Page 19 of Falling for My Matchmaker

“The maître d’ looked like he regretted his entire hospitality career.”

“He described you as ‘intense but articulate,’ which is polite-speak for ‘she has a point, but I’m scared of her.’”

“Great. Five stars for verbal clarity, one star for hand-to-hand combat.”

Nate exhaled through his nose—not a laugh, but not disapproval either. He went quiet for a beat then said gently, “You were right.”

I blinked. “What?”

“About Ben. You saw something. You knew. And you tried to call it out.”

“Yeah. And now he’s got a matching set of emotional damage and legal threats.”

“I’m not saying you handled it perfectly.”

“Gee, thanks. So you think I imagined him taking the fork?”

“No,” Nate said gently. “I think you’ve been trained to expect that people won’t believe you. You’re often focusing on the negative.”

“That’s...wildly validating and deeply unhelpful.”

“Welcome to coaching.” Nate leaned back. “And like most coaching, it starts with doing the opposite of what you’re used to. Which is why your next assignment isn’t about what to avoid. It’s about what tonotice.One green flag. That’s it. One thing that feels honest. Safe. Real.”

“And what if there aren’t any?”

“Then at least you looked,” he said. “You gave someone a chance to show up.”

I stared at the table, jaw tight. “What if I’m not built for that?”

Nate’s voice was quiet. “Then we figure it out. But you don’t get to lead with fire and say it’s your only setting.”

I looked at him. Not smiling. Not soft. But steady. The kind of steady that probably did yoga before work and journaled with color-coded pens. God, he was earnest—like a walking leadership retreat. And somehow, that just made it harder to argue with him.

“Fine,” I muttered. “I’ll go on another date. I’ll hunt for green flags. Like some deranged Girl Scout.”

“That’s the spirit,” he said, tapping something on his tablet. “Also: no more physical altercations over flatware.”

“Only metaphorical ones?”

“We’ll negotiate.”

***

The wine bar Bradley picked for our first date was tucked just far enough off the main street to make me wonder if I was being lured into a tasteful abduction.

It was the kind of place that didn’t have a sign—just frosted windows, ambient jazz, and a host stand that appeared only when you made eye contact with the right wall. Cozy. Private. A little too private. Classic serial killer move, really. If the wine list didn’t get me, the soundproof walls probably would.

But sure—maybe he just had great taste in hidden gems.

I adjusted my blazer and reminded myself: green flags. I was here for green flags.

And the man I was meeting?

Bradley.

Yes,thatBradley. The one with the quiet smile and the book in his hand—the only dating app profile I didn’t instinctively reject during the "say yes to one new thing" assignment. And now, here he was.

Tall. Dark-haired. That pale, broody handsomeness that made you wonder if he was immortal or just committed to an elite skincare routine. The navy sweater wasn’t just stylish—itwas mood-setting. He looked like the love interest in a Gothic novel who might be a vampire but hasreally good reasons.

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