1. Ruth
I was the world’s worst matchmaker.
I didn’t need a badge or a medal to prove it—I had a paper trail of failures to announce my lack of skill to the world. Each failed match was like a sad certificate that declared Dr. Ruth Coldwell to be the most abysmal matchmaker to have ever breathed oxygen. Each folder of disappointed clients had been splayed out on my desk in a manila fan, and I couldn’t help but want to douse my entire office in gasoline and set fire to the debacle.
With my head in my hands, I glared down at the sixteen folders that contained disastrous matches that had not only gone awry but had downright enraged our clients. At Kiss-Met, there were eight talented, dedicated matchmakers who found soulmates for lonely romantics every day. And then there was me, the terrible matchmaker who made their lives hell. I wasn’t just an unskilled asset to the company—I was a detriment to the effort.
Lifting my head and sighing, I picked up one of the folders. This one was from last week, and I’d thought for sure I had found something quirky and interesting to bring them together. The man and woman had both put on their profiles that they liked pickles. Cute, right? He owned a cannabis farm, and she owned a ranch, so they both worked outside often and clearly had a passion for agriculture. Match made in heaven.
Except he was a vegan and she was a cattle rancher. They’d made sure to relay that fact to me in no uncertain terms ten minutes ago.
Groaning, I closed the file and tossed it aside. “I’m doomed,” I said to no one. My voice filled the small space easily because I had a pretty solid suspicion that this “office” had actually been a utility closet before I’d been hired. It honestly hadn’t made much sense to me that I’d gotten hired in the first place, and I’d had a hunch that the only reason I’d gotten the job was because my best friend worked here and had pulled some strings. The afterthought-broom-closet office kind of sealed that suspicion with wax and a stamp.
There were no windows in the eight-by-eight space, so I glanced at the clock on the beige wall. It was almost ten, which meant I was due for a caffeine boost and a pep talk. Or a melodramatic meltdown. Whatever happened first. I stood, adjusting my glasses on my nose, and collected the files into a tidy pile .
Suddenly, my door opened, and Gemma leaned in, hanging off the doorway with one hand and sweeping the door out in a grand gesture. “Ruthie P., my cute little nerd!”
I looked up with a faint smile, tapping the stack of files on the desk to even them out. “I had a feeling you’d show up. Coffee?”
“Always and forever,” Gemma replied solemnly. My best friend had a cherubic face with sweet, pink cheeks, enormous blue eyes, and lush lips that I knew for a fact drove men wild. She had styled her waist-length blond hair into half-up space buns, and she wore one of her signature plaid skirts and ribbed top combos with camel-colored Mary Jane pumps that made her short stature slightly less obvious.
I set down the stack of files. “I might need something stronger than coffee. I just got reamed out by another client.”
Gemma’s sapphire eyes bounced to the side. “Uh oh.” Gemma had been relentlessly optimistic about my ability to figure out this matchmaking thing, but after two months of struggling to understand the intricacies of pairing people together, I was about ready to cut my losses and take a position with a department store or something. Sure, I had a doctorate in humanities and mountains of debt, but the more I screwed up here, the shittier I felt. “Who was it? Were they rude? Do you want me to beat them up?”
I passed by Gemma, heading down the modern office hallway and past a glass-lined conference room. “That’ll help my reputation. I’ll send my thug BFF after everyone who lodges a complaint against my crappy matchmaking. ”
“Exactly,” Gemma said like that was the obvious answer to my problems. “Besides, I’m a cute thug. They’ll never see it coming.”
Gemma was cute. That was undeniable. I, on the other hand, couldn’t have looked more forgettable if I tried. I had a whole “sad beige nerd” thing going for me with tortoiseshell glasses, neutral button-down blouses in various shades of depression, and wool and tweed slacks that did not jive well with the August heat. In my defense, the A/C in our building was completely overkill, and I routinely checked my nose for frostbite by the end of the day.
I did have nice hair; I could admit that much. Shoulder-length and bouncy, my waves usually stayed glossy and soft, and it gave me a smidge of originality in my otherwise drab appearance. Jesus, I’m hard on myself , I thought with a hint of consternation. I wasn’t sure when I’d become such a grump, but it probably had something to do with the years of wasted schooling, the lack of immediate family, and the broken heart that was liable to cut me if I tried to pick it up and attempt to put it back together.
And now I had a career that I sucked at. “Maybe I should just have a quarter-life crisis like the rest of our generation. I can move to Santa Barbara and sell keychains on the boardwalk and live in the back of a dispensary.”
Gemma gave me a concerned side glance. “That is definitely a choice. Look, I told you, the dating process isn’t complicated. You just need to give them options. ”
“Yes,” I sighed, rotating a hand like I wanted to get through Gemma’s next lecture faster. “And each stage is a base, but it’s up to them to advance. I know. Actually, that’s kind of a weird allegory you guys chose. Why baseball?”
Gemma grinned conspiratorially. “Hitting bases means hitting bases, Ruthie P.”
I rolled my eyes. “Sports analogies do not help my understanding of the practice, Gem.”
We passed by our boss’ office, and then we entered the two-story, posh lobby that served as a first impression for Kiss-Met Dating Services. With a company logo mounted on a water feature wall and a semi-circle, glossy white desk right in front of the elevator entrance, the lobby gave the impression that Kiss-Met was more than capable of solving people’s loneliness. And truth be told, with the exception of me, it was. Kiss-Met had an astounding eighty-six percent match rate for their clients. People were practically guaranteed a happily ever after.
We crossed the slick, white tile floors and went to the front desk where Olivia sat clicking away on her computer and helping a client who stood on the other side. “You ready for tonight?” Gemma asked with a tentative glance my way.
I lifted my hands in an unsure gesture. “I mean, as ready as I can be. I’ve never actually been to a speed dating event, but I read up on it as much as I could.”
“It’s really easy,” Gemma assured me, reaching the elevator doors and punching the button. “And Scarlet has done them before, so she’ll help you. Although, I’m still bummed we aren’t going out for Chinese tonight.” She sighed. “Goodbye rangoons. It’s probably worth it if you’re getting experience, though.”
I couldn’t help but feel like Janice, our boss, was slightly punishing me by assigning me this speed dating event. Originally, another matchmaker—Tess—had been in charge of the event, but she’d called in sick today. I’d assumed Janice would ask the capable, experienced Gemma in her stead, but she’d called me to handle it. I knew less about speed dating than I knew about actual dating. And I had never dated anyone before.
Well… mostly.
I wasn’t sure the painful, pseudo-relationship I’d been in seven months ago counted, but then again, I clearly didn’t understand relationships as a whole if my track record was any indication.
I glanced over my shoulder at the client who was waiting patiently for Olivia to pull something up on her computer. His back was broad and toned, and as he leaned on his elbows, I noted that he had to fold his tall frame into a hunch to reach the desk. Well, he won’t have a problem finding a match, I thought in amusement. I turned back to Gemma. “Either it’ll go great, and I’ll call you…”
“… or you’ll bomb, and you’ll call me,” Gemma finished with a grin. She gasped suddenly. “Wait, I have a dress I need to take to the dry cleaners.”
The elevator beeped happily, and the doors slid open. I held out my hand to cover the sensor on one side. “Do you want me to wait?”
“No, no,” Gemma turned and fast-walked away, shouting across the widening distance as she went. “Just go and I’ll meet you there!”
“Gem!” I shouted back, but she wasn’t listening and scurried across the bright lobby and off to the right where her office was located. I glanced nervously at the client who still stood at the counter. Did he need the elevator? If I held the door, would he think that was weird? It seemed stupid to go to the cafe without Gemma.
“I’m so sorry for the wait,” Olivia smiled at the client. “It looks like Dr. Coldwell has stepped out for a break.” Olivia’s dark eyes flitted to me over the stranger’s shoulder nervously before returning to him.
I froze. With renewed interest, I took in the stranger who had apparently asked to see me. Even from several feet away, I could tell that he was well-built with long legs, a trim waist, and toned biceps that strained against the sage green linen of his button-down.
When he turned, I caught a glimpse of his profile, and Jesus . He was hot. Really hot. His sun-kissed skin perfectly complimented the dark bronze of his swooping, soft hair, and his strong, square jaw ticked with annoyance as he digested what Olivia had said.
“Do you know when she will be back?” His voice lashed through the air like a silk lasso. Full and rich, it wrapped around my skin and brought goosebumps to my arms. Somehow, I doubted this person wanted to see me because they wanted to thank me for my incredible matchmaking skills. And that meant I’d screwed up. Again.
Olivia was an excellent receptionist. She was kind and welcoming, and often her demeanor put clients at ease and made them feel confident about using our services. However, she didn’t have a subtle bone in her body. Her dark brown eyes skated past the man to me again. I made a “kill” gesture with my hand, signaling to her to not give me away. After lingering on me a touch too long, she said to him, “I’m not sure.”
He rotated a look at me slowly. Vibrant green eyes latched onto my startled expression, and then his eyelids cinched together. “Is that right?”
Oh hell, I thought with a mental screech of frustration. I stared at him for a beat, and the air between us charged with a current of energy like the crackle of electricity before a lightning storm. It stole my breath and tingled across the raised hairs on my arms. He looked completely pissed.
I considered my options for a split second, and then I settled on the only logical strategy. I whirled into the elevator and punched the “close” button. He pushed away from the desk, crossing the distance with shockingly long strides. I mashed the button faster, but it was no use. Just as the doors began to close, the stranger slipped his lithe, tall body between them to corner me in the elevator. The doors snicked shut just as he loomed over me with folded arms and a thunderous expression .
Which was kind of funny, because all things considered, he looked downright sunny. With a spatter of freckles across his nose and cheeks, long, light eyelashes, and glowing skin, this man looked like joy personified. His anger seemed more like a passing cloud on an otherwise clear day, although that didn’t make his ire any less intimidating. The scent of coconut and sunscreen filled my nose as I inhaled sharply and pressed my back against the wall. He gave me a speculative glower. “Dr. Coldwell?”
I could deny it. I could lie through my teeth and escape as soon as those doors opened in ten seconds. But with deflated resignation, I realized that if he really was an upset client, I needed to hear him out. At the very least, maybe I could learn something from whatever mistake I had clearly made here. “Yes,” I said tightly.
The man stared me down. “I’d like a word about whatever abysmal software you’re using to match people in this sham of an operation.”
My jaw dropped. “ Software ? Kiss-Met doesn’t use software. We handpick matches for our clients, and I assure you, each of our matchmakers—” except me “—are well qualified to find ideal partners for our customers.”
“That’s worse,” he replied, his brows tilting with a touch of incredulity. “You’re telling me that you purposefully matched me with my sister’s ex-wife?”
Sister’s… ex-wife ? It took me a full three seconds to actually digest what he had told me. I stared at his furious expression, completely dumbfounded. “I matched you with—”
“—my gay sister’s ex-wife who is bi, yes.” He paused, eyes roving over my bewildered expression. “My God. You really didn’t know.”
My hand covered my open mouth, but I couldn’t seem to formulate words. It was too horrifying. This is it , I thought with lead in my stomach. This is rock bottom. I was duped, dumped, abandoned, and now I’m failing miserably at life in every other respect. It cannot possibly get worse.
I remembered this man suddenly—well, his profile, anyway. Doctor Callum Reed was accomplished, charming, and came from a loving household. I knew that because his parents had been trying to get him to come into the agency for weeks, and when he’d finally relented, I’d set him up on a blind date with…
I closed my eyes. “Oh my God.”
“That’s what you have to say?” he asked blandly. “'Oh my God?’”
“I’m sorry” seemed inadequate, but it was the only thing I could think to add. So, I whispered it, hand still on my mouth, face flaming, and eyes on his black tennis shoes.
“What?” he asked, leaning down closer to me.
Did he realize how close he was? Suddenly, the warmth from his body joined the heated embarrassment that had my skin fairly glowing, and I pressed my back harder against the wall. I lowered my hand and risked a look up to his eyes. Bright, summer green greeted my glance, and the vibrancy of his eyes stole the words from my mouth. He was mesmerizing—sunshine and nature and laughter boxed up tight in an irritated scowl. How did anyone talk to this man coherently?
The elevator stopped and the doors opened. My gaze flitted to the doors in desperation, and suddenly, I didn’t care if this man got me fired or hated me or thought I was a monster from Hell. I needed to get away from him. Dr. Reed followed the path of my gaze, and fast as a viper, he smacked the “door close” button on the panel. “Dr. Coldwell, I want an explanation for—”
There was no way I was going to stay trapped in the elevator with this mind-boggling person. I dashed past him, and without even giving him a proper apology, I slipped through the doors just as they closed. I glimpsed a flash of his furious expression, and then the silver doors pressed together. I ran through the lobby of our building to the glass doors.
I was so fired.