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“Good to know you actually have guard rails in place,” she said sarcastically.
He chuckled, a deep resonant sound that rose from his chest and spilled across his lips. It was genuine and warm, the kind of laughter that made people feel welcomed, and the corners of her mouth tugged upward in response. She couldn’t stay mad at him when his whole persona was so… inviting. Charming. He was slowly chipping away at her first impression of him.
Bruno watched her closely. “Tell me something, what made you get started in matchmaking?”
“I needed a job,” Marissa answered honestly.
“That’s all?”
Zipping her bag, she nodded. “Pretty much. Executive Match was called Perfect Match back then, and they were desperate to fill the matchmaker position. I applied on a whim, thinking maybe my skills as a barista were transferrable. Turns out, they were. Working in sales, working with the public, providing customer service—all transferrable. I trained under the owner, and I’ve been there ever since. I thought I’d leave eventually. I mean, no one ever grows up thinking, ‘I want to be a matchmaker.’”
“What did you want to be as a child?” Bruno asked.
He seemed genuinely interested, and she found herself lowering her guard and opening up more than she usually did.
“A teacher.”
Bruno nodded slowly. “I could see that.”
“What does that mean?” Marissa demanded.
Laughing, he held up a hand to calm her temper. “You have to admit, the glasses, the bun—I see teacher. Or librarian. Not to mention, I think you get a kick out of telling people what to do.”
“I do, sorta,” Marissa admitted with a twist of her lips.
“I know. I observed you in action tonight, and you’re good, by the way. You make people feel at ease and comfortable. This was my first mixer, but after your coaching, I felt as if I had attended dozens before.”
“Well, I try,” Marissa said.
“You do an excellent job.”
They both fell silent, and the air throbbed and crackled around them. She should put distance between them but couldn’t make herself move.
“You were about to tell me why you never left after you took the job.” His voice was strangely husky.
“Oh, right.” Marissa straightened. “I fell in love with the work. Each successful match is like a hit of dopamine. I’m hooked. I don’t want to do anything else now. I certainly never enjoyed any other job as much as I do matchmaking.”
A smile touched his sensual mouth.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Marissa asked.
“Because your passion for your work is obvious. When you love what you do, your daily tasks do not feel like work, do they?”
“No, they don’t. Is that how cooking is for you?”
“Absolutely. I don’t cook much in my restaurants anymore, but I could never stop cooking, never stop feeding people and watching them moan and hum as they enjoy my food.”
“Do you miss cooking in restaurants?”
“Yes and no. I can cook anytime, for family and friends. Working in restaurants and opening my own were all exciting, but hard work. I loved it, mind you, but there were sacrifices.” His eyes clouded over. “I’m at a different stage of my life, and now I cook because I want to, not because I have to. I have people running my restaurants, which allows me to concentrate on other things—such as expanding my businesses in other ways. Through licensing deals, by investing in other restaurants, et cetera, et cetera.”
“Are you going to tell me who she is?” Marissa asked quietly.
His eyebrows drew together. “What do you mean?”
“The woman who broke your heart.”
The mild amusement that had been on his face during most of their conversation evaporated. “What makes you think a woman broke my heart?”
