You got back early last night."

Raven's muffled voice coming from under the covers piled on her bed startles me. I thought she was still asleep.

Somehow I'd expected her to be one of those insufferably cheerful morning people-- turns out, that's me.

The woman I paid a small fortune to to find me a suitable partner to share my life with turns out to be allergic to morning. Which is why I've been considerately tip toeing around our shared hotel room since I woke up 3 hours ago.

"Early?" I'm surprised. It was near midnight when I thought I'd be able to sneak past a sleeping Raven and straight to the bathroom to wash my face and brush out my hair.

Instead, I found Raven sitting up in her bed with her laptop on her lap, a cup of coffee on her nightstand, chatting with her assistant, Jessica, on the phone while alternately texting her husband.

The woman can multitask, that's for sure. I'm sure if I tried to mix work and personal conversations like that, I'd end up telling Beth I'm not wearing underwear.

Where did that thought come from?

I grab my clothes and dart back to the bathroom in case Raven pokes her head out from under her blankets and wants to know why I'm blushing.

It's not like me to have sex on the brain. I certainly would never text a man that I wasn't wearing any undies.

My face heats as I make myself blush again. Thoughts of texting Nathan from my office at the book store filter through my mind. Thoughts about texting him more than just my underwear status.

Memories of last night's good night kiss have been burning up my imagination since the elevator doors closed. I hate to think what would have happened if I wasn't sharing a room with Raven.

Speaking of--

"Yeah, early." I hear her voice outside the bathroom door, sounding less grumpy about starting the day and more like her usual, everything's-under-control tone. "I didn't expect to see you till breakfast."

I freeze like a deer in the headlights as I pull the bathroom door open and find her standing in front of me with a hair brush in one hand and a naughty grin on her lips.

Did Miss Prim and Proper just insinuate that she expected me to stay the night with a man I'd only known for a few hours?

Like she can read my mind, Raven's smile breaks into a short laugh, "Oh please," the hairbrush waves in the air by her head, "don't tell me you think I'm some Miss Goody Two-shoes?" One perfectly shaped eyebrow arches over a critical eye as she moves out of the way so I can hurry past her now that I'm dressed.

"You do realize I set people up for a living, right?"

She moves so I can't escape her line of sight as if she knows that's exactly what I'm trying to do.

It's a nice hotel room, but it's still just a standard double room. There's not much room for escape.

"Well, yeah," I stammer, "but you know that's not me."

There's that eyebrow again, hoisted above a narrowed eye as she tilts her head to the side as if she's calling bullshit on me.

"Tiffany," Raven's voice loses it's playful tone and lands somewhere between girl friend and professional, "I know you said you're just looking for companionship and security, but if that's all you wanted you could have gotten a dog."

Ouch.

I'm not exactly comfortable with where this might be going. Especially when I don't want to admit that she's right.

"A dog can't--"

"Give you the Heimlich if you're choking?" Raven's fists land on her hips. "A dog also wouldn't tell you that you looked stunning in that dress last night," her head nods toward the dress where I left it draped over the back of the chair after I managed to change into my pajamas and wash the evidence of my short-lived make out session off my face before crawling into bed while evading any interrogations from my marriage broker.

Raven's glare softens and she walks back into the main room and sits on the edge of the bed. Her long red hair is pinned up with a hair clamp, her face free of makeup and looking obnoxiously flawless anyway, her over-sized pajama top hanging off her slender shoulders, giving her a slight resemblance to a teenager at a slumber party.

A teenager who's patting the bed beside her, indicating that I should sit-- because it's time for a serious talk apparently.

Reluctantly I take a seat, checking the hotel alarm clock over her shoulder and seeing that we have plenty of time before we need to check out and head for the airport.

No excuse comes to mind to get me out of this, so I suck it up and turn to face her, prepared for whatever lecture she has in store.

"Tiffany, I know your history. I understand that hiring me was a big step for you and I know you came to me with the idea in your head that you don't want to fall in love again-- you just don't want to be alone."

Any resemblance to a fresh-faced teenager Raven may have had a minute ago is long gone. She's not quite the polished professional I'm used to either. I think this is what it would feel like if I had a sister or a close girl friend. Someone who can tell it like is and still feel confident that I won't hate her for it.

"But you could have gotten a dog," she continues, "or a dozen cats," she points out with a smile. "You could have joined a book club," her voice lilts as if referencing the ladies who gather weekly at my store, "or found a room mate to share your home with you."

I nod warily, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"But you didn't do any of those things, Tiffany. You didn't sign up for a dating service, or go out to a bar to find a short term scratch for an itch.

"You hired a marriage broker."

Raven pauses to let it sink in but I'm not sure what point she's getting at.

"You hired a very expensive marriage broker," she says, "because you don't want a sensible arrangement, Mrs. Rowe."

Her lips curl in a grin that says she knows me better than I know myself and I hate to think she might be right.

"You want a husband, Tiffany. A partner, yes, but not just a friend or a room mate or someone to share expenses with. If that's all you were looking for, you could have found it on your own in any number of ways and saved a lot of money."

"It's not that I'm looking for a man though--" I start to repeat the mantra I've been chanting since I decided to go through with applying for Raven's services.

She shakes her head, reminding me that she's heard it before. Several times.

"Tiff," she tells me, "you want a husband because you want to be loved-- and you want to love someone. I know it because this is what I do. I find people who will love each other and make sure they find each other."

"But I don't want--"

She stops my protest with a wave of her hand, "If you didn't want to fall in love, you would have created an account on Tinder. You would not have hired the world's biggest romantic fool.

"I mean, really," she drops her serious lecture voice for making fun of herself, "did you really think I was going to set you up with a man that didn't ring all your bells?"

Raven's hand lands softly on my knee when I drop my head in embarrassment.

"Honey, I get people hitched," she sounds like she was hanging out with Helen too much last night, "sex is a big part of almost all successful relationships." She stands up and heads toward the bathroom, "We flew out here so you could meet the man you're going to marry. So what if you just met him? I sure as hell don't expect you to buy the cow before you sample the milk."