Page 33 of Matchmaking On The Menu

“It’s still true!” he shouts back.

Of course it is.

“You’re glowing,” Shelly says.

“I’m sticky,” I correct and she laughs.

Quadri nudges my shoulder. “You’re having fun.”

I open my mouth to deny it, then close it again. “I might be.”

Shelly gasps, as if I’ve confessed to committing a crime. “Say it again.”

“Don’t push it.”

Mary smiles into her drink. We fall into step together, laughter spilling easily now. It doesn’t feel forced or polite or carefully measured. Just… free.

For the first time in a long time, I’m not thinking about the diner, or the articles, or all the ways I feel like I’m falling short of something I can’t quite name. I’m just here with them. And it’s enough.

“Oh my god,” Shelly says suddenly, grabbing my arm like she’s just had a revelation. “The masquerade.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No,” I repeat, already shaking my head. I know, with absolute certainty, that this will spiral and end with regret.

“We’re going,” Quadri says, in that calm, authoritative tone that suggests this is no longer a discussion.

“I don’t dance.”

“You sway aggressively,” Shelly counters. “It counts.”

“I will stand in a corner and judge people.”

“Perfect,” she says brightly. “You can judge them while dancing.”

I open my mouth to argue, but Mary shifts beside Quadri, her earlier victory over cider clearly coming back to haunt her.

“You okay?” I ask, my attention snapping to her.

“I just need a minute,” she says, pressing a hand to her stomach. “Too much cider.”

Quadri nods, all teasing vanishing. “Bathroom. Come on.”

And just like that, they’re gone, swallowed up by the crowd and leaving me standing there with Shelly, the distant thrum of music spilling out from the big tent.

Shelly turns to me, eyes sparkling with intent. “We’re doing this.”

I follow her gaze toward the tent, where warm, golden light spills into the night, shadows moving behind the fabric, laughter and music pulling people in like a promise I’m not entirely sure I trust.

An hour ago, I would’ve said no without hesitation. Technically, I did two minutes ago. And yet, I hesitate.

Because something has shifted tonight. It’s subtle, but there. Looser, lighter. Like I’ve stepped slightly outside the version of myself that always knows exactly what to expect. A little unsettling, but also not entirely unpleasant.

I sigh, already giving in despite every instinct telling me this is a mistake waiting to happen.

“If I embarrass myself,” I say, glancing at Shelly, “I’m blaming you.”