Page 4 of Falling for My Matchmaker

"Relax," he said. "I’m not here to make you do trust falls or share your deepest fears. Unless you want to."

I gave him a look that could have flattened a lesser man.

He just smiled wider, the jerk.

"Fine," I muttered. "Walk me through how this...circus...is supposed to work."

He launched into the agency’s pitch: personality matching, value alignment, compatibility analysis, some vague hand-waving about "emotional resonance" that made me want to ask for a refund on principle.

I barely managed not to roll my eyes when he said the words "soulmate potential" with a straight face.

"And," he continued, flipping his tablet around to show me a disturbingly cheerful flowchart titledYour Path to LastingLove, "your package also includes personalized coaching sessions."

He looked up at me. "No pressure. Just support. And since I’m your assigned matchmaker, I’ll also be your coach."

I blinked at him, skeptical.

"You’re going to coach me?" I asked, crossing my arms.

He smiled—not flustered. "That's right."

I stared at him for a long beat.

"Honestly?" I said. "I figured I'd be paired with someone older. Possibly another woman. Married or divorced. Maybe with a mortgage and some permanent back pain."

Someone who could show me battle scars instead of abs.

Nate chuckled—low and easy—but didn't flinch. "You want someone who's been through it all," he said. "Someone who's already made all the mistakes."

"Exactly."

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, voice low but steady.

"Sometimes experience means people have already decided what love should look like—for everyone else. I’m not here to force you into a mold. I'm here to actually listen. To figure out what makes sense for you—not for anyone else."

There was no arrogance in it. No trying to sell me something.

I grabbed my water like a shield. "Fine," I said. "But if you start quoting inspirational Pinterest boards at me, I’m out."

Nate smiled—real, unbothered—and tapped something on his tablet. "No vision boards. No trust falls. I promise."

He flipped to the next section. "So," he continued, "mock dates. Low pressure. Helps me get a real sense of your energy when you’re not overthinking it."

"You mean like this?" I said, gesturing between us.

He grinned. "This is intake. Mock dates are...different."

I narrowed my eyes. "Different how?"

"You’ll see."

Which was either ominous or flirty, and I hated that I couldn’t tell.

"I don’t do fake flirting," I muttered. "Or real flirting, for that matter."

Nate leaned back, smiling like this was the best part of his day. "Good news," he said easily. "You’ll be terrible at it. Which means there's nowhere to go but up."

I glared at him, but it was halfhearted.

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