Page 7 of Falling for My Matchmaker

I hesitated then tilted my head. "Okay," I said. "Where are you from?"

"Queens," he said. "Big family. Lots of opinions. Endless pasta. Occasional near-death experiences over board games."

I snorted. "And why matchmaking?" I asked.

Nate shrugged again, but there was something thoughtful under it. "I like helping people find things they stopped believing they could have," he said.

I stared at him a second longer than necessary, feeling something uncomfortable and traitorous flutter behind my ribs.

I shifted in my seat—and there it was again.

Pop.

Time to go.

"Well," I said, forcing a bright smile and sliding my bag onto my lap like a makeshift shield. "This has been...fun. But I should probably get going."

I was planning the safest way to stand up, when the door to the café blew open in a whoosh of cold air and sandalwood.

"Nathaniel!" a woman trilled across the room.

Nate immediately stood—reflexively, automatically, like a man bracing for impact.

I stayed seated.

Very seated.

Strategically bag-shielded, dignity-clinging seated.

A woman in flowing purple scarves and jangling bracelets beelined toward us, trailing two equally colorful backup singers. She radiated incense, goodwill, and catastrophic levels of maternal enthusiasm.

She stopped in front of Nate, beaming. "And who’s this beautiful young lady you're hiding over here?" she said, already reaching out like she was about to squeeze my cheeks.

"This is Diana, Mom," Nate said, easy and neutral.

Nothing else. No explanation. No client label. Just Diana.

His mom seemed delighted. "I knew it," she said, turning to her friends. "Didn't I say it, Marcy? I felt the energy shift the second I walked in."

"You did!" Marcy said, nodding solemnly. "Clear soulmate vibes."

I tried to shrink into my chair without physically disappearing.

Nate's mom turned back to me, hands fluttering like she might perform a laying-on of hands any second. "And you, sweetheart," she said, tilting her head thoughtfully. "You’re carrying a lot right now."

I froze harder.

Was she psychic? Did she somehowknowabout the imploding skirt? Was that what she meant by “carrying a lot”?

"You have a heavy energy," she said, tapping her temple knowingly. "But it’s temporary. You just need the right support."

She turned to Nate and patted him on the chest—once, twice. "You help her," she said warmly. "You’re good at that. You've always had a healing energy. Ever since you were little, remember? All these boys you brought home."

Nate smiled—a patient, pained smile that said he remembered every second and had long since made his peace with it.

Marcy and the second backup singer murmured approval behind her.

I smiled—wide and stiff—like a person clinging to a ledge by two fingers.

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