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But I guess I’ve always been a dreamer.
This isn’t going the way I’d thought it might when I got the idea to ask her to go to the gala with me. I was supposed to be daring and blast through years of holding my tongue to tell the woman I’m crazy about that my feelings for her are more than just friendly. That I want her by my side at the awards ceremony because that way, even if I lose, I’ll still come out a winner.
Instead, she’s ready to bust out a PowerPoint presentation on why she’s my ideal matchmaker. My daring just wentwhooshlike it was blown out an airlock.
“I already know your likes and dislikes, so I can narrow down the best options.” She beams as if nothing could make her happier than sifting through my dating choices. “And we have two months before the gala, so if one doesn’t work out, we have time to try again.”
“So much confidencein me.”
Not that she should. I haven’t dated much in the last couple of years, but there’s a very specific reason for that.
Her.
“You know what I mean. True love might not strike right away. It might take two or three dates.”
Or five years working side by side.
I hired Georgia because she’s confident, outgoing, and has a genuine love of books. I honestly didn’t think she’d stick around long, given her degree in graphic design. But she’s stayed right here, and after a year or so, proved she has a brain for business as well as visuals. I’ve gone along with all of her plans to improve Dogeared and never regretted a single decision. She helped me expand the café from just a coffee counter to a pastry bar complete with a deluxe espresso machine. I helped her reupholster the plush chairs she found for the reading spaces. We spent one wild Monday repainting the whole place a rich, inviting hunter green.
And somewhere along the way, we moved from largely indifferent coworkers to mutually invested teammates to close friends who lean on each other through our best and worst moments.
With a side of unrequited love on my part.
I close my laptop and face her. The wide, hopeful grin she flashes twists right to the center of my heart. I’ve learned to live with the constant butterflies, but the longing ache in my chest is new. How can I miss someone who’s standing right in front of me?
I know before she ever finishes her sales pitch that I’m going to agree to her plans. I’d do anything for that smile. Even pretend I’m not in love with her.
“I kind of set up my brother and his wife, you know.” She sounds like she’s about to hand me a letter of recommendation.Georgia Donnelly, Matchmaker Extraordinaire.
“I know. You pretended I was sick.”
“And you didn’t even have to fake anything! It worked out perfectly.”
She’s just too adorable, even when she’s scheming against all my most secret hopes.
I don’t read much romance, but Georgia does. Through years of listening to her rave about her favorite books, I’ve learned a few things.
The two sexiest words in the English language are “You’re mine.”
Rolling shirtsleeves is required.
And matchmaking never, ever goes to plan.
“Acting as your boss’s matchmaker probably violates some kind of OSHA regulation.”
That earns an eye roll.
“Now you want to play the boss card?”
She’s right. It’s too late to draw that line in the sand. I can’t enjoy movie nights at her apartment with her cuddled next to me and then try to claim something goes against our professional relationship. That went out the window the first time we hugged and I realized I never wanted to let her go.
“It was worth a shot.”
“Nice try. What’s your next move, smart guy?”
“Um, evasive actions?”
She darts her shoulders from side to side. “I’m too speedy for you.”
