Page 46 of Falling for My Matchmaker

“And?”

“She built a psychological profile and location estimate before lunch.”

“And then?”

“And then Nate looped in Alex—Matchbox’s new systems engineer-slash-data wizard—who somehow used metadata, behavioral patterns, and something involving a spreadsheet with no vowels to narrow down my possible location.”

Elliot turned to Nate. “You guys tracked her by vibe?”

“Technically by ping decay and triangulation modeling,” Nate said calmly. “But yes. Vibe.”

I shrugged. “And then Nate drove out, got the cops involved, and kicked down a metaphorical door. I don’t remember much after that, except Sprite, fluorescent lights, and Nate arguing with a paramedic because they wouldn’t let him stay in the room.”

Nate nodded.

“As for the guy?” I said, turning back to Elliot. “Let’s just say there was a plea deal and I’m not legally allowed to go into detail. But I did get a very nice weighted blanket and enough hush money to pay off my student loans and fund a honeymoon.”

Elliot let out a low whistle. “Not bad for a trauma redemption arc.”

“Not bad,” I agreed. “Wouldn’t recommend the method.”

He chuckled, leaning into the mic. “So what’s the moral here? Trust your gut? Background checks and pepper spray?”

I grinned. “Date with your brain on. And if something feels off? It probably is. Call a friend, or call your matchmaker.”

He nodded. “Listeners, turns out survival makes a solid foundation for romance.”

The theme music swelled.

Somewhere out there, another woman was going on a terrible date.

But me? I had a lawyer, a fiancé, and the rest of the afternoon off.