27. Control-Alt-Delete Your Past
27
CONTROL-ALT-DELETE YOUR PAST
La Famiglia Restaurant, Seattle, WA
ROSALIND
Thursday evening rolls around like an unwanted guest.
Seattle's endless February snow creates a soft backdrop as I stand outside La Famiglia, trying to remember how to be a professional matchmaker when my own heart feels like a corrupted hard drive.
Through the windows, warm light spills onto the snow-dusted sidewalk, and I can smell Nonna Flora's cooking even from here. The familiar scents of garlic and basil that usually feel like coming home now just remind me of a certain tech CEO who used to steal breadsticks while pretending not to understand family-style dining.
My phone buzzes.
Olivia: You sure you're up for today’s group? Could always cancel. Blame it on snow. Or mercury retrograde. Or emotional sourdough.
Then Dani: Update: New boyfriend is actually normal! Finance guy who only wears suits. No medieval weapons or experimental fermentation projects. Coming to group tonight to prove I can date like a grown-up.
That makes one of us, at least. I still can’t seem to date like one. My experience with Grayson just proved that.
Putting on my big-girl panties and my business owner face, I’m ready to walk into La Famiglia—sad, but with my head held high—when my phone buzzes again. And again. And again.
Glancing back at my cell, I realize the texts are coming from my group chat with Liv and Dani called “Sourdough Support Squad .” The chat, named aptly after the whole William sage, stuck, and now my phone is being bombarded with more texts than a pre-teen slumber party.
Dani: OMG OMG OMG YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE WHAT JUST HAPPENED AT THE METROPOLITAN
Dani: JOEL AND SAMANTHA JUST IMPLODED IN FRONT OF SEATTLE'S ENTIRE TECH SCENE
Dani: Like, biblical levels of public meltdown
Olivia: Dani, breathe. Use your inside texting voice.
Dani: CANNOT brEATHE. Their "perfect optimization metrics" just crashed harder than Windows 95!
Me: What are you talking about?
Dani: Samantha was introducing Joel for some fancy investor award
Dani: But instead of his PowerPoint, her SECRET CALENDAR projected on screen
Dani: Full of appointments like "How to Escape Your Relationship Support Group" and "Therapy - Topic: Breaking Free from Marital Jail Something or Other”
Olivia: Don't forget the best part - "URGENT: Research How to Delete Partner's Efficiency Tracking Software"
Dani: She LOST IT. Started ranting about how he tracks her "spousal success metrics" and has a COLOR-CODED CHART for her "networking effectiveness ratios "
Dani: Then she threw her perfectly-dry-cleaned blue blazer at him and stormed out!
Olivia: I heard it was better than reality TV
Me: Oh my God.
Dani: KARMA IS A BEAUTIFUL THING
Dani: Also my new normal finance boyfriend is looking really good right now
Dani: Even if he does alphabetize his sock drawer
With a snort, I silence the chat, adjusting my 20’s-style dress. Minutes later, I’m pretty sure I’m still in shock about Joel and Samantha. Because it isn’t until I hear the word “Cara!” before I realize I haven’t moved a muscle.
Forty feet away, Nonna Flora appears in the doorway to La Famiglia like a flour-dusted guardian angel. "Why you standing in snow like sad statue? Come inside before you freeze important parts!"
"I'm fine.” I follow her into the restaurant's warmth. "Just... collecting myself."
She studies me with the kind of focus that lets me know I'm about to be emotionally ambushed with carbohydrates. "Your heart look like my first attempts at wedding cake. Little bit messy. Little bit broken, but still good ingredients."
"That's very... metaphorical of you."
"Is truth." She starts gathering what appears to be industrial quantities of tiramisu. "Like love – sometimes need to make mess before you get recipe right."
"I don't need recipes," I protest, though I accept the dessert she shoves at me. "I need to get through tonight's meeting without having an emotional breakdown in front of my clients."
"Ah." She wipes her hands on her apron. "About that. Maybe is good you sit down first."
"Why?" I narrow my eyes. "What did you do, Flora?”
"Me? Nothing!" But her innocent expression wouldn't fool a rookie pasta maker. "Just... maybe tonight's meeting little bit different."
“Flora—”
"Go!" She practically pushes me toward the back room. "Group is waiting.”
I take a deep breath, straightening my dress and trying to remember how to be Seattle's premier matchmaker instead of just another heartbroken idiot who fell for the wrong person.
The wrong person who somehow felt perfectly right.
The back room glows with La Famiglia's signature warmth, but something's off. The usually crowded space echoes with emptiness – chairs arranged in their familiar circle but conspicuously vacant.
Except for one.
My heart stops, then restarts with the kind of irregular rhythm that would definitely concern CORA's monitoring systems.
Because there, in what has to be a perfectly tailored suit that makes my knees weak, sits Grayson Dixon. His dark hair is slightly disheveled, like he's been running nervous hands through it, and the silver at his temples catches the warm light, looking soft enough to run my fingers through.
"You're late," he says softly, shaking his head. "Very unprofessional."
"I—" I grip my folder like a shield. "What are you doing here?"
"Attending singles group." He motions to the empty chairs. "Though turnout seems a bit low."
"Because you apparently scared everyone away?"
"Actually," he adjusts his tie, "I might have requested a private session."
"Requested? From who?"
Through the kitchen doors, I hear what sounds suspiciously like Nonna Flora shushing someone, followed by muffled giggles that probably belong to Dani.
"Very subtle, guys,” I mutter.
"I believe efficiency is my thing." But his smile holds a tinge of uncertainty. "Though lately I'm starting to appreciate a more... intuitive approach."
I should probably say something professional. Something about boundaries and proper procedures and how this won’t be covered in our liability insurance.
Instead, I hear myself ask: "Any particular reason you needed a private session?"
"Several." He leans forward, elbows on knees, and suddenly breathing becomes a conscious effort. "Though primarily I'm hoping to understand where I went wrong with this amazing woman I was seeing."
I move to the front of the room on autopilot, trying to ignore how the singular focus of his whiskey-brown eyes makes my pulse race. Through the slightly ajar doors, I catch glimpses of movement – probably our entire Thursday night group plus half the restaurant staff trying to eavesdrop.
"Well then," I manage, falling into familiar patterns like emotional armor. "Welcome to Heart & Soul Connections. Where we believe real connection matters more than?—"
"Than careful calculation? Than algorithms and optimization protocols?"
"Something like that." I shuffle papers I'm not actually reading. "Would you like to tell the group – such as it is – what brings you here tonight?"
"I made a mistake." He stands, and suddenly the room loses air. "Several, actually. Starting with thinking I could solve my way out of falling in love."
My hands shake slightly. "That's very... inefficient of you."
"Completely unprofessional," he agrees, taking a step closer. " Though lately I'm starting to think some inefficiencies are worth it."
Through the doors, I hear what sounds like Dani whisper-shouting "Oh my God!" followed by several urgent shushings.
"So," I say, probably too loudly, "what made you realize these... inefficiencies?"
"Would you believe it was a conversation with my ex-fiancée?"
I nearly drop my folder. "Jessica?"
"She helped me understand something." Another step closer. "About being perfect versus being myself. About how sometimes the best things in life are the ones that you can’t evaluate.”
"Like spilling wine on expensive shirts?"
He laughs, low and deep. "Like crashing engagement parties and teaching AIs about emotional processing. Like making me forget about my tech business bullshit entirely when you're around."
"That's very..." I swallow hard, acutely aware of how close he's standing now. "Statistically significant of you."
"I thought so too." His hand reaches up, brushing a stray curl from my face with a gentleness that makes my heart stutter. "Then I realized something else."
"What's that?"
"That I'd rather have one real moment with you than a lifetime of perfectly calculated distance."
A soft thud from behind the doors suggests someone – probably Dani – just swooned into the breadstick display.
"You left," I manage, though my voice wobbles. "After the article?—"
“I know. And I wish I could take it back. Wish I could erase how I made you feel. Wish I could explain about how I’ve spent my whole damn life trying to outsmart pain," he says, raking trembling hands through his hair, his voice frayed at the edges. "After Jessica, I didn’t just build a company—I built a fortress. I told myself love could be engineered, predicted, controlled. That if I coded the perfect algorithm, I could keep my heart bulletproof." His laugh is sharp and hollow. "And it worked. God, it worked… until you stumbled—literally stumbled—into my life and sent the pieces shattering. You didn’t just slip through the cracks, Roz. You tore the whole damn wall down."
He steps closer, like gravity itself has surrendered. His voice drops, rough and raw. "When I found out about Jessica's match, I panicked. Not because you did anything wrong, but because you proved what I was too afraid to admit—that all my calculations, all my control, were just smoke and mirrors. Elaborate excuses to avoid the one variable I couldn't code for: risking my heart."
He exhales shakily, eyes shining with something unguarded, something that makes my heart leap into my throat. "Rosalind, I was a coward. I walked away from the best thing in my life because I was terrified of what it meant to actually feel. But real love? It isn’t safe. It isn’t tidy. It’s a goddamn Murphy’s Law parade of fuck-ups and fumbles… and that’s the only way I want it to be from now on. Because I'd rather lose myself in the beautiful, breathtaking wreckage of us than spend one more empty day pretending I can chart a course to happiness without you.”
His hands find my face, fingers warm and desperate, thumbs brushing away tears I didn’t even know were there. His forehead presses to mine, the words a whisper that brush across my skin. He sighs. "I’m done avoiding. Done hiding behind efficiency metrics. I love your reckless intuition, your perceptive soul—the way you waltzed into my perfectly ordered life and turned it upside down without even trying. I love that you matched Jessica with her perfect person while I was still too stubborn to see mine was standing right in front of me. Because your heart? It’s always been smarter than all my code could ever be."
His breath hitches, and so does mine. "I’ll walk away from SecureMatch tomorrow if that’s what it takes. Burn the whole thing to the ground. None of it matters without you. Because love isn’t an equation to solve. It's this — screw-balled, unpredictable, terrifying... and real. And I’m all in, Rosalind. For you. For us. No safety nets. Just my heart, wide open, hoping you’ll catch it."
Through my blurring vision, I can see him clearly. All his perfect angles and imperfect faults and everything that makes me love him even more.
The silence between stretches, spreads, bends.
By the time I’m actually able to speak, I’ve lost all sense of self.
Grayson’s body and mine have melded into one—one singular heartbeat, pulsing for one another. One singular soul, stitched together by every broken piece we thought we had to hide.
"You know," I say, the words scratching the back of my throat, "for someone who claims to be bad at emotions, that was a pretty good speech."
"I might have practiced with CORA." His smile turns sheepish. "Though she kept trying to add quotes from The Notebook."
"Connor's grams’ influence?"
"Don't remind me." He presses his forehead to mine. "Though I have to admit, some of her suggestions about grand gestures were... statistically sound."
"Like hijacking my singles group?"
“Like standing here, asking the only woman who’s ever truly mattered to forgive me for being too blind to see it sooner.." His voice drops to that register that makes thinking difficult. "To give me the chance I never deserved—to prove that not everything in life has to make sense to be worth everything."
"Even if they can't be optimized?" I manage, though my hands have somehow found their way to his chest, feeling his heart race beneath expensive fabric.
"Especially then." His hands cradle my face, gentle but desperate, like he’s afraid I’ll slip through his fingers. "I love you, Rosalind. Not in the neat, calculated way I thought love should be. But in the reckless, terrifying, completely uncontrollable way it actually is."
A muffled squeal erupts from behind the doors, followed by what sounds like Nonna Flora declaring "Finalmente!" and several people shushing each other.
"You know," I say, blinking back tears, "for a tech genius, you can be remarkably slow at processing obvious data."
"Is that your way of saying you love me too?"
"That's my way of saying I've been in love with you since you tried to calculate systematic wine-stain removal techniques." I tangle my fingers in his perfectly messed-up hair. "Even if it terrified me."
"It terrified me too." His smile – the one that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners – lights up his whole face. "Still does. But I'm starting to think some fears are worth facing."
"Very inefficient of you."
"Completely unprofessional," he agrees, then kisses me.
The doors burst open as our audience apparently gives up any pretense of subtlety.
Dani leads what appears to be the entire Thursday night group in spontaneous applause, while her surprisingly normal boyfriend looks both confused and oddly moved.
"I'll have what she's having!" someone calls out, followed by general laughter and what sounds like Nonna Flora declaring this calls for special grappa.
"You know," Grayson murmurs against my lips, "your matchmaking success rate is technically improving. You did just help ‘Seattle's most eligible tech bachelor’ find love."
"Pretty sure you're no longer eligible," I point out, but I'm smiling so hard my face hurts.
"Definitely not." He pulls me closer as Nonna Flora starts distributing what appears to be emergency tiramisu to our emotional audience. "Though I might need some ongoing consultation. You know, for business purposes."
"I think that can be arranged." I lean into him, feeling his heart beat steady and sure against mine.
Through La Famiglia's windows, Seattle's endless snow continues to fall, each flake following its own unique pattern. Like love – no logic, no algorithms, just the perfect chaos of two people finding their way to each other.
Even if it definitely won't fit in any spreadsheet .
"So," Dani calls out, wiping tears while her suited boyfriend looks increasingly bewildered, "does this mean next week's meeting will be about how to find your own billionaire tech CEO?"
"Actually," Grayson says before I can respond, "I might have some insights about some dating strategies?—"
"Don't you dare start calculating anything right now," I warn him.
His kiss is answer enough.
Behind us, I hear Nonna Flora shout out: "Like my special Sunday gravy – sometimes best recipes are ones you can't measure. Just have to feel." She pauses. "Also, everyone come to dinner this Sunday. Is time to celebrate!"
It’s true. Some pattern really are better when they're broken.
But Sunday dinner sure as hell isn’t one of them.