Page 35 of The Matchmaker
The traffic is slow with the weather, but we’re near the outskirts of the city and, in a matter of minutes, we’re back on country roads with dark green fields on either side of us. Callum’s wipers work overtime, but I can still barely see through the deluge, only brief glimpses of the tarmac and the lights from the other cars around us. My chest tightens with a familiar clench of anxiety, and I force myself to breathe evenly, in through the nose and out through the mouth.
I’m not great in cars. Never have been. Not since my parents. But it’s much worse in bad weather. Especially when I have nothing to distract myself with.
“So,” I say. “Do you go on a lot of dates?”
“I’d say a normal amount,” he responds dryly, and I nod.
A normal amount is a normal answer. Even if it makes me feel acutely uncharitable to all the anonymous women I imagine sitting opposite him.
“I got stood up once,” I continue, aware that I’m babbling but preferring it to silence. “Third date. We were supposed to meet for coffee, but he never showed. I thought he was dead. He wasn’t. He just didn’t want to see me again and was too chicken to say so. I think he’s married now. Last time I checked anyway.”
“You checked?”
“Of course I checked.”
“You always keep tabs on people you’ve dated?”
“Not all of them,” I say, defensive. “Just the ones I have grudges against. Don’t you?”
“No.”
“Well, you should. Sometimes, you find out they’re doing badly and it’s really satisfying.” He doesn’t respond and I sit up, fidgeting with my seatbelt. “Your car is very clean.”
“My—” He shakes his head. “There are no segues with you, are there? You’re just straight in.”
“It’s a compliment!”
“Not when you sound so surprised.”
“I sound surprised because I am surprised.”
“Because I work in construction?”
“Well, yeah.”
“I spend all day in the dirt. I don’t like to bring it home with me.” He peers out the windshield before checking his blind spot, and I relax a little with how careful he’s being.
“I can’t believe you were going to get the bus in this,” he says, back to sounding annoyed.
“There is nothing wrong with the bus.” When it shows up.
“You know, when the hotel is built, the village will be on a direct route to—”
“I know. I’ve read your leaflets.”
“I’m just saying, it’s not all doom and gloom. You’re the one who was going to walk forty minutes from Rossbridge.”
“I like walking.”
“In this?” He gestures out the windshield, and I flinch as he momentarily lets go of the steering wheel. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re stubborn?”
“No,” I say primly. “I’m a delight to everyone else.”
“Well, I’ll try not to take it personally,” he mutters, and we fall quiet as other vehicles speed past us, sending surface spray into the air. I grow restless, my knee shaking with each sweep of the wipers, and I reach for the radio again, needing distraction from my thoughts.
I must have hit a different button this time, though, because it doesn’t turn to the news station, and a little Bluetooth symbol pops up instead as it connects to his phone. Callum glances at me but makes no move to turn it off as a posh English man starts narrating.
It takes me a few seconds of listening before I figure out what it is. “Frankenstein? You’re not one of those people who only read books published before 1900, are you?”
