bathrooms and pull a notebook and pen from my purse to jot down any notes to go over later with Henry.
As they sit, Linda launches into a monologue about her day, her week, her... everything. And from the looks of it, poor Henry can’t get a word in edgewise. His eyes dart around the room, seeking an escape or maybe even a pause button to control Linda’s chatter.
I cringe. From my vantage point, this isn’t what I had envisioned when I found her on Metro’s website and reached out to her. This being Henry’s first time, I wanted a woman who wouldn’t shy away from the conversation, but now that I’m seeing it play out firsthand, I think maybe I should’ve picked someone a little more reserved.
“…and then I said, ‘Honey if you knew which side my bread was buttered on, you wouldn’t laugh either!’” Linda laughs at her own story and slaps the table for emphasis.
Henry’s laugh sounds easy, but I can tell he’s uncomfortable.
Can he even breathe? I wonder, biting my lip. I feel guilt creep into my veins, and it’s like I’m watching a comedy skit go wrong—only there’s nothing funny about Henry’s body language. It’s just... sad.
Linda talks about her cats, her yoga class, and even her love for organic kale chips. She’s a hurricane of words, and poor Henry looks like he’s bracing against a gale-force wind.
I cross my fingers, hoping she’ll take a breath soon for Henry’s sake.
But no, Linda is relentless. She seems nice enough, sure, but this verbal avalanche might bury Henry alive. I want to jump up, intervene, and do something to make it stop. But all I can do is sit here, hiding behind my latte, feeling like the world’s worst matchmaker and an even worse friend.