Page 7 of Matched with Her Athlete Boss

I don't usually go out as far to the middle of Massachusetts as we're going, but driving in this state is all the same. Defensive driving is the daily menu.

"I just panic when there's traffic like this. I've been here for eight months now and I can't even drive like a normal human." Millie buries her face in her hands.

Hillary leans forward, touching Millie's shoulder. "Millie, you did great. I get scared driving here too sometimes and I've lived here my whole life. Well, minus the time I was a pirate guide on a remote island." That gets the rest of us laughing.

Even though we’ve been best friends since high school, Hillary skipped out on her wedding without telling me, the maid of honor. She ended up on some tourist island where cruise ships dock and worked in the pirate museum. She's only lived with us for a couple months and this is the most connection she’s had with Millie and Evie since moving in.

I got an apology a few weeks ago about her disappearing act, which meant I had to check Hillary’s pulse to see if she was still alive. Everything I’ve seen from her since she moved in shows signs of her changes. Maybe that remote island was the coffee to wake her up.

Millie sniffles and nods. "Where I come from, we have maybe two stop lights in the whole town. My mom always calls me in a panic every time she hears the wail of an ambulance, thinking that I've gotten hurt or in an accident or something."

I steer the car through traffic, with Evie’s guidance using my phone.

“There’s a new email notification from Love, Austen. I didn’t know you were part of the program.” I can see Evie’s curious expression through the rearview mirror.

“I was at one time, but I closed my account.” Why would they be trying to email me? So many memories of my short stint with the matchmaking company flood my brain. The last thing I’d heard from them was the email, “We’re sad to see you go.” That was nearly a year ago. We still have at least fifteen minutes to get to the farm and now curiosity is building. “What does it say?”

Evie takes a few seconds before speaking. “Dear Kenzie, we’re writing to you as a former client for our company. Ever since rolling out the matchmaking app, we’ve made great gains in couples all over the world—”

“Scan down. Is there a point to this?”

I slow down as the car in front of me is practically crawling along the road.

“It says below that they are wanting you to take a survey to help them change some things. Every submitted survey will be given a $100 gift card.”

My bank account practically screams at me to fill out the survey. There’s no way I need my roommates to find out how low on cash I am. I shrug and say, “Thanks. Where do I need to go from here?”

We finally drive into the parking lot and I can see a few of the obstacles set up. Excitement mixes with adrenaline through me. Getting dirty isn't always my idea of fun, but this is one of those things I thought my roommates could do with me to cross it off the bucket list. Lists are my thing. They help my brain focus by getting all the information on the page.

“How’s work going, Kenzie?” Evie asks. It’s been at least a week since I’ve seen everyone. They work at all hours for their various jobs and I haven’t had a chance to explain about my change of occupation.

“Well, I quit the drugstore and…I’m starting an organizational business.”

There is a long moment of silence and then Evie and Hillary start talking at once, while Millie gapes at me from the passenger seat.

“That’s awesome, Kenzie,” Evie says.

“You’re an expert in that area already,” Hillary says.

“I don’t have much of a portfolio,” I say, gripping the wheel to turn into the small dirt parking lot. “I just hope to get a few people to start with and then get the referrals going.”

I see Evie and Hillary stare at me through the rearview mirror.

“I’m surprised you haven’t been taking pictures of every time you clean our house,” Hillary says with a grin.

Nodding, I say, “I should’ve. But people would notice that all the pictures are practically the same.”

I glance out the window. There’s color everywhere. I’ve always been a sucker for bright colors, but this is like a dopamine rush.

"Okay, let me go check in," I say, giving the keys to Millie.

I walk over to the main table, almost skipping that we're here. Alive. Early. My brain is doing its own victory dance. And I’m free from having to talk about the matchmaking situation.

If they want a filled survey, I’ll give them one. And then I’ll make sure to leave a lengthy paragraph about how the men using this app are complete tools who shouldn’t play with hearts.

The woman behind the table glances up and says, "Name?"

"Spice House," I say. It's the name I gave our small house and its occupants because we pretty much make up every spice there is with the different personalities. Some sugary sweet, i.e., Millie and Evie. Me as the chili pepper, usually when things are overwhelming, and Hillary is Italian seasoning flavored. Dani, before she married Miles, was the garlic seasoning. You can never have too much.

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