Page 38 of Love's a Script
“No, why?”
“Because I haven’t seen you play in the snow since we were kids.”
“I do have the capacity for fun and adventure,” he said. “Also, Mary’s not my matchmaker anymore.”
“Wait, you’re done already?”
“No, I’m still at the agency. I’m just working with someone new.”
It would be an adjustment going from Mary to Eden, who, while an attentive and adept matchmaker, couldn’t be accused of being warm or overly friendly. She might’ve half smiled once during their first meeting.
“Why? What happened?” Junie asked, looking concerned.
“It was something to do with her schedule,” he said calmly. The email Ruben had received informing him he’d no longer be working with Mary had cited a vague logistical conflict that might’ve made sense if he’d read it slower, but he knew it was simply a cover for the real reason.
He’d tried to banish the details of that kiss with Mary—the heat and pull of her hands around his neck, her petal-soft lips, the ease with which her body had pressed against his—but still, they plagued him. If she hadn’t created distance between them, he would have in order to regain some professional detachment and preserve the integrity of his reporting. The feature and the radio show at large were his most important pursuits, and he’d been reminded of that when he’d walked into the studio at the start of the week and found it void of buzzing lights and whirring equipment. It reminded him of the recurring nightmares he’d suffered during the months his show was being threatened with cancellation, where he’d find himself standing in a lifeless studio.
“That seems kinda unprofessional to drop a client like that,” his cousin said. “Didn’t she know her schedule before taking you on?”
“It’s not a big deal. Things come up.”
“Okay, but what if you were attached?”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t.”
Junie didn’t say anything after that for a while, resuming her search for a program for them to watch. He’d thought she’d dropped the subject until she suddenly turned to him, smiling. “Oh, I know what happened with your matchmaker!”
Ruben tensed but, as casually as he could, asked, “What?”
“All those days in a hotel room together,” Junie said. “I bet you got on her nerves so bad. You probably said something to offend her, and she couldn’t do her job without wanting to smack you upside the head.”
“Hm,” Ruben said, relaxing. “You might be right.”
“Not might. Definitely. You can be a real pain in the ass sometimes.”
Junie was a sounding board for Ruben on many things, including relationships. So, as easy as it would’ve been to be honest about Mary, he knew it would precipitate a long, interrogating conversation that he didn’t feel like having. Especially now that Mary and that kiss were all in the past.
Chapter Twenty-One
The Neilson sisters, intent on choosing the best private investigator to look into their father’s girlfriend, decided to conduct a series of interviews with potential hires on a weekend morning. They sat on the same side of a worn booth at the back of a diner where the smell of bacon grease and coffee were most potent.
“We can go back and forth asking the questions,” Hattie said, pointing to the set of bullet points on one of the papers she’d printed out for both of them.
Mary nodded and murmured, “All men,” as she scanned the page with the candidates’ profiles.
“Sorry,” Hattie said indignantly, “I didn’t meet your girl power quota. Maybe next time.”
“Hey, I wasn’t criticizing you. It was just an observation,” Mary said. “Thanks for doing all the research.” Her sister seemed snippier than usual, but Mary chalked it up to the pressure of the moment.
The first candidate showed up on time. He was a bald man with deep-set wrinkles in his face and twenty years in the industry. He answered their questions smoothly and seemed confident about their case, projecting a month or so of work.
“And you’re up-to-date with your private investigator license?” Mary asked toward the end of their meeting.
“More or less,” he said.
“How more and how less?” Hattie asked.
“Well, the way I see it,” he said, pausing to take a slug of coffee, “the whole licensing thing is a sham. You fork over money to get a flimsy paper you gotta renew every two years. But with or without it, I can do the job.”
