Page 13 of Falling for My Matchmaker

He waited a beat. "And emotionally?"

I rolled my eyes. "Why does it always have to get deep with you?"

Nate just shrugged. "Because otherwise, you’re shopping for a roommate, not a partner."

I squirmed. Green flags... "Someone who doesn’t make me feel like I have to audition? Like I have to sell myself just to be tolerated."

Nate nodded. "That’s closer. But I’ve noticed you spend a lot of time describing what you don’t want. Not so much what you do."

I looked away. "Maybe what I want doesn’t exist."

"Or maybe," he said gently, "you’re so used to disappointment, you stopped letting yourself want anything real."

Oof.

He said it like he wasn’t casually blowing up my defense system.

"Anyway," he continued, suddenly brisk. "Homework."

I groaned. "Here we go."

"Say yes to one thing this week you’d normally shut down. Just once."

"Like what? Accept a dinner invite from a guy whose profile pic is just his car?"

"Ideally someone who’s human," Nate said. "Just catch yourself next time you’re about to auto-reject. Pause. Consider. That’s all."

I gave him a long stare. "If this gets me abducted by some maniac, you’re covering my therapy."

Nate raised a hand. "Full financial responsibility."

***

My couch had become a war zone. Blanket fortress: check. Half-eaten popcorn: check. Face of someone emotionally preparing to make contact with Earth's most disappointing species: double check.

I stared at the screen. Guy number forty-seven was good-looking and had his shirt on, but there was the phrase “Just ask” in the bio. I hovered over the red X.

Then Nate’s voice, infuriatingly calm, echoed in my head:Just once. Say yes to something you'd normally reject.

I groaned aloud, like a person being asked to donate a kidney.

"Fine," I muttered. Instead of pressing on the red X, I opened the chat and typed:Hey, what’s the worst that could happen?

Spoiler: I was about to find out.

Chapter 5: The One With the No-Photo Horror

Nate was already seated when I walked in, coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, looking disgustingly well-rested for someone who voluntarily worked in the emotional triage unit known as modern dating.

“I did the thing. I said yes. To a date. With a mysterious stranger. Who had ‘Just ask’ in his profile,” I said, collapsing into the chair across from him. “We’ll meet the day after tomorrow. It’d better be good, coach.”

He chuckled, already tapping something into his tablet. “Well, the point wasn’t perfection. It was momentum. You took a risk. That’s progress.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I live for controlled chaos,” he said. Then, without missing a beat, he swiped to a new screen and turned the tablet toward me. “Speaking of which—I’ve got a new candidate for you.”

He grinned. “Based on your intake and your pattern notes—what you respond to, not just what you say you want—I think this one’s a good fit.”

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