Page 43 of Falling for My Matchmaker

“Well, yeah,” I said. “You’re the one who had to listen to my entire personality while also talking to law enforcement.”

He laughed, just once.

Lauren knocked lightly and peeked in. “They said I could take you home. You decent?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

I stood. Wobbled slightly. Nate moved to help, but I waved him off.

“I’ve got it.”

But before I left the room, I turned to him and added—quietly—“Thank you. For showing up.”

His voice was steady, but his eyes weren’t.

“Always.”

***

That night, at home, I did something I hadn’t done in months.

I sat down with a blank notebook and a pen. No app. No algorithm. No Matchbox-approved framework.

Just me.

At the top, I wrote:

What I Want.

Not a man. Not a résumé. Just...the feeling.

I wrote:

I want to feel safe without shrinking.

I want to be challenged without being diminished.

I want to laugh in the middle of something serious.

I want to be held without being handled.

I want to feel like myself—not just seen but known.

I sat back and stared at the list. No edits. No filter.

And there it was.

Exactly how I felt around Nate.

I closed the notebook. Set the pen down.

No dramatic music played. No epiphany confetti fell from the ceiling.

But I felt it.

The ache of something I wasn’t ready to say out loud.

Not yet.

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