Page 102 of Forty, Flirty & Fake-ly Yours

"So," Roz murmurs, fitting against my side like she was designed for it, "how’s that hybrid matchmaking approach coming along?"

"You mean besides watching our first test subject get grilled by my sister?"

"I HEARD THAT!" Dani calls from the dining room, where James now appears to be drawing financial charts for Connor’s grandmother. “James is not a test subject. And for the record, he’s totally normal!"

"Nobody who voluntarily works in hedge funds is normal," Connor argues. "There has to be something. Secret sword collection? Underground fight club? Experimental cheese aging?"

"The only thing experimental about me is my coffee order," James comments.

"AHA!" Natasha pounces. "Define 'experimental.'"

"You know," I tell Roz, "when I suggested merging our approaches, I didn’t exactly picture..."

"Complete chaos? Welcome to my world, Mr. Algorithm."

"Speaking of algorithms," Dani cuts in, escaping the coffee interrogation, "are we going to talk about how your AI keeps trying to set me up with James’s entire trading floor?"

"CORA’s just being thorough," I defend.

"She sent me a PowerPoint about dating radius calculations!" Dani waves her phone. "With compatibility metrics!"

"That’s actually pretty restrained for her," Connor observes. "You should have seen the dating advice she sent Grams."

From the kitchen, there’s a crash followed by what sounds like my mother and Nonna Flora arguing about proper risotto technique.

"Should we..." I trail off.

"Absolutely not," Roz shakes her head. "Last time I got between Nonna and someone’s risotto technique, I almost had to pull her wooden cooking spoon out of my ass.”

"Speaking of organizing," my mother calls out, somehow hearing us over what appears to be a wooden spoon duel, "when are you two moving in together?"

"Jesus, Mom," Natasha groans. "They just figured out they’re in love like, five minutes ago."

"Actually," Connor’s grandmother pipes up, "according to my statistical analysis of their relationship progression?—"

"Oh God," Roz mutters. "She’s starting to sound like you."

"I do not sound like?—"

"Sir," CORA interrupts, "your mother’s risotto is approaching sub-optimal temperature parameters."

"See?" Nonna Flora starts waving her spoon like a conductor’s baton. “Even the AI knows risotto is completely wrong!”

“And, babe, you literally created a code to calculate perfect morning coffee timing," Roz points out.

I reach for her waist. “Which was very efficient until someone started distracting me with sexy sweater dresses and surprise kisses."

"Oh yeah?" She steps closer, and suddenly the chaos around us fades to background noise. "How’s that working out for you?"

Everything below my belt stirs. “Actually, it’s working pretty…”

"Mr. Gray’s being mushy again!" Bianca announces to the room at large. "CORA, add this to your relationship data!"

"Don’t you dare," I tell my AI, but it’s too late.

"Adding to relationship progression metrics," CORA chirps. "Current analysis suggests 87.3% probability of?—"

"Mute, CORA."

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