Page 30 of Meet Cute or Your Money Back

“Shut it. If I hear about you pulling another stunt like this, I’ll come find you. And next time, there won’t be any charming rescues from Pollyannas who get dressed in the morning by birds and mice.” I toss the wallet back at him—it hits his chest with a slap before he fumbles to catch it.

“Do you have a bicycle?” Allie asks, surprising both Logan and me.

Logan’s eyes dart back and forth between Allie and me. “Yeah. I do.”

“Allie…” I try to warn, but she ignores me with a quick glare before pulling out a scrap piece of paper from her purse and a pen. After scribbling something down, she holds out the paper to the boy. “Call this number tomorrow. My office is looking to hire a new bike messenger. It’s only part-time hours to start, but if it works out, I’m sure we can give you a referral to get more messenger gigs elsewhere.”

Still eying me, he tentatively reaches out to take the piece of paper from Allie.

I take a deep breath and count to three. This woman is going to be the death of me. Of both of us maybe.

Biscuit, oblivious to anything that’s happened, hops onto his hind legs, dancing in front of Logan soliciting some pets.

“Good judge of character, huh?” I mutter, looking down at the dog.

For the millionth time tonight, Allie glares at me. “Yes. He is.”

“Get lost, kid,” I command, and Logan doesn’t need to be told twice. I barely register the echo of Logan’s frantic footsteps as they fade into the distance. Instead, my gaze fixes on Allie, her expressive hazel eyes wide with shock and that infectious smile nowhere to be seen. The warm summer air seems to hold its breath, too, the earlier breeze nowhere to be found.

“Unbelievable,” I mutter under my breath. I glare at her for a long moment before turning on my heel and walking back toward her apartment, careful not to get too far ahead of her.

Allie exhales a sigh and with a gentle tug on Biscuit’s leash, she resumes walking, scrambling to catch up to my long strides, Biscuit trotting along beside her. “Thatcher, he was just a kid,” she replies as she catches up beside me.

“And what? Kids can’t be criminals?” I glance in her direction, the streetlight casting stark shadows across her face that highlight the frustration etched into the space around her wide doe eyes. “Because that’s what he is, Allie. Both kidandcriminal. This isn’t some storybook world where thieves see the error of their ways after a good talking-to.”

“Maybe not,” she admits, “but scaring him half to death won’t fix him either.”

“Fix him? Not everyone can be saved or fixed,” I scoff, the sound harsh in the quiet night. “You think everyone has a sob story? That they all deserve a second chance?”

“Maybe I do,” she shoots back, her cheeks flushed with indignation. “And maybe I’m not the only one who’s naive here. Maybe you’re too caught up in your own cynicism to see that sometimes, people just need to know someone believes in them.”

“Belief doesn’t stop bad things from happening!” My voice is steel, my anger palpable with every hardening beat of my heart. “It’s dangerous for you to walk these streets at night thinking the world is one big fairy tale.”

“Then why am I even working with you?” Her voice rises, echoing my own. “If happily ever afters don’t exist, why be a matchmaker? Why bother with any of this?”

“Because—” I start, then stop, clenching my fists. The tension between us is a living, breathing thing, and Biscuit whines softly, seeming to sense the shift in the air.

“Because what?” she demands softly. When I don’tanswer her, she squares her shoulders, bristling. “Why have a whole business dedicated to finding people love if you don’t believe in any of it? A tad hypocritical, wouldn’t you say? Why am I paying you my life savings to find me a freaking Prince Charming?”

“Because…” I open my mouth to speak, but the words get caught somewhere in the back of my throat. She has me there. “Because…loveis not a fantasy,” I manage to croak out. “Love is very real. I like helping people find love. It reminds me of…”

Of Jenna.

Of better times.

Owning and running a matchmaking business was never my dream…

But it was Jenna’s.

I turn around to find that Allie has stopped walking a couple of steps back, sudden understanding softening her gaze. “Oh,” she says quietly. “Youwere in love.”

Were.

Emphasis on the past tense.

I don’t confirm or deny it. Instead, I say, “I don’t promise happily ever after to any of my clients. They don’t exist. Sooner or later one story ends and another begins. The cycle never ends.”

Thankfully, she doesn’t say anything more. She doesn’t press for more answers and the moment passes quickly without any more questions.

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