Page 32 of Matchmaking On The Menu

She shrugs, small and unassuming. “Maybe.”

Five minutes later, the entire crowd is chanting her name. I’ve never seen anything like it.

Mary—quiet, sweet Mary—is halfway through her pint while the guy next to her is already slowing down. She doesn’t even look stressed.

Shelly is screaming. Quadri is watching like she’s witnessing a scientific anomaly, and I am reconsidering everything I thought I knew about this woman.

Mary finishes first and the crowd erupts as though she’s just won the Olympics.

She blinks and wipes her mouth delicately. “That was… unpleasant.”

I well and truly lose it, laughing so hard I have to grab Shelly’s shoulder just to stay upright.

“You’re terrifying,” Shelly tells her.

Mary smiles, small and pleased. That smile is a bigger win than the free drinks now being shoved into our hands.

We wander from stall to stall after that, the night playing out around us in warm lights, music, and the smell of cinnamon and fried dough. Someone bumps my shoulder. Hard.

I turn automatically. “Sorry⁠—”

A little old lady grabs my arm. “Dannica!”

I freeze.

What?

This is...

“Luke?”

Up close, it’s worse. The silicone mask is slightly too smooth, stretched tight over the shape of his face. The eyes don’t quite match the smile. It’s unsettling.

He beams. “I loooooove the harvest festival.”

I can’t stop myself from grinning.

Mary makes a noise that sounds like she’s choking on air. “Why are you like this?”

“I’m thriving,” Luke says proudly, adjusting his floral shawl. “I love the harvest festival.”

“You’ve said that already,” I point out.

“And I will continue to say that,” he insists. “Because I. Love. The. Harvest. Festival.”

A guy dressed as a pirate takes one look at him and walks the other direction. Honestly? I don’t blame him.

Quadri doesn’t even blink. “You’re going to traumatize someone.”

“I’m committed to the craft,” Luke says.

“What craft?” Shelly asks.

“Old lady realism.”

Luke wanders off, and someone hands me something covered in caramel. I eat it without question, which is a personal milestone. Behind me, Luke’s voice cuts through the noise. “I loooooove the harvest festival!”

“We all know that, Luke!” I call over my shoulder, already moving.