Page 10 of Falling for My Matchmaker

"Tell that to the guy who thinks sending three memes in a row counts as emotional intimacy," I muttered.

Lauren bumped her shoulder against mine. "Matchbox isn’t about apps or twenty-two-year-old gym bros. It's about real connection. Grown-up stuff. You know... Honesty, respect, stable internet."

"Wow," I said. "Be still my heart."

She laughed again then leaned her head against the back of the couch, suddenly serious. "You deserve someone who sees you," she said. "Not someone you have to convince."

I stared at her, throat tightening just a little. "You know," I said lightly, "you’re very annoying when you’re right."

Lauren grinned. "It's a gift."

My phone buzzed on the table.

Nate’s Zoom link.

Right. Showtime.

I stood, draining the rest of my wine like a magic elixir. "Wish me luck," I said, grabbing my laptop.

"You don’t need luck," Lauren called after me. "Just stop always assuming the worst."

She winked, snagged the rest of the wine, and headed for the door without waiting for an argument.

I didn’t answer.

I just closed the door behind her, set my wineglass on the nightstand, and powered up my laptop—feeling vaguely like I was volunteering for my own public execution.

The Zoom window flickered to life, and there he was.

Nate, sitting in some cozy beige home office, looking exactly like the guy who’d loaned me his coat a few hours ago while I staged a slow-motion skirt implosion.

I tugged my sweatshirt closer around me and pretended I wasn’t still mortified.

"Hey," he said easily, like we were old friends. "How’s the wardrobe malfunction recovery?"

"Heroic," I said brightly. "Emergency sewing kit. Several prayers. Two emotional support cookies."

He grinned. "Glad to hear it. I had my team on standby with duct tape."

I snorted. "Next time, just bring a tarp."

"Noted for future mock dates," he said solemnly, tapping something on his screen.

I rolled my eyes, but a reluctant smile tugged at my mouth.

"So," Nate said, settling back in his chair. "Want to talk about earlier today?"

"I thought that's why we're here," I said, gesturing at the screen like a magician unveiling a slightly disappointing trick.

Nate chuckled, maddeningly calm. No clipboard, no checklist. Just...waiting.

It made me itchy.

"You first," he said. "How do you think it went?"

I blew out a breath. "Probably a three out of...a hundred," I said. "Skirt disaster, serial killer small talk, complete lack of basic dignity. Truly a masterclass."

His mouth twitched, like he was trying not to smile. "You sure?" he asked, voice warm and lightly skeptical.

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