Page 2 of A Match Made in Error

“Saw yes, heard no.”

“I can hear what you aren’t saying.” His sigh is heavy, fingers rubbing the smooth edges of the little wooden fox trinket I gave him years ago. It’s become a nervous tell of his. “Please don’t start,” he begs, lolling his head to look down at me with his sun-flecked eyes. “Yes, I know she’s terrifying. No, I don’t know why I like her. Yes, you can laugh…but please do it later. Preferably not to my face.”

“I’ll do it later then. I need a favor and should be on your good side for that.”

“Sweetheart, I only have good sides.” He angles his chin in various positions to show them all off. So cocky.

Ignoring him, I continue, “I was going to see if it’s okay if I head out early.” I toss a bar rag into the sink and turn to face him. “With the Festival tomorrow, I think we’ll stay slow all night.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, you were planning on leaving me unsupervised? That’s a bold choice.” I roll my eyes, untying my apron as I step out from behind the bar and join him in front of it.

“You’re the owner. You should be able to run this place without me.”

“There is very little I can do without you anymore, love.” His accent leaks through. Years of polished practice mastering a more sophisticated tone gone in his moment of honesty. He’s right. I do almost everything here.

“You’ll be fine for one night,” I say, but I can tell from the sheen in his eyes that he’s not listening anymore.

His eyes are gone from me now, staring at the place he just stood with Angora. Riven drags a hand through his hair. “Fates,” he mutters, sliding back onto the barstool beside me, “if I ever act like that again, just drown me in the ice bin.”

I arch a brow. “You? Act like what? Whipped and in terror with a girlfriend? Never. You two were the picture of domesticated bliss.”

He shoots me a wounded look. “Cruel.”

“Accurate,” I counter, nudging his elbow with mine. “What was it this time? Did you smile too widely at a waitress? Exist too loudly?”

He groans. “Apparently, I was emotionally unavailable during her story about her new robe.”

“Oh no,” I gasp. “Tragic.”

He side-eyes me. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little,” I admit. “Mostly because you date women who think they’re in a romance with a man made of fog and longing, who will meet all their needs and answer every whim. Meanwhile, you’re just”—I gesture at him—“a menace.”

Riven puts a hand to his chest. “A charming menace.”

“A menace who dates for lust,” I correct sweetly. “Not love.”

He scoffs. “That is slander.”

“Is it?” I lower my voice. “Tell me her last name.”

His mouth opens. Closes. “…That’s not the point.”

“It is exactly the point.” I pull my knit cardigan over my arm and stuff my fingers into the pockets. Three gold pieces and a tin of lip salve press against my palms.

He frowns like a scolded child, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “Fine,” he concedes, “maybe I’m…selective about who I date.”

“No,” I correct, “you’re allergic to commitment, and you think chemistry is enough to sustain a relationship, and then conveniently forget between girlfriends that it isn’t.”

He snorts, eyes closing and body shuddering like he’s been shot. “Ouch.”

“But again—accurate.”

He bumps my shoulder lightly, a spark of mischief returning to his eyes. “Good thing I’ve got you to keep me humble.”

“Someone has to,” I say. “Otherwise, your ego would take up half the bar.”

He grins, wide and lethal. “You love my ego.”