Page 11 of Falling for My Matchmaker

"Sure I'm sure," I said. "I dazzled you with my survival instincts and my impressive ability to mentally plan an escape route mid-date."

He shook his head, laughing under his breath. Then he sobered a little. "Okay," he said more gently. "Real answer? You actually did great."

I blinked at him like he was speaking a foreign language.

"You asked for help when you needed it," he said. "You stayed present even when it got uncomfortable. And you let someone—me—help you. Those are huge. Bigger than any perfect first impression."

I snorted. "You make it sound like I unlocked a new level of emotional maturity. I asked for help because I had no other choice."

"Sometimes that's when it matters most," he said. Then, after a pause: "And sometimes sarcasm gets a little louder when we’re uncomfortable."

I stiffened. "I wasn’t uncomfortable," I said immediately.

(Too immediately.)

Nate tilted his head, patient as ever. "No judgment. It's a normal defense mechanism."

I crossed my arms. "Maybe I am just naturally hilarious under pressure."

He smiled—not laughing at me, but somehow...for me.

"You are. But you don’t have to armor up so much, Diana."

I swallowed. "Armor’skind of my thing," I murmured, trying for flippant and landing somewhere closer to tired.

Nate leaned forward slightly, elbows on his desk, voice low and steady. "You deserve more than just surviving dates."

I stared at him, because somehow—impossibly—it sounded almost believable coming from him. And that was terrifying. "Some of us," I said carefully, "learn not to expect fireworks."

"You should," he said softly.

I shook my head.

"You live long enough, you realize fireworks just mean something’s about to explode."

He smiled a little, sad but stubborn. "It’s not about the fireworks," he said. "It’s about the risk. If you never let yourself hope for something bigger, how will you ever find it?"

I laughed—sharp, brittle. "Hope's how you get crushed. Low expectations are like seat belts—ugly, but they keep you alive."

Nate leaned back, studying me like I was a puzzle he wasn’t trying to solve—just trying to understand. "You’re not wrong," he said finally. "Hope is dangerous. But it’s also the only reason any of this is worth it."

I looked away, blinking hard at the corner of the screen where my own tired reflection stared back.

Because here's the thing you learn after enough broken hearts and carefully managed disappointments:

Love isn’t safe.

Love isstupid.

Love is humiliating.

And the only thing worse than losing it...is daring to want it in the first place.

"I’m fine with reality," I said coolly. "Reality’s underrated."

Nate didn’t argue. He just smiled—a small, quiet thing that somehow hurt more than any lecture. "For what it’s worth," he said, voice low, "I still think you deserve fireworks. Or whatever your version of them looks like."

I didn’t answer.

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