Page 13 of Minted

“Oh, well, neat. I guess, forget what I said.”

“I thought maybe you were calling because eHarmony matched us.” His voice is low, and it’s rumbling in a way I haven’t noticed before, and I realize that he’s mocking me.

“Stop,” I say. “But wait. Why does it say income of two hundred thousand? That feels like what a fake-you might put, just to draw people, but you and I both know that’s way wrong. And not in the way people might think.”

“Dave made the profile, actually, so I can’t wait to tell him how terrible you think it is.”

“I mean, it’s not that bad.” I try to backtrack. Why did I use such strong words? Ugh.

“I can tell it’s not great,” he says, “but I wouldn’t even know how to improve it.” He makes a hmm sound. “Yours is gorgeous.”

Which means he thinks the picture from two years ago, before I had gained as much weight, is misleading. I mean, he’s right. But it still stings. “Very funny.”

“No, I mean it. You’re pretty good at this stuff, clearly. Way better than I am. I have an idea, actually.”

An idea? What does that mean? He’s not suggesting. . .that we actually go on a date, is he? Why does that make my heart hammer in my chest? It’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever had. When he didn’t like me, I wouldn’t be able to disengage, and every single event at Seren and Dave’s would be a disaster from here on out. No, that must not be what he’s saying.

Oh, crap. He’s talking. Focus, you stupid, hormonal idiot.

“—could pay you, but if you could kind of hold my hand through this.”

Hold his hand? Why did I zone out? Why was I focusing on the stupid hope that our match on a dumb dating site might mean something to him? Ugh. I blame James for leaving me an emotional mess. “Hold your hand?”

“I don’t know how long it would take, but if you could spruce up my profile and help me pick people to date from the matches, that would be amazing.”

“You want me to help you? Divorced and broken-engagement me?”

“What I hear is that not one, but two men asked you to marry them, and you have clearly dated seriously more than I have. Plus you have the inside track on women, right?”

“I do?”

“I mean, you are one.”

My laugh sounds a little unhinged. “Right.” Get it together, Barbara.

“I mean, I’m pretty busy right now with work stuff.”

“Of course you are,” he says. “It’s the holidays, and you’re stuck doing more work because of all the commercialization of Christmas marketing and whatnot.”

“Right,” I say. “But maybe we could try and get dinner tomorrow, and I can clean up the profile a little. Maybe look through your photo reel and find some other decent photos. Sites like these let you post more than one photo—I think eHarmony lets you post twelve. You want to do at least six or eight, because it makes it look less like a catfishing account.”

“Like the one I have now?”

I can’t help laughing. At least this time it sounds more natural. “Yes, exactly like that. An account where someone snapped a photo of the hottest guy at the office and they’re trying to convince people that they’re him.”

“Are you saying I’m the hottest guy at the office, Barbara?” Why am I suddenly noticing how sultry he sounds?

My laugh’s back to being super shrill. “No, I mean, I have no idea. I’ve never been to your office.”

“Well, I’m going to take the compliment. Where should we meet tomorrow?”

“I’m not picky,” I say, and then I have to suppress a groan. He’s going to be thinking that what I said is totally true. You don’t get as big as I am by being picky about food.

And now I want to crawl into a hole.

“Well, think it over, and we can pick something tomorrow. Maybe you’ll have more cravings or something by then.”

I realize that this is my moment. I wanted to use him as my shield earlier, and if my ex and his girlfriend watching me eat some Girl Scout cookies sent me into a tailspin, I definitely need one before I brave my way through all those holiday parties. “Hey, instead of paying me, would you have time to do me a huge favor in return?”

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