Page 16 of An Overdue Match
Rakes make the best husbands.
A choking sound emits from the back of my throat. I don’t believe the claim, even if certain historical romance authors have tried to lure unsuspecting wallflowers into crediting the farce. And while I adhere to the notion that there is a lot of truth within the stories of fiction, especially pertaining to the human condition, on this particular trope I call malarky.
Do I love a reformed rake as a literary device? Absolutely. But in real life? A girl needs to see what’s in front of her face. If he moves like a rake, talks like a rake, and flirts like a rake, he’s a rake. He’s not going to all of a sudden have a Cinderellamoment and turn into Prince Charming to sweep you off your feet into a happily-ever-after.
Not that it matters what Tai Davis is or isn’t. Not to me, anyway. For all I care, he could be an undercover heir to the throne of an obscure European country (another unbelievable yet indulgent trope). Then again, that would literally make him Prince Charming.
Well, heisa charmer.
I roll my eyes at myself.Focus, Evangeline.
Not Angel. Not Miss Marian or Madam Librarian. Evangeline Victoria Kelly. I give my head a single perfunctory nod.
The only reason I’m thinking of Tai in the first place is because I wonder how much he saw when he was in possession of my printouts. I shouldn’t be worried, though. Even if he had a good, long look, there isn’t any way that he’ll figure out what I’m doing. The papers are only checkout histories from the library.
Except they are so much more. To me, anyway.
And to Dalton and Stacey, although the two don’t know that yet. But they’ll thank me later. After they walk down the aisle toward blissful wedded happiness.
“White chocolate mocha for Shannon,” Stacey calls out from behind the counter of Cotton-Eyed Cup of Joe.
I watch from the corner table, my place of reconnaissance this morning. So far, I’ve learned that the citizens of Little Creek have a serious caffeine addiction. Which, to some degree, has been to my benefit. I’ve been able to observe Stacey interacting with a lot of different people. From the impatient businessman who barely looked up from his cell phone to the haggard mother with a toddler in tow, one who’d put dozens of sticky fingerprints all over the glass display showcasing the coffee shop’s pastry selection. Stacey had greeted and dealt with her customers with a smile and grace.
Like now. She holds out the disposable to-go cup to awoman presumably named Shannon, a warm, easy smile on her face. Her rich brown hair hangs over one shoulder in a loose braid, the end swishing against the name tag pinned to her barista apron.
When I had been listening to Mrs. Goldmann tell her story at the library, an idea had sparked. She’s experienced over sixty-two years of marital bliss. Sixty-two years that didn’t even start with her or Mr. Goldmann. A love story that began ... with a matchmaker.
My own history with romance leaves a lot to be desired and is more a cautionary tale than an advertisement for love, but if the old adage that “those who can’t, teach” is true, then the same logic leads me to believe that being unsuccessful in my own relationship makes me the perfect candidate to set up other people to find their happily-ever-afters. I will be Jane Austen’s Emma but with better results for those I match and no Mr. Knightley in sight for me.
Which is fine. Really.
Unlike Mr. and Mrs. Goldmann’s matchmaker, however, I don’t have the benefit of being able to interview my potential couples. I don’t have a list of characteristics and attributes they’re looking for in a partner or even what they bring to the table themselves. Shoot, I don’t even have their permission to insert myself in their love lives.
Then again, I’ve heard it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission.
I hide a grimace because I know for a fact Granny would disapprove of such a sentiment, shake her head, and comment on how she’d taught me better than that.
It’s true. She did.
But the ends will justify the means. Everyone needs love in their lives. I’ll just get my dose of romance secondhand. Besides, I’mhelping. And what Dalton and Stacey and the other potential couples on my list don’t know won’t hurt them. Andif everything goes according to plan, they won’t know. They’ll never know. They’ll believe that things like fate and destiny brought them together.
I study Stacey some more. She and Dalton will make a cute couple. She can indulge her fascination with pioneer living (she’s checked out two books set on the Oregon Trail and three more with a plot centered around either the transcontinental railroad or the Homestead Act just this month alone) with a little vegetable garden where she can imagine she’s living off the land like Laura Ingalls Wilder. Which Dalton will be all for, considering his interest in an off-grid way of life and getting back to a symbiotic instead of parasitic relationship with nature (that was the subtitle of the last book he returned).
I’m confident in my first pairing. These two appear compatible on paper and yes, byon paperI mean their literary interests. Look, you can learn a lot about a person by the kind of books they read. Is their reading eclectic or genre-specific? Strictly fiction or nonfiction or a variety of both? Do they only check out an occasional book or are they voracious in their consumption of the written word?
I’ve done my homework. Dalton and Stacey have similar interests. They’ll be able to bond over commonalities. Plus, there aren’t any children linked to their accounts, nor have they ever come into the library with little ones in tow, so I don’t have to worry about either of them being single parents. I may be bold and presumptuous in what I’m doing here, but I do have boundaries.
Besides, my observations of Stacey and Dalton around town lead me to believe that both are genuinely nice people—I’d never forgive myself if I inevitably matched a hero or heroine with a villain. I’d decided to match Stacey first because, unlike the majority of Little Creek residents, she’s someone I feel I can call an acquaintance because of our interactions and short conversations at both the library and here at the coffee shop.The last time I came in to get tea, we commiserated over our history of bad dates, so I know that she’s single and looking. Dalton I don’t know as much about personally, but he doesn’t wear a wedding ring and I’ve never seen him with anyone in the whole time I’ve lived here, so it goes to reason that he’s unattached as well.
Now, the million-dollar question is, How am I going to arrange for them toaccidentallybump into each other? Their story needs a meet-cute, and it’s up to me to write it for them.
“Is this seat taken?”
A familiar voice drags my attention away from Stacey at the espresso machine while simultaneously kicking my pulse into overdrive.
I attribute the reaction to being startled. To being caught, yet again, with the evidence of my well-meaning plans in front of me. Reflexively, I close the cover of my manila file folder, then slide it off the table. Out of sight, out of mind.
Except when I raise my eyes, masking my face in careful innocent serenity to offset any suspicions, I’m met with just that. A quirk of a brow. A lopsided tilt of the lips. An air of danger wrapped in a leather jacket. Individually not intimidating, but the combination of the three leaves me wanting to squirm guiltily in my seat.
