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“I will.” I wave as she walks out the door.
Georgia stalks closer, smiling like she has big plans for me. Unfortunately, I doubt they’re the kind of plans I so rarely let myself imagine for us. The kind where we’re alone in the shop,and she corners me in the stacks, leaning up on tiptoes to reach me. Her lips part, and…
Having a vivid imagination can be a curse.
In real life, she gets right up in my space, closer than a boss-employee relationship warrants, but nobody in the store is paying attention to us.
“I found contestant number one.”
I didn’t think “whispering triumphantly” was a thing, but she made it happen.
My heart sinks a touch. Just a small dip in my ribcage. In spite of her unaccountable excitement to pair me up, I’d still hoped it wouldn’t come to anything. We could go to the awards together and cut out the middleman. Middlewomen.
“Are we really going to call them that?” I say. “Contestants?”
“I found potential life partner number one.”
I frown. “Go back to contestant.”
She settles on one of the wooden stools, resting her red sneakers on the foot bar. “Don’t you want to hear about her?”
“I feel like I’m about to either way.”
“So perceptive. Okay, her name is Kara. She’s an admin I met at yoga class.”
She pauses. I wait. Her eyebrows tip up. She wants a reaction shot from that?
“Yoga class. Got it.”
“She’s a vegetarian, lovesFirefly, and she’s super cute. Twenty-nine, no children or pets, but she’s open to both with the right person. Recently ended a long-term relationship, but she’s ready to move on.”
The amount of information she has about this woman mildly horrifies me. “Just how long did you two talk about this?”
“A few minutes.”
“And you got all that?”
A little line furrows her brow. “Sure. Don’t guys talk about stuff like that?”
“Not remotely.” I’ve known Owen two years and have no idea if he’s a cat person or a dog person, his preferences on children, or even his exact age. Thirty-something sounds about right.
“Well, she’s fabulous. I’m going to text her to meet you at Bella Italia Friday night for a casual dinner.” She’s already got her phone out, her thumbs tapping away.
My stomach twists over on itself, but I focus on my plan. Endure a couple of dates thatso sadlydon’t work out, and then I’ll be free to go to the gala with Georgia.
“Dinner feels excessive for a first meeting, don’t you think?”
She runs a hand over my shoulder. “Just relax and be yourself. She’s sure to love you.”
If only it were that easy.
“But I’m sad that you have no faith in me,” she adds.
“What do you mean? I agreed to it.”
“Not that. This.” She pulls a piece of paper from her purse and holds it up like she’s presentingExhibit A.
It’s a bright orange flyer withKissing Corn Mazewritten across the top. Eight male faces stare back at me, including my own.
