Page 27 of Falling for My Matchmaker

He turned, walked off down the street. I watched until he disappeared around the corner.

Then I turned my key in the door, walked inside, and leaned back against the wall with a long, dramatic sigh.

That kiss had all the passion of a politely written email.

Maybe even one with an unsubscribe link at the bottom.

Chapter 9: How to Ruin a Date Before It Starts

“I’m proud of you,” Nate said without warning.

It landed like a compliment and a trap.

That was the thing about these sessions lately—they’d started to feel less like coaching and more like emotional obstacle courses. Soft lighting, hard truths. Eucalyptus and existential dread.

I blinked. “You’re proud of me? For what?”

“For letting yourself be seen,” he said. “For not armoring up. For going on real dates instead of interrogations in disguise.”

“That’s...disturbingly kind,” I said. “Are you dying?”

He smiled. “No. But you’re making progress, and I thought you should hear it.”

I shifted in my seat, immediately uncomfortable with the compliment. “Okay, well, just to balance things out—Brad kissed me.”

Nate looked at me. “And?”

“And it was like kissing a well-designed app. Everything functioned. Nothing crashed. But there were no sparks.”

“No sparks,” he repeated.

“Not even static cling,” I said. “It was all very...mechanical. Like a kiss designed by HR.”

He didn’t laugh, which made it worse.

“So I’m guessing that’s bad?” I asked.

“Not necessarily,” he said, in full Professional Nate mode. “You’re out of practice. Sometimes chemistry isn’t instant. Andsometimes your body doesn’t know it’s safe until it’s been safe for a while.”

I stared at him. “That’s incredibly reassuring. And also sounds like something you’d say right before I join a cult.”

He smiled. “It’s called nervous system regulation. Not indoctrination.”

“Sure,” I said. “But still. I’m not sure I want to go on a third date with someone who kisses like an onboarding tutorial.”

“You don’t have to. But if everything else feels promising, it might be worth exploring.”

I hesitated. “It’s just...the third date.”

Nate tilted his head. “What about it?”

“Youknow.”

He blinked.

“Youknow,” I said again, dragging the words like a body across gravel.

Realization dawned. “Ah. The mythical third-date threshold.”

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