Page 42 of Forty, Flirty & Fake-ly Yours

Through the windows, Seattle's promised snow finally begins to fall, dusting the street in what romantics might call magic and what my AI would probably label "frozen precipitation achieving ideal atmospheric conditions."

"About that investment offer," I say carefully.

"Save it." Mrs. Rodriguez pats my cheek. "For now, let's just say I'm interested in seeing how this particular love story plays out." The elder café owner starts walking away. “I’ve been serving coffee to love-struck fools for three decades. Trust me, I know a match when I see one.”

Before either of us can respond, both our phones buzz simultaneously.

"The bees have discovered William's honey pastries," Alex reports.

"Sir Galahad's declaring war on behalf of the hive's honor," Dani adds.

“Let’s—“ I point my chin towards the door.

"Help our wayward friends?” Rosalind's already grabbing her coat. “Already ahead of you.”

But as we head out into the snow, my hand finds the small of her back automatically, and I catch Mrs. Rodriguez's knowing smile in the window's reflection.

"Sir," CORA pipes up through my phone, "I feel compelledto point out that your physical proximity to Ms. Carpenter suggests?—"

“Give it a break, CORA."

I glance up at the quickening snow, shaking my head.

God knows I need one right now.

12

HOW TO LOSE A TECH BRO IN 10 DAYS

Heart& Soul Connections, Seattle, WA

ROSALIND

A little less than three weeks until Valentine's Day, and I'm staring at a blank email that could change everything.

"Dear Ms. Hanning," I type, then delete. A simple "no comment" would be easier. Professional. Safe. But with Meet Cute's situation, and Heart & Soul's growing expenses...

Outside my office windows, Seattle's unusually heavy snow creates a deceptively peaceful backdrop. The weather forecasters are calling it the "storm of the decade," but I'm more concerned with the storm brewing in my inbox as I try to craft a response that won't blow everything up.

I pull up a new draft, cursor blinking mockingly as I attempt to explain Heart & Soul's "purely logical" approach to matchmaking—a line that feels increasingly hollow after recent coat closet activities.

"Your methodology appeals to Seattle's tech community," I write, "because it relies on careful analysis rather than emotional?—"

A tap on my window makes me jump. For a terrifyingmoment, I think it might be another of Dani's suitors making an unexpected entrance—Sir Galahad tried to scale the building last week to "prove his valor"—but it's just a snow-laden branch.

I check my phone. 9:47 PM. The office has been empty for hours, ever since Dani left for dinner with her newest match—an urban explorer who apparently "finds romance in restricted areas."

"The key to successful matches," I continue typing, "is maintaining professional distance while?—"

This time the tap is definitely not a branch. I look up to find Grayson Dixon standing in my doorway, holding what appears to be several bags of takeout from La Famiglia.

“Still working?” He motions to my screen, one dark eyebrow raised. “I thought I was the only one burning the midnight oil.”

I minimize the email quickly.

“No, definitely not.” I gesture at my computer, trying to ignore how good he looks with snowflakes melting in his hair. "Some of us can't rely on algorithms to do our jobs."

"About that." He sets the food on my desk, somehow making the simple action look elegant. "I've been analyzing our compatibility metrics?—"

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