Page 20 of Falling for My Matchmaker

“Diana?” he said, smiling as he approached.

His voice was low, smooth, and steady—the kind that could talk you down from a ledge or quietly convince you to step off it. Like late-night radio. Or someone reading your story when they already knew how it ended.

Green flag number one: his voice. I liked it.

I nodded. “Hi. Bradley, right?”

He smiled and offered a hand. “Brad’s fine.”

Polite. Crisp. No weird lingering hand contact. No awkward side-hug. Just...normal.

We sat. He asked if I was okay with the booth, checked that I had a view of the room, and didn’t make it weird by explaining why he asked. Just smooth, thoughtful, unobtrusive.

In true-crime terms, that level of situational awareness meant he was either deeply empathetic...or a textbook sociopath managing impressions like a pro.

I paused.

No.

No spiraling.

I was here to look forgreen flags.

Not mentally cross-reference everything with the FBI’s behavioral checklist.

One healthy assumption at a time.

And just like that, we were off to a dangerously promising start.

Brad asked about my work. Actually listened. Didn’t interrupt once. No cliches, no “work hard play harder,” no unprompted monologue about crypto.

Green flag number two.

The conversation was weirdly smooth. Pleasant. Polished. I caught myself leaning in more than once, surprised by how easy it was.

“Any weird hobbies I should know about?” I asked, half-joking, fully prepared for something like rock climbing or chess boxing.

He smiled. “True crime.”

My eyebrows lifted. “Really?”

He nodded. “Big fan ofRedHanded. Obsessed with the production quality onCriminal. I’ve read all of Ann Rule’s stuff, plus most of the academic studies on serial offender typology.”

Green flag number three, I almost shouted to myself.

We had a shared interest! Connection. Finally.

And then he added, “You ever read about Israel Keyes? Nowthatwas a fascinating mind. Total anomaly. No victim profile. Cross-country. He buried kill kits. Years in advance.”

He said it with the tone most people reserved for historical figures or Olympic athletes. Like he was low-key impressed.

I took a sip of wine to stall. “So...you’re into logistics?”

He smiled. “I appreciate structure.”

Another long pause. The jazz solo behind us was getting a little too intense.

Green flag number... Honestly, I’d lost count. He still hadn’t checked his phone. No Instagram questions. No performative modesty. No mansplaining. He was attentive. Articulate. Present.

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