Page 2 of Falling for My Matchmaker

Nate gestured toward a hallway with a grin that probably melted sorority girls for miles.

God. I bet he thought he understood what dating in your thirties was like.

Meanwhile, I was out here up against tech bros, TikTok thirst traps, and guys who thought two pillows made them husband material.

Sure, I thought as I followed him.This is going to go great.

Theconsultation room was aggressively neutral: cream walls, soft lighting, inspirational posters about "finding your spark."

There was a tray of artisanal bottled water so expensive it probably had its own LinkedIn page.

I sat stiffly. Nate sat across from me, flipping open a tablet like he was about to conduct a very gentle police interrogation.

"Before we jump in," he said, "I just want to say—this is a judgment-free zone. No awkwardness, no pressure. My job is to help you find a connection that feels authentic to you."

He said it so sincerely, I almost believed him.

Almost.

"Right," I said. "Judgment-free. Like a TSA screening."

Nate chuckled—actually chuckled—and jotted something down.

Probably:Subject displays early signs of bitterness. May require exorcism.

"Let’s start with the basics," he said, tapping on his screen. "How long has it been since your last serious relationship?"

I stared at him.

He waited, open and patient.

"Depends how you define serious," I said. "We lived together. Owned matching spatulas. Thought about buying a dog."

Nate nodded. "Sounds serious. How long ago?"

I picked at the label on my artisanal water bottle. "A little over a year."

Technically, it had been two years, two months, and six days since the Great Breakup of Doom, but who was counting?

That is to say: me.Definitely me.

Ben said I hadtrust issues. He thought it was weird that I liked true-crime podcasts. Said it was “dark” and “concerning” that I fell asleep listening to people discuss evidence chains. He said I was always waiting for people to screw up.

But out loud, all I said now was—

"He said I had trouble trusting people."

Nate nodded, still patient. God, that face could disarm a whole army of jaded thirty-somethings.

"Would you say that’s true?"

I hesitated. "I think I trust people to be themselves. I just don’t always like what that turns out to be."

He smiled slightly, tapping something on his screen. "Noted. Let's talk about what you’re hoping to find now."

Ah, the million-dollar question.

"A man who isn’t emotionally constipated, married, or under the impression that the phrase ‘looking for a vibe’ counts as a personality," I said. "Preferably someone with a steady job and all his original teeth."

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