Chapter 17 #3
"Speaking of the Summer Sunflower Spectacular, I'm actually glad you stopped by," Spud said, his voice tight and uneven. "I need a favor."
"You look unusually nervous," she said, amusement creeping into her voice.
"I heard you're a matchmaker," he mumbled, running a hand down his ruddy cheeks.
"Not a matchmaker. I help people showcase the best sides of themselves," she explained.
" I need a date."
Vivi blinked. Her brain short-circuited for a second, then she snorted—because of course he did. Spud, broad-shouldered, beard like a lumberjack with a keg for a belly, asking her for dating help? It was absurd. And adorable.
"You want me to help you find a date?"
Spud cleared the embarrassment from his throat. "I mean, if you're willing. If not, I can figure it out myself. Probably. Maybe."
Vivi let out a bright laugh. "You're in luck, I happen to be excellent at this sort of thing. We'll build you a profile and sell you properly to the town. I'll take all the good parts.”
“What would those be?”
She patted his shoulder. “Your rugged charm, your work ethic, your tragic loneliness, and package them in a way that won't scare anyone off. Trust me, I'm practically a professional."
"That's great. But first you've got to know the context. Otherwise, women will think I'm normal. And that won't do."
Vivi blinked at him, trying not to laugh hard enough to snort into her coffee.
He was the opposite of normal—more like a walking headline nobody could quite believe and somehow hearing him say it out loud made her heart roll over a little.
She was supposed to be helping him find a date, but all she could think was that this man—crass and impossibly big-hearted—was already impossible to forget.
"Context? Okay, I'm listening."
He took a deep breath. "Alright. First story. I once drove twelve hours to deliver eighty thousand dollars to a stripper. Her mom needed medical care in Russia. I didn't ask questions, just did what needed to be done."
Vivi choked. "You what?"
"Noble, right? Sort of heroic," he said, shrugging like it was no big deal.
"And you thought this would help your dating profile, how?" she asked horrified.
"Not the profile," he admitted. "Just … people should know I have a heart."
"Okay," she said cautiously. "Heart aside, what else?"
Spud's eyes twinkled like he was about to confess a series of crimes disguised as good deeds. "There was the time I tried to impress a date by cooking a seven-course meal. In just an apron. Almost set the kitchen on fire. She left halfway through the salad."
Vivi tried to picture the aging man with a belly the size of a bowling ball in nothing but an apron and skin. "I would have left when you answered the door."
"That's romantic flair," he defended. "Ambiance. Fire alarms and all."
"And?" she prompted, bracing herself.
Spud leaned in like he was sharing state secrets. "I took a woman I met at church to a dinner show and she got up and left."
"Do I want to know why?"
"I didn't know burlesque meant they showed their, uh, their assets."
Vivi laughed so hard she almost dropped her clipboard. "Spud! Why are you still single?"
"I'm telling you!" he said, exasperated but proud. "Women don't get me. That's the problem. I'm honest, bold, charitable and ambitious!"
"Honest, sure. Bold, okay. Charitable, maybe. Ambitious, definitely. But dateable?" She tilted her head. "Questionable."
Spud's grin faltered slightly and he shifted on his feet. "You're still gonna help me, right?"
Vivi chewed the inside of her cheek, studying him like a puzzle she might actually be able to solve. Could there really be someone out there who'd survive his antics, laugh at his terrible stories, and still want him at the end of the night?
She didn't know.
But suddenly, she decided she was going to find out. She was going to put her mind to it, dig through every corner of this small town, and not stop until she found his second Louise. If anyone could wrangle a heart as stubborn and as impossible as Spud's, it was her.
"Of course. But you might need a disclaimer section: Warning: unpredictable antics included."
"Right. Unpredictability included. I can live with that." His brow furrowed and he leaned closer, voice dropping. "How much is this going to cost me? Your expert matchmaking services?"
"Depends," she said, eyes twinkling. "I could charge you in cash or you could sell me the lumber for Boone's bunkhouse at cost, and we're even."
Spud froze, blinking at her like she'd just suggested he pay in unicorns. "Is this some kind of Nigerian scam?"
"Says the man who gave eighty-thousand bucks to a stripper for her mom in Russia."
"It was quite the sad story."
"I’m proposing a simple barter between us. You want a killer profile that turns your unique history into something remotely dateable? You sell us the lumber at wholesale prices and we're square."
His expression was impressed. "Wow, that's bold but fair. Lumber it is." He pointed a finger at her. "Just don't make me sound too normal."
"Too normal?" Vivi laughed. "Spud, trust me, normal isn't even on the table here. But if we're lucky, maybe dateable will be."