2. CRASH.COM
2
CRASH.COM
Midtown Seattle, WA
ROSALIND
The problem with being a professional matchmaker at forty-one is that everyone assumes it's easier for you to crack the code on love. That you've figured it all out after decades of watching relationships bloom and wither.
Spoiler alert: it's not.
Matching hearts is far easier than navigating your own wreckage, especially when you're old enough to know better but young enough to still want it all.
Speaking of wreckage, tonight’s Thursday Night Singles group is looking emptier than before the marketing campaign I started two weeks ago.
Two weeks of trying to convince Seattle singles to spend time getting to know one each other. Two weeks of handing out flyers, running social ads and talking to people at the local coffee shop in the hopes that someone—somewhere—might sign up for our matchmaking services.
With the state of the dating world the way it is now, that’s few and farther in between .
Which is why I’m gritting my teeth and bearing it tonight.
I stand from my seat. "And that's why the key to finding your soulmate is staying open to the unexpected," I tell tonight’s dwindling group. I focus on the twelve faces around me. “Sometimes love arrives in surprising packages. And you never know what special package is waiting for you.”
I smile, hoping the expression doesn’t falter.
“That’s all. See you all next week.”
The group of twelve that was once twenty starts to disperse, and as I watch them, I sigh, cleaning up.
The backroom of local Seattle Italian restaurant La Famiglia smells of garlic, Nonna Flora’s famous arancini and comfort. But there’s nothing comforting about the additional empty chairs we’re seeing each week.
I turn to my newest hire. “We’re going to need run more local ads. Maybe put up more fliers in the Meet Cute Coffee Co.?”
My best friend’s sister rises from her seat. Scrolling Instagram instead of taking notes, the strawberry-blonde I’ve known since she was in braces takes a deep breath and lets it go.
“I’m trying, Roz. But it’s hard. I mean, we’re in the thick of the dating app era. People tend not to show up for in-person events anymore.”
“Why?” I fold an empty chair. “Is real-life talking too much? Aren’t people’s thumbs tired from all the texting at this point?”
Sarah, one of our regulars, dawdles near the double doors as the last person before her leaves. “I know my thumbs are tired.”
Dani turns to her. “We’re talking about texting. Not ‘double-clicking your mouse’.”
“Oh.”
My best friend—and chief of staff—Olivia Parker chooses that as the moment to stand from behind the desk she’s been occupying all night. “Hey, I’d say our services still work. Dani here,” she nods at her sister, “has been using the Sunday group to find dates every night.”
I blink. “Really?”
“Hey!” Dani protests. “I haven’t done that in weeks. Not since you hired me a month ago. I’m actually using this app called SecureMatch. It’s really cool…”
“Ugh,” I groan. “Traitor. That’s everything we’re against.” I glance at the ceiling. “Guys, we need to start thinking outside of the box.” I look out the window at the January rain that perfectly matches my mood. “I thought we’d use this extra time to?—“
“Freak the hell out.” Dani lifts her chocolate-brown eyes to meet mine. “Roz, let’s put the pause on finding Thursday night leads. Not before you see this.”
“Whatever it is can wait—” I stop when I see her expression. It’s her ‘drama incoming’ face. Last time I saw that, she discovered her ex was dating her yoga instructor. “What is it?”
“Joel and Samantha are engaged.”
The room goes silent except for the rain and a pan crashing in the kitchen. The resident chef Luigi, probably stress-cooking again.
I take a measured breath, smoothing my wrap dress. “Oh?”
"'Oh?' That's your response? Dani's reddish-blonde curls bounce as she thrusts her phone in my face. Through her smudged screen protector, I see Joel and Samantha beaming, her hand prominently displaying a massive diamond. Behind them, the Four Seasons Penthouse Ballroom sparkles, showcasing Seattle's rainy skyline.
My skyline. My venue.
Or they used to be. Back when we were married.
“That’s... interesting timing,” I say, resisting the urge to choke on nothing but air.
Olivia moves closer. Dark-haired and 5'10" in tonight’s pair of stilettos, she towers over my 5'8" frame.. "Roz, honey, you're gripping that wineglass like it’s Joel’s neck.”
I glance down at my white-knuckled grip. "I'm fine."
“If you were any more fine, that glass would be in shards.”
"Ladies!" Nonna Flora—the owner of La Famiglia— bursts through the swinging doors from the kitchen, flour dusting her silver hair. “I can’t believe you almost leave without seeing Nonna!”
She rushes up to me, kissing my cheeks—though she has to stretch to reach them. She takes a step back. “Why you look so sad?”
I open my mouth, but Dani beats me to it.
“Because, Nonna Flora, that dung-beetle ex-husband of Roz’s is marrying that insipid cousin of hers.”
Nonna Flora’s eyebrows crease together. “Cousin?”
I nod, setting my wine glass aside before I really do break it into shards. “Samantha. The one I introduced to you.”
“That stronza with the mouth that won’t close? Oh, che palle! Those two have got a lot of nerve.”
“They sure, do,” Dani chimes in.”And they’re throwing their party at the Four Seasons. Look!” She lifts the phone again.
I swallow down the bile sitting at the back of my throat, smearing on a grin.
“Guys, it’s fine,” I clear my throat. “I don’t own that ballroom. Nobody does. The Four Seasons hosts dozens of events every year. One of them just happens to be this.”
“But this isn’t just an engagement party, Roz,” Dani scrolls further, her perfectly manicured nail catching on something that makes her gasp. “Look at this crap. It's basically a tech industry who's who. Look – there's that guy who created that dating app I use…” She has the sense to look sheepish. “I mean, the dating app I’d been accused of using.”
I look away with a scoff. “Wonderful. Because that's exactly what dating needs. Less human connection. "
“And peaking of human connection," Dani raises her reddish-blonde brows, “doesn’t mean we should be there, too? You know, networking? Meeting potential clients?"
I stare at her for a beat. “You’re saying you want me to crash my ex-husband's engagement party to my cousin?"
"Not ‘crash’,” Olivia slips in, and I turn to her in betrayal. Et tu, best friend? “It would be market research. Competitive intelligence gathering. Very professional."
"Professional?" I prompt. “Guys, it’s 7:15 on a Thursday night. The party's already started. I'm not dressed for?—"
"Ah!" Nonna Flora's face lights up. She disappears back into the kitchen with surprising speed for someone in her eighties.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” I curse.
“What?” Dani asks, gaze bouncing between me and Nonna as she retreats.
“I know that 'ah,'" I tell her and Olivia and even Sarah who’s yet to leave. "That's her matchmaking 'ah.' Nothing good ever follows that 'ah.'"
As if summoned by the word ’matchmaking,’ Flora bursts back through the doors, garment bag in hand.
She unzips it with a flourish to reveal a black dress that looks it could make a woman’s skin sing.
“Holy shit!” Dani steps closer. “That’s some dress.”
“It is,” Flora answers. “I keep emergency dress in kitchen since 1983. When Giovanni's second wife show up at my Angelo's funeral with that blonde hair and red dress? I have black dress ready. Always be prepared!"
"That's... not really what emergency preparedness means," I start, but Dani's already snatching the bag.
"This is Valentino," she breathes. "Vintage Valentino."
"From back when they make dress for curves, not stick figures," Nonna Flora announces. "Will fit you perfect, cara."
Sarah stands up, her own wine glass forgotten. "I have an emergency makeup kit in my car. "
"I've got shoes that would match in my office," Olivia adds.
"I've still got that diamond tennis bracelet that Joel gave you,” Dani offers. "You know, the one you threw at his head the day you got divorced?”
"Ladies." I hold up my hands, trying to regain control of what's rapidly becoming a makeover montage. "This is insane. We can't crash an engagement party. I’m forty-one-years-old…”
“And hotter than ever,” Dani interrupts. “Seriously.”
“And we're professionals. We?—"
“Are fighting for real-life love here,” Olivia declares. “Aren’t we? I mean, what the dating world needs more than ever is in-person chemistry, not compatibility algorithms.”
“Olivia right. Algorithms don't make wedding miracles," Nonna Flora scoffs. "They don't know that Luigi only proposed to Sofia because I hide special grappa in his espresso."
"You did what now?" I ask.
"Point is, you best matchmaker in Seattle. You show them. Put on dress. Go to party. Make contacts."
"Network," Olivia adds.
"Steal clients," Dani suggests.
"Get revenge," Sarah says, followed by silence. "What? I've been divorced three times. I know about revenge dresses."
I look at the dress again. It's the kind of dress that would fit right in at a Four Seasons event. The kind of dress that says "I'm too fabulous to give a shit about my ex's engagement to my cousin."
"This is crazy," I say, but I'm already reaching for the garment bag. "Even if we did go, how would we even get in? There's security, guest lists..."
"Please." Dani waves. "You used to plan events there all the time. You probably know that place better than their own staff."
"And Jason still works security," Olivia adds. "You know, the guy whose sister you matched with that pediatric surgeon? "
"The one with the twins?" Sarah asks. "They're adorable. I follow them on Instagram."
Nonna Flora claps her hands. "Then is settled! Sarah, get makeup. Olivia, get shoes. Dani?—"
"Already texting Jason about security rotation," Dani says, fingers flying over her phone.
"I was going to say get wine, but yes, that too."
"Fine." I grab the dress. "But we're just going to network. Professionally. No drama."
"Of course not," Olivia agrees.
"Totally professional," Dani echoes.
"No revenge.” I point at each of them. "No scenes. No?—"
"No waste time arguing when party already starting," Nonna Flora practically pushes me toward the back office. "Go. Change. Show them what real matchmaker look like."
Twenty minutes later, I barely recognize myself in the office's full-length mirror.
The dress is perfect – fitted enough to show off curves but elegant enough for a high-society event. Sarah's emergency makeup kit has transformed my day-old mascara into something smokier, more dramatic. My unruly auburn waves are somehow both sophisticated and sexy, thanks to Olivia's emergency hot tools (and why does everyone have emergency everything?).
"The shoes work," Dani declares, studying the black Louboutins Olivia produced from the trunk of her car. "But you need one more thing."
She pulls out a familiar bracelet. The diamonds catch the light, and suddenly I'm back in that moment five years ago, watching Joel's mother hand me the family heirloom. " Welcome to the family, dear. Though of course, you've always been like a daughter to me... "
Dani clasps the bracelet. “This will be way better than hanging fliers at the coffee shop. ”
“For once I actually agree with you.” I nod. Now, walk me through the plan again?"
“Jason says the main security is focused on the front entrance," Dani reports, consulting her phone. "But the service elevator?—"
"Has a blind spot by the kitchen access hall," I finish. "I remember from the Women in Tech awards. The caterers kept using it to sneak in late staff."
"See? Destiny." Dani grabs her coat. "Now, Olivia will create a distraction at the main entrance while we?—"
"Why do I have to be the distraction?"
"Because you're the only one who can pull off 'confused board member who lost her invitation' without looking suspicious."
"What about the client list?" I ask, checking my clutch for emergency business cards. "Who's confirmed?"
"Half of Silicon Valley," Dani scrolls through social media updates. "Three unicorn CEOs, two venture capital firms, and plenty more.”
"Ladies!" Nonna Flora's voice carries through the door. "Car is ready!"
"You hired a car?" I ask Olivia.
"Of course not." She grabs her own coat. “You can thank my wonderful husband and father of my girls for letting me borrow his Audi tonight. You know, the one he definitely didn't buy during his mid-life crisis last year."
“Here,” Nonna Flora declares, appearing with a tin of what suspiciously looks like her special grappa-laced cookies. "Can't crash party without snack."
As we head out into the rain, I catch my reflection in the restaurant's window. I barely recognize myself – and maybe that's the point.
Tonight, I'm not Roz the careful matchmaker, the woman who's spent five years rebuilding her life and business after Joel blew both up.
Tonight, I'm someone else. Someone who crashes engagement parties and steals clients and doesn't care that her ex is marrying her cousin in their spot.
I just hope that someone knows what the hell she's doing.