Second Pairing (The Parent App #2)

Chapter 1 Lila

LILA

The notification had been sitting on my phone for three days.

@HomewardBound, you have a new match on Second Chance.

Against my better judgment, I’d told my fourteen-year-old daughter that I’d give the dating app a try.

Mia was delighted, given that she was the one who put the profile up in the first place.

But actually opening the app and reading a message from a real person who wanted to take me on a real date? That made me want to vomit.

But, for heaven’s sake, it had been five years since my divorce. Five years since my husband had decided his nubile intern was the person he wanted to build a life with. I’d say grow old with, but, given her age, I wasn’t sure he’d be around for her golden years.

My therapist advised me to use my anger to help me move forward.

But all these years later, with Mia about to enter high school, I no longer felt the hot rage I’d felt when it was still fresh.

Now, I was ready to get on with my life.

Mia was right. I needed to at least try and find a man I could share adventures with.

Give my heart to? The very thought made me shiver with fear.

What if I fell for someone who left me? Again.

I wasn’t sure I could get through it a second time.

Then there was my new job. If one could call starring in a house remodel reality show a job. It felt more like a dream come true. One that had fallen into my lap.

“Mom, just open it.” Mia was sitting on the other end of the couch, her toes pressed against the outside of my leg. “I already looked at his profile and the message he sent you. I’m telling you, he’s perfect for you.”

My daughter, the matchmaker. She and the other kids had taken it upon themselves to put my four best friends and me on a dating app targeted to people who were old enough to have earned a second chance at love.

Thus, the name. Those who had loved and lost, but with the courage to begin again.

I had not been one of the brave but I was determined to do so now.

I tugged a blanket over my lap. The windows were open in my cottage, letting in the soft, sweet smell of a summer evening on the coast. Even though my little cottage was not directly on the ocean, we enjoyed the scent of salty air.

The app icon stared at me from my phone screen.

That cheerful little heart. So innocent looking, given how terrifying this all was.

“All right, I’m doing it,” I said to Mia.

My baby girl tucked her brown, glossy hair behind her two shell-like ears, her young face full of hope and encouragement. “This is going to be so awesome, Mom. Trust me.”

I opened the app.

The profile loaded slowly, as if giving me one last chance to change my mind.

@WanderingHomeward

The photos immediately drew my attention.

In the main image, he stood in what was clearly Provence—lavender fields stretching behind him, a bunch of the purple flowers in one hand.

He wore a wrinkled linen shirt, dark sunglasses pushed up into wavy hair that was more salt than pepper.

The photo had that candid quality, like someone had caught him mid-moment. Someone who loved him, probably.

The second photo showed him at a sidewalk café in Paris, seated at a small round table with his sleeves rolled up and his blazer open. He was mid-laugh, raising a glass of red wine toward whoever held the camera. The joy on his face was infectious.

But it was the third photo that made my breath catch.

It had been taken here. On our public beach.

I recognized the distinctive rock formation in the background.

It was a profile shot at what looked like sunrise, the light soft and golden.

He was barefoot, holding a coffee mug, his gaze fixed on the water.

What had he been thinking about in that moment? And who had taken the photo?

I scrolled down to his details.

@WanderingHomeward

Age: 43

Sommelier looking for deep roots.

About Me:

I’m a sommelier who spent twenty years chasing the finest glass of wine across four continents.

I’ve tasted Barolo in cellars older than America, learned to cook cassoulet from a grandmother in Toulouse, and once accidentally joined a grape harvest in Argentina because I asked too many questions and they handed me a bucket.

Eventually I landed in Paris, working as a sommelier at several of the finest restaurants in the city.

Between shifts, I built a wine app that somehow took off and gave me the freedom to choose what comes next.

The truth is, I’m incurably curious. I want to know how things work, why they taste the way they do, what makes a place feel like home to the people who live there.

That curiosity led me everywhere—and eventually, back here.

Six months ago, I came home to Willet Cove.

My mother decided she was done with yard work and moved into a retirement community (where she’s apparently the reigning poker champion).

She gave me the family house, and I’ve got big plans to renovate it—turn it into something beautiful.

The only problem? I can describe a kitchen in three languages, but I can’t hang drywall to save my life.

These days, I’m that guy at the farmers market who talks to the vendors for twenty minutes about heirloom tomatoes.

I cook elaborate dinners for friends and drive them crazy explaining why this wine works with this dish.

I’m learning that staying in one place doesn’t mean life gets smaller—it just gets deeper.

And honestly? I’m ready to share the good stuff.

That bottle I’ve been saving. The view from my porch at sunset.

Sunday mornings with fresh coffee and nowhere to be.

Fair warning: I will absolutely explain the difference between Left Bank and Right Bank Bordeaux. But I promise to make it interesting.

I kept reading.

Some of my favorite things:

A baguette with salted butter.

Figs with prosciutto.

Saturday farmers markets.

The smell of bread baking.

Good olive oil (the kind you drizzle, not cook with).

Well-worn cookbooks with notes in the margins.

French wine—Bordeaux or Burgundy have my heart equally.

Sunday morning jazz.

Long dinners that turn into longer conversations.

We liked all the same things. How was that possible?

I scrolled further, finding his responses to the profile prompts.

My real-life superpower is … pairing the right wine with any meal—or any mood.

After work, you’ll find me … in the kitchen cooking something that requires an excellent Burgundy, listening to jazz, or overwatering my herbs.

I promise I won’t judge you … if you like buttery Chardonnay or California Merlot. Wine snobbery is boring. Drink what you like, and I’ll tell you why it’s actually a great choice.

Favorite song: “La Vie en Rose”—the Louis Armstrong version, though édith Piaf makes me nostalgic for Paris.

What’s your comfort movie—and will you share the popcorn?

Julie & Julia. I’ve seen it more times than I care to admit, and yes—I’ll share the popcorn. But I’m also bringing wine, because popcorn pairs surprisingly well with Champagne.

I pressed my hand to my mouth, giggling.

“I told you,” Mia said. “He’s perfect for you.”

He was perfect. Too perfect. This had to be some kind of joke, right? Men like this didn’t exist on dating apps. Men like this didn’t exist, period.

“And he left you a message. Read it,” Mia said. “Please.”

I scrolled down to his message, my heart doing a ridiculously fast thump in my chest.

Hey @HomewardBound! I have to say, your handle stopped me mid-scroll.

If you look at my tagline, it might make sense why.

We seem to have a few passions in common, including our affinity for good wine and food.

I agree that food enjoyed with others is so much better.

If you’d be open to it, I’d love to take you out for a glass of wine one evening.

I grew up in Willet Cove but just returned a few months ago and could use a friend—even if I’m not your preferred varietal for romance.

No pressure. Just a kindred spirit hoping to clink glasses with another.

Cheers, Vance

I read it twice. Then a third time.

Thoughtful. Funny. Self-deprecating without being pathetic. And he lived here. In Willet Cove. The odds of that alone seemed astronomical.

“Mom, what do you think?”

“He seems nice.”

“Nice?” Mia’s eyebrows shot up in an expression so much like my own it was startling. “Mom. Look at him. He’s gorgeous. And he loves wine and cooking and he lived all these cool places. He’s a great match for you.”

“On paper,” I said, but my eyes drifted back to his photos. Back to that sunrise shot on our beach. “Although, I’ve not been anywhere.”

“But you want to,” Mia said.

“That’s true.”

“And he’s like ninety-eight percent compatible with you according to Robbie’s algorithm.”

“Robbie made an algorithm?”

“Yeah, I thought I told you that already.” Mia waved this away like it was obvious. “Are you going to message him back?”

Was I?

I looked at my wise, precious girl who’d grown up too fast because her father left so abruptly.

So cruelly. This girl who had taken it upon herself to find me someone to love because she thought I deserved it.

Maybe she was right. Maybe I did deserve to at least try.

Was hope a gift to myself or a punishment?

“I don’t know what to say in a message back to him,” I said.

“Just be yourself. That’s who he messaged, right? The real you.”

“The real me is scared,” I said.

“I know.” Mia took my hand. “But you’re actually very brave. You built a whole business after Dad left us. You raised me mostly by yourself. You can totally handle one date with Vance Prescott. Even his name’s cool.”

I laughed despite myself. “You’re not wrong.”

I looked down at my phone again. At Vance’s message. At his kind, funny words.

No pressure. Just a kindred spirit hoping to clink glasses with another.