Chapter 5 Rhianna #2
“So, what’s your type? Tall, dark, and handsome? Petite blonde with a wicked sense of humor? Someone with a penchant for obscure trivia?”
With each description, I catch myself mentally comparing these potential matches to… me. Which is pointless. And not the plan. And definitely not safe. And one-hundred-percent not happening.
Eli chews another bite of cinnamon roll and seems to consider for a moment. “Women for sure. Otherwise, I guess I don’t really have a type. I’m more interested in someone who’s passionate about what they do, someone who can make me laugh. Someone who sees the magic in everyday things, maybe.”
I nod, jot down notes, and definitely don’t think about how I might match that description. “What about past relationships? Any deal breakers?”
For the first time in the night, Eli looks away and seems hesitant to respond. He wipes his fingers on a napkin and shrugs. “I was in a serious relationship for a couple of years. She was actually everything I thought I wanted—consistent, steady.”
Ugh. Consistent and steady. Those are definitely not words anyone would use to describe me.
I’m more like a glitter tornado with a solid Spotify playlist. I can see it, though—someone like Eli, who probably thrives on routine, on knowing where everything stands.
He seems like the kind of guy who has a morning routine that extends over an hour where he must go through each step in a specific order or it ruins his day.
I’m more of a never-put-my-hairbrush-in-the-same-place-twice type.
“The relationship ended, though?” I prompt gently.
He grips the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, when I started thinking about forever, I just couldn’t see it.
Maybe it felt too routine. When we discussed it, she felt the same.
Neither of us were heartbroken, and it felt more like we were closing a chapter than losing each other.
Like we both knew we’d outgrown what we had. ”
My stomach does a weird little flip—and not the kind it’s been doing around him lately. This one feels more like a freefall, the kind where you can’t quite see what’s waiting at the bottom.
He just made leaving sound so logical. So clean. Like it was just another chapter to close.
And sure, maybe his breakup was mutual and mature and full of deep conversations over tea or whatever grown-ups do… but still. It adds him to the mental list of People Who Leave When Things Get Hard.
I shake the thought off before it can settle. “That’s, um, very insightful. Recognizing when something doesn’t feel right is important.” Great. Now I sound like a fortune cookie. Maybe if I stuff this entire cinnamon roll into my mouth, it will keep me from saying any other ridiculous things.
I don’t know why I’m struggling so much—talking to people is usually easy for me. Effortless, even. But something about Eli’s quiet intensity, the way his energy hums just beneath the surface, it throws me off. Like my own magic doesn’t know how to behave around his.
“Maybe I’m trying to figure out what does feel right.” Eli leans in closer to me as he says this. He’s ignoring the cinnamon roll—which is basically a crime. I can’t breathe.
Everything in me leans toward him. Like my magic knows before my mind does—this could be something. But right behind that flutter is fear. The kind that sinks into your chest and whispers, he just admitted he’s good at walking away.
I want to believe that his situation was different. I also want to believe I’m the kind of person people don’t leave. But here we are.
Right as I’m attempting to find something to say, Claire walks up. Apparently it’s coworker hang out day. “Rhianna! Funny to run into you at The Whisk. The librarians must all have the same cravings today.”
She’s talking to me, but her eyes have fixed on Eli. Of course they have. Who wouldn’t focus on him? He’s like Mr. Darcy if Mr. Darcy had modern music tastes and a Clark Kent glasses thing going on.
I paste on my best librarian smile, the one I used when someone tries to return a book that they’ve dropped in the bathtub.
“Claire! What a surprise. Have you met Eli? He’s new in town and working at the library—he’s handling all those dusty old magical texts in the back room no one’s dared to organize in, like, a century. ”
Claire’s green eyes light up like she’s just discovered a first edition in the bargain bin. “No, I haven’t had the pleasure. I’m Claire, head of the non-fiction section.”
Eli isn’t looking at Claire, though. He’s still leaning toward me. He clears his throat and turns toward her. “Nice to meet you. I’m Eli Lancaster, the, um, book guy that will be getting in everyone’s way at the library.”
Claire’s smile grows even wider. “Oh, I can’t imagine you’ll be in anyone’s way.”
Great. Just great. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head, probably already planning their bookish wedding. And why shouldn’t she? They both have similar tastes and are both single. Their energies are a good fit. Not perfect, maybe, but good. Clean energy, no static.
So why does the thought of connecting them make me want to ‘accidentally’ spill my milk all over Claire’s sensible shoes?
I clear my throat, trying to remember I’m supposed to be setting Eli up, not sabotaging his potential relationships. “Claire’s also an expert on local history. Maybe she could give you a tour of our local museum sometime, Eli?”
The words taste like burnt Brussels sprouts in my mouth, but I force them out, anyway. Because I’m a professional, damn it. And professionals don’t get flustered over someone they’re supposed to help.
Eli glances over, like he’s waiting for something—maybe even hoping I’ll say no. Maybe even hoping I’ll offer to show him around instead.
It’s suddenly warm in here. Probably just me.
I nod. He winces, then turns to Claire with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Not like the real one. The one that crinkles the corners and makes him duck his chin like he’s shy. “That would be, um, great, Claire,” Eli says, his voice not quite matching his words. “I-I’d love that.”
Claire beams, looking like the time she won our annual book sorting competition at the library. “Wonderful! Are you available tomorrow, by chance?”
As they exchange details, I feel like I’m watching a train wreck in slow motion. A train wreck I orchestrated. Suddenly I feel bad for Cupid. The man has a tougher job than people think.
When Claire finally leaves, practically floating on air, Eli turns back to me. He fiddles with the cinnamon roll on his plate, not eating any more. The faceplate of the leather watch on his wrist catches the sunset’s light and bounces it around.
I force myself to sound chipper. “Well, that’s a great start! How about we debrief after the date? We can discuss the pros and cons, see if Claire might be a good match for you?”
Eli lifts his face, and his smile is back. The one that makes my stomach do the good-weird little flips I’m trying not to think about. Trying but failing.
“That sounds perfect,” he says. “Maybe we could grab dinner afterwards? To, uh, discuss the date.”
The bell chimes as someone steps into The Whisk and that’s what causes my heart to leap forward, not Eli’s words. “Sure, we can analyze everything over some food.”
“Great. I’m looking forward to… analyzing things with you.” He digs back into his cinnamon roll.
As we part ways, I can’t help but wonder what I’ve gotten myself into. I’m the world’s most unprofessional matchmaker—not that I’d ever admit it to my friends or family. My first client and I have a big, sappy, sixteen-year-old-me-laying-on-my-bedroom-floor-singing-Everywhere crush on him. Ugh.
And the worst part? I swore I wouldn’t do this again. That I wouldn’t fall. That if someone ever made me feel that vulnerable again, I’d bolt.
But as I watch Eli walk away, something in me starts to hope. And hope is the most dangerous feeling of all. It’s the one that tries to convince you that maybe this time… someone might stay.