Page 8 of Falling for My Matchmaker

His mom beamed at me like she’d just delivered a TED Talk.

I had absolutely no idea what to do with my face.

"Anyway!" she chirped. "I'll let you two get back to it."

She winked—actually winked—and sailed off toward the counter, trailing sandalwood and unsolicited emotional clarity behind her.

Nate sat back down slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry," he said lightly. "Didn’t introduce you as a client or anything—confidentiality clause. Let me know how you’d like me to handle it next time. My mother is...enthusiastic."

I blinked, still catching up. "She thinks we’re soulmates," I said.

"She thinkseveryone’sa soulmate," Nate replied, deadpan. "She tried to set me up with the guy who makes her matcha lattes last month."

I snorted, caught off guard. Of course she did.

I tried hard not to overthink another sign of Nate very likely being gay. Just added it to the growing list of reasons why this was definitelynota real date.

Nate smiled—really smiled—and for a second, the chaos faded.

I shifted slightly.

Pop.

Right.

Still a hostage to my own wardrobe.

I hesitated, stared into my coffee cup, and finally muttered: "I might need your help. My skirt exploded. I need to hold it with both hands so that it doesn't fall off me.”

Nate blinked—a microsecond of surprise—and then his face smoothed back into calm professionalism. He peeled off his coat like it was part of the job description and handed it to me. "Here," he said. "No one’ll even notice."

I hesitated just long enough to pretend I had a choice then yanked it over my lap like it was a force field. "Thanks," I muttered.

Nate grinned—not mocking, just ridiculously calm. "For what it’s worth," he said, "asking for help is basically a relationship superpower."

I blinked.

I thought my superpower was regular self-humiliation, but sure.

"Would you like me to call a cab for you?” he asked.

“Please.”

He pulled out his phone, already a step ahead. "Cab’s two minutes. And we can debrief later tonight. Zoom—no dress code."

"Perfect," I said.

He lifted his coffee cup. "To surviving first dates. Fake or otherwise."

I lifted mine right back. "To surviving...me."

We clinkedinvisible glasses.

I slid off toward the door, wrapped in Nate’s coat and whatever was left of my pride.

And if I maybe smiled all the way to the curb, well... No witnesses, no proof.

Chapter 3: Zoom and Doom

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