Page 85 of Matchmaking On The Menu

Behind me, Diane’s voice drifts over. “…sold the house as part of the settlement, which is why I’m in one of those fringe apartments for now, and I said, ‘Gerald, you can keep the throw pillows, I never liked them anyway⁠—’”

“Good for you,” Luke says, completely sincere.

Dannica doesn’t look away from Quadri. “You found out from Luke where Teddy lives. You designed a coupon for a free meal and invented a happy hour so you could lure him to the diner.” She glances at the table Diane and Luke are occupying like they’re on a date—sage tablecloth, pink roses, candles flickering gently. “For this.”

Quadri opens her mouth. “Coupon, yes. Happy hour? No.”

“And you,” she says, turning to Shelly, “had Luke build a tandem bike, staged a fake competition so Teddy would win it, and then tampered with my bike to force some kind of proximity scenario.”

Shelly winces. “When you say ’tampered’—”

“Shelly.”

“Yes. Correct.”

Dannica turns to Mary. Holds it a beat longer than the others.

“And you had Luke fake-mug me.”

Mary’s wince travels through her whole body. “It was meant to be very gentle. And the happy hour was me.”

“And all of this,” Dannica says, her voice still even, still measured, “was for a bet.”

Three heads drop in near-perfect unison.

“Technically,” Quadri says, “it was matchmaking, the bet was an added bonus.”

“It was a bet dressed up as matchmaking.”

“Yes.”

I fight the smile. She has every right to be furious, but she’s not. She’s calm, which is somehow worse, and watching them reckon with that is the most honest thing I’ve seen all day.

“—and the apartment’s actually quite peaceful,” Diane is saying. “Though the pipes make a noise at three in the morning that I’ve decided not to investigate.”

Luke nods gravely. “Smart. Some things you don’t want confirmed.”

“I’m going to say this once,” Dannica says. “And I need you to hear it.”

They nod, immediately.

“This was insane.”

More nodding.

“And invasive.”

Still nodding.

“And dangerous.” She looks at Mary. “Someone could have actually gotten hurt.”

“I know,” Mary says quietly, all her bluster gone. “I’m sorry, Danni. I really am.”

Dannica exhales. It’s slow, controlled, but not quite steady. I watch her pull it back—the full weight of whatever she’s really feeling underneath the calm—and lock it somewhere it can’t spill.

“Don’t do it again.”

The relief around the table is immediate, almost physical.