Page 8 of Banter & Blushes

The collision makes both of us lose our balance, the man sprawling at my feet while I grapple to control the tray.

“Gah!” I squeal as I lose my grip. Time slows down while the tray flies through the air. Guests gasp and sport wide-eyed looks, and Zoe’s hand flies up to her mouth as it forms a perfect O. I’m sure she’s reliving the incident with Mayor Cumberland.

Cade springs into action, neatly catching the silver platter as deftly as a wide receiver on a football field. He juggles it at a precarious angle, then rights it, and not a single éclair or cream puff slides to the floor.

After applause and laughter break out over the room, Hugo trots over and slaps Cade on the back. “Nice catch!” he says, then snags an éclair from the tray.

The man who caused the collision staggers to his feet and totters towards Cade. I catch my breath, wondering if he’s going to knock the tray out of Cade’s hands. However, the handsome real estate agent keeps a firm grip on the serving platter and even presents it to the clumsy man with a flourish. “Have two,” Cade says in a suspiciously polite tone.

“Don’t mind if I do!” The man cackles as he grabs an éclair in one hand and a cream puff in the other, then heads off towards the coffee urns.

Cade plops the tray on the table and saunters over to me, grinning as if he just scored a touchdown.

I beam at him. “Thanks for the save. Mayor Cumberland wasn’t as lucky. That icing hanging off his ear really put a damper on his campaign speech.” Cade cocks an eyebrow, but I ignore him and continue spouting on like a leaky faucet. “In my defense, it was the bumblebee’s fault, although Mrs. Cumberland swore it was a yellow jacket due to its aggressive nature.”

Chuckling, Cade says, “There must be a story in there somewhere.”

Why do I always have no filter and overshare?

“Never mind,” I say, waving my hand as if swatting the aforementioned insect. “I meant it when I said I’m grateful to you for catching that tray. How about a free black bean fudgy brownie and a cup of tea next time you’re in my shop?”

He tosses a flirty look my way. “I’ll take you up on that.” Pausing for several beats, his expression looks like he’s carefully debating what to say next.

My heart stutters and I brace with anticipation, wondering if he’s going to ask me on a date.Wait for it...

“What do I need to do to schedule a matchmaking appointment with you?”

My heart sinks as his words throw cold water on what I was interpreting as attraction between us. Of course. He’s not interested inme. Quickly regrouping, I plaster on a neutral expression. “Stop by Wednesday morning around nine and I’ll have you fill out my matchmaking questionnaire.”

“You have a questionnaire?” he asks, surprise lacing his voice.

“Did you think I’d just pull candidates out of a hat?” I fire back, peeved at the implication that I wouldn’t have a scientific process and still a little miffed that he’s not interested in me.I sure misinterpreted our beach walk together.

He shifts back and forth on his feet. “Since this is my first time to try a matchmaker, I wasn’t sure,” he says in an apologetic tone.

“My process is scientific and approved by the National Association of Matchmakers.” I try to stifle the huffiness in my reply but don’t do a very good job at it. Knowing that I desperately need his business, I draw in a breath, and say, “I’m serious about the matchmaking side of my business, Mr. Bainbridge. I will do everything in my power to find you a perfect match.”

Nodding, he says, “Excellent. I’ll look forward to our meeting.” With that, he strides off to talk to another prospective land buyer.

Zoe catches my eye with an anticipatory expression, asking if maybe something romantic just transpired between Cade and me. I frown and subtly shake my head, then stroll back into the kitchen, defeat at misinterpreting Cade’s attraction to me making my shoulders sag.

Wonder why the handsome real estate agent needs a matchmaker?With his looks, women must be falling at his feet. Shoving aside my curiosity and disappointment, I tell myself it’s time to tamp down my attraction to the man and focus on finding him his perfect match.

After I get back home,I dust off the twenty-eight-question survey I created. The network had a canned survey, but after honing my matchmaking skills, I’ve revised it a couple of times. And it’s worked better for me as I’ve tweaked it, but I’m still not totally sold on it.

My most recent success story is the forty-something Swedish pizzeria owner, Anders Karlsson. After three dates, he fell for Natasha, a beautician at theBob and Curl. A rather shocking development, given that Anders is completely bald. They bonded over a love of pepperoni and shell collecting.

Reading through the questions, I grimace, wondering what Cade’s reaction is going to be. Several of them look ridiculous even to me, a trained matchmaking specialist. I took all the NAM classes, earning their coveted Cupid Certification and acceptance into the nationwide Cupid Matchmaking Network, which gives me access to thousands of candidates hoping to find their perfect match. It’s sort of like a dating service, except we work matchmaker to matchmaker to facilitate the matches and set up dates.

Once Cade has completed the questionnaire, I’ll upload his answers into the network. I can define how far away (in miles) the candidate is willing to travel for a date. Then I filter responses and how closely the candidates fit Cade’s requirements. After his endorsement of a candidate, I’ll set up the date at an approved public location. It’s very scientific, and I’ve seen it work, but part of me wonders how much romance plays into the process.

Maybe Mr. Bainbridge isn’t looking for romance.

Matchmaking for Cade should be a slam dunk. What woman wouldn’t fall in love with him? Gorgeous, smart, and successful. He sure makes my heart flutter, but maybe he has some quirks I haven’t discovered yet. In Anders’ case, he was a real stickler for grammar and always corrected you if you slipped up. He went on ad nauseum aboutlessversusfewer,thatversuswhich, and his biggest pet peeve:whoversuswhom.

Fortunately, Natasha was an English major, very well versed in proper grammar. She ended up at theBob and Curlbecause she could make more money fixing hair than teaching English. She corrected Anders when, during a particularly heated discussion about pizza toppings, he told her to “take a deep breath through your nose and hold it.” After pointing out that he meant for her to hold her breath and not her nose, he fell head over heels for her—and the rest is history.

Pushing aside memories of the quirky couple, I ponder my newest client, trying to remember if he’s displayed any foibles or mannerisms that might put off the opposite sex. I come up empty. So far, he seems quite perfect in every regard.

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