Page 42 of Falling for My Matchmaker

His head snapped up. That half-smile he did when he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to laugh flickered across his face.

“You’re okay,” he saidsoftly. “You’re actually okay.”

“Well,” I said, gesturing to the blanket, the IV port, the general crime-drama ambiance. “Okay-ish.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just looked at me.

Really looked.

Like he was taking inventory.

Eyes. Voice. Sarcasm level: normal.

“I got your message,” he said. “Or part of it. Enough.”

I nodded. “I figured. You’re the only person I know who’d show up to a hostage situation in tailored pants.”

His mouth twitched. “Technically I wasn’t invited.”

“You showed up anyway.”

“Of course I did.”

Silence settled again. But this time, it felt full. Not heavy. Just full.

“You didn’t have to stay,” I said finally. “They’ve got snacks here. Sprite. A victim advocate with kind eyes. I’m very supported.”

“I didn’t stay because I had to,” he said.

And there it was.

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I looked down at the cup in my hands.

“You want to know the worst part?” I said after a beat. “I almost liked him.”

Nate leaned forward. “That’s not the worst part.”

“No?”

“The worst part,” he said, voice quiet, “is thinking you were alone.”

I blinked. Hard.

Then, from the hallway, I heard a familiar voice.

“Diana?”

Lauren.

Thank God.

“Back here!” I called, clearing my throat and blinking fast. “Just wrapping up my involuntary wellness retreat.”

Nate stood, awkward. Like he didn’t know whether to stay or disappear.

I looked up at him. “You okay?”

He smiled, tired. “You’re askingme?”

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