Page 76 of Matchmaking On The Menu

“Perfect,” I say, smiling as I take them. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

From there, I head straight to the grocery store, because if there’s one place in this town where everyone goes, no matter what, it’s here. It doesn’t matter what time of day it is or what you need, eventually, you end up here.

Exactly what I’m counting on.

I walk in, grab a pin from the little container on the counter, and make my way to the community board right at the entrance. It’s already cluttered with flyers and notices people mean to come back to but probably won’t.

I find a spot right in the middle and pin mine up carefully, smoothing it down so it sits straight.

Happy Hour. Sunday. 3–5 PM.

Clearly visible. Impossible to miss.

I step back, looking at it for a second, my chest settling with something that feels a little too much like satisfaction.

There.

The trap is set.

15

TEDDY

THE PROBLEM WITH FOCUS

Time doesn’t bring clarity. After breakfast and more pacing than I’d like to admit, I arrive at a conclusion that should’ve been obvious from the start.

Distance. That’s what I need. From this apartment, from that image still sitting on my camera, and from whatever the hell is happening every time I think about the woman in it.

I force my feet into motion, gravel crunching under my boots as I head toward the mailbox out of habit. Something automatic that gives me a reason to be outside without having to justify it.

I find the usual nonsense. Bills, flyers, junk mail. Then I spot the diner logo, and I stop.

Even though I only saw it once, it’s been branded into my brain. My fingers tighten slightly as I pull the flyer free.

A coupon.

I stare at it longer than I should. It’s nothing. Just a discount. A reason to walk through the door, sit down, order food, pretend it’s normal.

Except it wouldn’t be. Not now.

And didn’t I just decide to stay away from Dannica?

But I could go. The thought slips in before I can stop it. Sit in a different section. A corner. Keep to myself, no conversation, no expectations. Just another place to eat.

Except I know exactly why I’d really be going, and it’s not the food. I could sit in the men’s bathroom, and I’d still be looking for her.

My grip tightens. Then I crumple the paper and drop it in the bin beside the mailbox.

I’m starting to feel something again. I’m not about to throw that away over a piece of paper and a pair of eyes I shouldn’t be thinking about.

I turn and start walking before I can change my mind.

I make it farther down the road before my phone pings. Out here, nothing feels urgent unless you decide it is, but habit wins. I pull it from my pocket and glance at the screen.

An email. The print shop logo.