Page 52 of Matchmaking On The Menu

I grab my bag and start backing toward the door, desperately hoping distance might somehow save me.

“You guys saw. So no.”

Shelly gasps. “Seeing is not the same thing as details.”

“No.”

“I supported you,” she says, looking genuinely offended. “I encouraged you. I facilitated romance.”

I huff out a tired breath, adjusting the strap on my bag just to have something to do with my hands. “You shoved me at a stranger and ran away.”

“Exactly. I facilitated,” she repeats.

My mouth twitches despite myself, but I don’t let it turn into a smile. “I’m going home.”

“To avoid us,” Quadri says.

“To avoid this.” I gesture vaguely at all of them. “And the very obvious interrogation you’re planning.”

Shelly clutches her chest. “I would never.”

“You absolutely would.”

“Mary would,” Quadri adds.

Mary smiles. “We all would.”

I point at her. “Thank you.”

Shelly narrows her eyes. “You can’t just not talk about it.”

“I can,” I say, a little firmer than necessary. “And I will. Because it was one dance with a random guy who was clearly just having fun.”

The words sound flat the second they leave my mouth.

“And kissing you,” Shelly mutters.

“Kissing the mask,” I correct.

“A kiss is a kiss.”

“He’s not a prince,” I snap. “And I am not a blushing damsel.”

There’s a brief pause.

“Debatable,” Shelly says.

“Goodbye.”

I turn before they can say anything else. If I stay much longer, they’ll wear me down. Worse, a small part of me wants them to. Wants to talk about the dance and the kiss and the way he looked at me like I was the only person in the room. That’s dangerous territory, especially if Naveah and Mrs. Leverman are right about him being a runner.

The three of them groan as I push through the door, the bell jingling behind me like it’s laughing at my life choices. Cool air hits my face, sharp and anchoring, and I breathe it in deeply. The ride home is quiet, the town having settled back to its usual rhythm after the festival.

When I get home, the noise has faded. The questions, the teasing, the constant speculation. It should feel like relief, but it doesn’t.

I drop my bag by the door and sit down at my computer, staring at the screen for a long moment before moving the mouse. Silence stretches around me. After the day’s chaos, I should be grateful for it.

I pull up the job listing, and it isn’t any less intimidating.