Ashley

I spent the morning in my corner office at Pair Us with its view of Lake Union, doing paperwork and administrative tasks at my desk. It was the part of the business I liked least. But it was, at least, distracting, and I needed distraction this morning.

It had been a dry, hot summer. A smoky summer. Too many forest fires. Too much smoke hanging heavy in the air, making it difficult to breathe, something I hadn't expected from Seattle, with its reputation for rain and greenery. One of its nicknames was the Emerald City, but you wouldn't know it now. The green had turned to brown and the whole world was sepia with smoke. Another thing I wasn't used to in Manhattan—the city smelling like a constant campfire. Bring out the marshmallows and the graham crackers. Let's have some s'mores.

Even the locals complained that this was unusual. The weather was full of records—record number of days without rain, record number of days over eighty…

The smoke and the fires had hung on through most of the month, occasionally raining ash on the city. It was trying the patience of people. They missed the rain. They were in rain withdrawal, if you can imagine that. It was so dry, I'd heard jokes about calling in a rainmaker. It felt as if we were holding our breath, waiting for air fresh enough to inhale. The usually outdoorsy Pacific Northwesterners were staying inside because the air quality was so bad. September was turning out to be a month of smoke and fire.

As for me, I was holding my breath as well, but for entirely different reasons. After most of a year in business here, I had a comfortable number of clients in the smoldering romance phase, just waiting to burst into flames. Smoldering was a delicate and dangerous place for a romance. So easy for it to go either way, particularly the wrong way. So easy to douse the anticipated flames with almost anything, even something as simple as a misworded text.

You have to understand—most of the people who come to me as clients have not had an easy time finding love and lasting companionship in the first place. If they had, why would they need me? I wasn't dealing with young, impressionable, naïve, rose-colored-glasses types of people. My clients had to have achieved a certain level of success to even be able to afford my services. Either that, or inherit wealth. But it's a fact that young people, even young wealthy people, will prefer to find love on their own first. I've yet to have a client who's hired a matchmaker as their first means of finding a spouse. I'm usually a desperate last resort. But no pressure.

If I was particularly jumpy this morning, it was because of Jeremy and Crystal. They were having their first date, a simple coffee date. First dates, especially simple meetups for coffee, didn't usually give me heartburn and anxiety. But this was different. I was already too emotionally invested in Jeremy's success. And yet something niggled at me as I sat staring out my window at the rippling waters of Lake Union.

In the week since Jeremy asked Crystal out and she went out of town on business, I had conferred with Crystal long distance. I encouraged her to accept dates with two other men when she got back, clients of mine, too. Very good men. That was the only kind I took as clients. Decent matches for her, too. Competition for Jeremy, certainly.

If I'd simply been a friend setting Crystal and Jeremy up, of course I would have stacked the deck in Jeremy's favor and only set them up. If Crystal had just been a member, not a client, I would have only matched her with Jeremy and no one else. At least not until or unless that relationship fell apart. If it was going to. But she was a paying client, which meant she got the full-service deal.

As her matchmaker, what choice did I have? Ethics demanded this one. She was paying me to find her a soul mate, a life partner, not to sit around on my butt hoping my friend was the guy for her. I wouldn't send her out as a single submission, dating only one guy at a time. That wasn't how the game was played. Not being exclusive until five or more dates in was my rule, after all, not hers. So why was it giving me nightmares?

I have full confidence in Jeremy, I told myself. He's a fantastic catch. One-fourth of the four guys named, collectively, as Seattle's Hottest Bachelor.

But women were the premium in this city, not men. Smart, funny, pretty women who were looking to settle down were scarce and could take their pick of men—if they cared to take the time to sort through them. Otherwise, they hired me to separate the catches from the deadwood. And although Jeremy had money, intelligence, and good looks to recommend him, Seattle was in the top five cities in the country with highest concentration of rich millennials, the very age group that was on the prowl for spouses. Most of those were people in the high-tech field. Most of them were men.

So here I was, anxious and eager for Jeremy to have his date with Crystal and prove himself as the standout among some very tough competition that I had chosen for him. I was challenging myself as well as him.

To make matters worse—or better, depending on your perspective—Crystal had seemed excited about the other options.

"You're lost in thought."

I jumped at the sound of Lazer's voice and turned in my desk chair to face him. He was lounging insouciantly in the doorway. As always when I saw him, my heart did a little flip, as if his good looks and charm were somehow still a surprise. As if my heart couldn't believe its good luck that he was mine.

I smiled at him. How could I help it? "I was pondering the smoke. How can you look so calm and carefree while it threatens your prize? How close is the fire to Lazer Lodge now? I've stopped listening to the reports. They scare me too much."

He stepped inside my office and closed the door behind him. "Two miles and closing. Don't let the reports scare you. Don't worry your pretty little head about it." He was teasing me with the chauvinistic remark. "I've hired the very best firefighting and prevention crews that money can buy. They've built a hell of a fire line around the lodge and have had full use of the swimming pool in their leisure hours."

"Firefighters have leisure hours?" I teased.

Lazer shrugged. "Mine do. What good are exhausted men? If the fire line fails, and the lodge burns, I'll rebuild it. It's time to redecorate, anyway. Starting with a clean slate wouldn't be so bad."

He was being too nonchalant. The lodge was his pet place, his escape.

"You can't rebuild the forests that quickly," I said. "The beautiful views and surrounding woods—"

He took my hands and pulled me to my feet. I slid into his arms and kissed him. He was a delicious kisser, one of his many charms. "What are you really worried about?"

"The lodge." I really was. I loved that place.

"And?"

I looked up at him. "Jeremy."

"Ah. That's right. He's on another first date, isn't he? You've booked the guys steadily since we got back from Austin's wedding. I'm losing track of who's out with whom."

"Yes, another first date. But this date's different," I said.

Client confidentiality was a priority for me. I didn't discuss clients' dates and matches with anyone other than staff who had a need to know, like my assistant Lottie, and the other matchmakers in the office. And Lazer. He was an expert at the art of dating and exceptionally perceptive about people. He knew the male point of view and could read women and their motives better than anyone I knew. And he was my partner in the business, and life, and an exceptionally good listener. I often went to him for advice.

His friends, however, were a special case. They deserved both privacy and his attention and expertise. And Lazer was footing the bill for them. Since these were his friends, though, I usually trod cautiously, respecting the relationship they had with Lazer.

"By different, you mean you have higher expectations?" Lazer said.

"It's scary the way you read my mind." I took his hands and squeezed them. "And by higher, I mean this is the most certain I've been about any couple in all my years of matchmaking—these two belong together."

Lazer looked thoughtful. "So what you're saying is that you're feeling the pressure? Just how accurate are your instincts?"

I nodded, trying not to let my frustration show.

"I wouldn't worry about Jeremy," Lazer said. "We've coached him well. He's not our little nerd anymore."

I frowned. "Surprisingly, it's not Jeremy I'm worried about."

"You're worried about his date?" He grinned. "That's a new one. Just what kind of a woman did you set him up with? I thought you screened them."

"I do."

He paused. "Wait. Is this the woman you met at the steakhouse after your matchmaking date with that jock I don't like? The heroine you told me about?"

I nodded, hoping to avoid another discussion about the way I socialized with my male clients. "The very one. She's nice and funny. Very personable." I squeezed Lazer's hands again and then dropped them. "There's something I can't put my finger on. A worry niggling in the back of my mind." I took a deep breath. "She's perfect for him."

"What's bothering you?" Lazer said.

"Nothing." I shook my head. "Timing is everything. I'm not positive she's ready for him." I paused. "I've set her up with some other very desirable catches. I wish they'd come before Jeremy, not after, so she could compare him to them. Experience has taught me that being the first date a client has after coming to me isn't the ideal position. Not unless you make a big splash."

Lazer laughed. "You mean you're going to make Jeremy work for her?"

I rolled my eyes.

"You're too damned good a matchmaker. Too ethical," he said affectionately. Lazer tilted his head, studying me. "That's all?"

I grinned. "That's enough."

But the truth was that I was worried. Even as heavily as I screened them, a brand-new client was a wild card. I was always worried I'd missed something. I worried I'd set her up with men that she might, on first meet, find more attractive than Jeremy, and not realize what she was giving up.

---

Crystal

The weather was slightly cooler than it had been in weeks. It was smoky outside, and a thin layer of wood ash from the forest fires raging a hundred miles away covered my driveway when I pulled my car out of the garage. This was the first of my many dates in the next few days, and the one I wanted most. I'd let the matchmaker talk me into accepting dates with several other guys. Several other very attractive men. I was suddenly Miss Popular, with dates for coffee, lunch, and dinner the next day.

Ashley had been so reasonable with her argument that I should date widely at first. She made a lot of sense. I couldn't tell her that my heart was already taken. She'd think I was crazy, write me off as a client. Why bother? I hadn't confided in her about meeting Jeremy at the accident scene and the happy coincidence that she had paired us. It seemed like fate to me.

Who knew? She was the expert. Maybe she was right. Maybe I needed to try several men out, ones she'd handpicked, to really see what I wanted in a man. Maybe, despite my years of dating, I didn't have the right perspective on who would make a good future spouse. I'd picked some losers in the past.

The weather was still mostly too warm for fall clothes. But I'd done my best and dressed in one of the hottest casual dress trends for fall—high-shine red pants, an eighties sport-inspired T-shirt, and heels. Casual chic. The combination was hotter than it sounded, and very trendy. The slacks were fabulous and versatile. Pair them with a lace top and they'd be good for an evening out.

I drove through smoky West Seattle and over the bridge toward the city, trying to keep my nerves and excitement about my date with Jeremy at bay. This was just the first date, and only a noncommittal coffee date at that. Even if it went well, so much could go wrong later. I'd been wrong before so many times.

Unfortunately, I knew the trends in dating. Of course I did. Trends, and spotting trends on the upswing, were my business. And dating trends? Not that hard to uncover when you were living them. Though I hadn't been dating much this past year. Too busy. Too busy to find time for dates. Too busy to commit. Too busy traveling. Too busy to go on a steady stream of dates with a guy, even a guy I liked.

Unfortunately, "too busy" often gave the appearance of some of the more common, and often egregious, dating trend behaviors, like ghosting—going silent after a few apparently happy dates—layby-ing—like putting a person you're dating on layaway at the department store; maybe you'll make the final payment someday—slow fading—a gentler, subtler form of ghosting—or benching—messaging each other, staying in touch, but no talk of further dates.

I'd been guilty of benching maybe more than my fair share of the time. But not for the usual reasons, which usually revolved around dating someone else and trying to hook them before letting the benched one go. I was usually trying to keep my benchee on the line during my insanely busy work and travel schedule in the hopes they'd still be interested when things slowed down and I had time for them. Did it work? Obviously not.

I got off the bridge and took a familiar route into Seattle.

Yeah, I perfectly understood why guys got frustrated with me. It was a curse of the business. I'd had guys do the same to me, and I hated it.

Having a matchmaker was supposed to cure all those ills, at least according to Ashley. She was the go-between. She didn't put up with crap like ghosting or benching. If a client or member wasn't man enough to tell the other person they were no longer interested, she'd do it for them. I found the thought of honesty refreshing. I loved hope as much as the next person, but false hope was simply cruel.

Fall, as I had researched—because I research everything—was a busy time for matchmakers. After a summer of singles thinking their hot bikini/swim-trunk bodies were going to attract a mate, and being disappointed, they were ready to turn to professional help in the autumn when long sleeves and sweaters came out. In the lingo of the dating scene, fall was drafting season, the time of year when cuffers—people who are happy playing the field in the spring and summer—dated like crazy, hoping to have a boyfriend or girlfriend for the winter.

I sure hoped Jeremy wasn't a cuffer. They were some of the most dangerous false-hope offenders around. They kept you as a girlfriend for the winter and dropped you at the first sign of spring buttercups. Cruel and hard to spot, even for a trend spotter like me. Supposedly Ashley screened those kinds of men out. All matches were seriously seeking spouses or they were dropped. We'd see.

I pulled into the Seattle location of Jet City Coffee. I lucked into a parking spot in the lot and shut off my engine. I glanced at my watch. Right on time. I took a deep breath and a last look in the rearview mirror. No lipstick on the teeth. Hair looked pretty decent. I was ready to go.

I pulled my phone out and decided to take a chance on this guy. I was going to go throwback on this date, which meant going relatively tech-free. No phone out. Of course I'd still have it on me, but no interruptions. I did a final check for texts and put my phone on airplane mode.

Ashley had warned me not to set tests for my dates. But I kept thinking that if Jeremy was the man I imagined since saving a life with him, he'd find me worthy of throwback dating. Throwback dating was dangerous only in that you couldn't have someone text you with "an emergency" to save you. If the date went south, you were on your own getting out of it.

I grabbed my purse and slid out of the car. The air was smoky. The world was smoky. The sun was spookily red like at sunset, only creepier. Was this the kind of weather to start a new relationship in? It was certainly the kind of weather that reminded cuffers that winter was coming. If I were living in the ancient world, I might take the red sun as a dire omen. But in the modern world, I remained cheerfully optimistic.

I hoped Jeremy was punctual. I didn't like to be kept waiting, especially not when I was as nervous as this.

Inside Jet City, the smell of their custom-roasted coffee overrode the smell of smoke. I loved the atmosphere of each of the unique Jet City Coffee shops. This was my second favorite, after the West Seattle one by me. It was pleasantly busy and bustling. At this time of day and year, it was filled with businesspeople on their coffee breaks or having offsite meetings, retirees, students, and stay-at-home moms taking a break while their kids were at school. It was a wide swath of society, perfect for people-watching, if that had been the mode I was in. You can learn a lot about trends by watching people. And eavesdropping. Dare I admit that I was a champion eavesdropper?

I looked around for Jeremy, heart hammering. When I spotted him at a table near the counter, my heart stopped. Not only was he on time, he was early. And every bit as hot as I remembered. He was stylishly turned out in a gray T-shirt, nostalgic updated nineties-style track jacket, and jeans. Eighties and nineties retro were big this fall.

I was happy to see he followed trends, too. It's one of those new dating things everyone does, whether they admit it or not. You magnify every little thing you have in common to something of extreme significance that points out exactly why you belong together. We're both trendy and so alike, it's uncanny. We're meant to be together. Who can deny it?

His beard was sexier than it looked in the pictures Ashley had shown me. And if there had been any doubt before, seeing him again vanquished it—Jeremy was the guy from the accident. And I was almost deliriously happy to see him, so fluttery inside that it was embarrassing.

I lit up, smiling largely and unable to stop, waiting for that telltale look of recognition to light his face when he saw me.

He'd been looking down, checking his phone. He looked up. His gaze swept the doorway and paused on me uncertainly.

I waved. He looked relieved, as was absolutely natural. Online dates got stood up a lot. Ask me about it. Matchmaking was supposed to be different, though. I imagined Ashley would read the riot act to one of her members or clients who stood someone up.

As he got out of his chair and came toward me, my mouth went dry. This guy made me way too nervous. And happy.

"Crystal?" He looked at me as if he wasn't quite sure, and smiled uncertainly in an extremely endearing way. No big bad bravado here. No slimy come-on. He was trying to place me, that was obvious. My new hair and makeup were throwing him off. His brow furrowed. He was clearly nervous and trying to hide it. Because women prefer confident men, right? Except I found his nerves adorable. He couldn't look me in the eye. He was trying not to stare, at least that was my impression.

"Jeremy, I presume." I smiled back at him. As I caught a whiff of his cologne, memories of our one brief kiss washed over me, threatening the strength of my knees.

There was an awkward moment as we greeted each other. There always is on first dates. Do you shake hands? Hug? What, exactly, was the protocol?

I liked warm, cuddly men. Men who liked physical contact.

Jeremy gave me a quick, nervous hug. No, not all hugs are created equal. This one was redeeming mostly because it was a hug and not a businesslike handshake. Even handshakes could be sexy if played right. This hug was on the stiff, nervous side. At least he was a hugger.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting," I said, hoping he'd look at me directly and not at the floor. He'd been so confident when the beer kegs were flying. "Have you been here long?"

"Five, maybe ten minutes. I was early." He glanced up at my face, looking at me questioningly, still trying to place me.

Not everyone was as good with faces as I was, and nerves have a way of playing games with the senses. To be honest, I was a little nervous about just blurting out that I knew him.

"We're both here and both on time. That's a promising start." I smiled flirtatiously at him, trying to determine whether he thought I was hot or not by how he looked at me. I told you—I read people. But in this case, I wasn't sure. Maybe because he wasn't sure yet, either. When I'd been a blonde with straight hair wearing a flirty sundress, there had been no doubt he thought I was hot. And here I liked my new look.

I picked up my deflated ego and soldiered on. I had to come clean and find out if he was the same guy. He had to be. "You look—"

He spoke at the same time, "Have we met before?"

We laughed together.

"You first," I said.

He shook his head, frowning and studying me. "That's impolite—ladies first."

I shook my head back. "I insist."

His Adam's apple bobbed. "All right. First, forgive me if I'm wrong. I'm terrible with faces, but you remind me of this beautiful blonde I met at the scene of an accident a week or so ago? You wouldn't be related? Or maybe be her? You have the same gorgeous eyes." He was tentative, but adorably so.

My heart melted and soared at the same time. I nodded. "I was going to say that you remind me of this cute, clean-shaved guy I met at the scene of an accident and saved me from being hit by rolling beer—"

His gorgeous grin cut me short. "I knew it. It is you. I've been wrong before. You wouldn't believe some of my funny mistakes. I really am bad at faces, especially out of context. You could have been your doppelgänger. Or your twin sister."

"And you could have been your identical twin—"

"Except I don't have one." He indicated the order counter with a sweep of his arm. "Shall we?" He stepped aside and indicated I should go ahead of him to the counter. "Have you been to Jet City Coffee before?"

"It's one of my favorite places."

"Good." He sounded relieved and looked a little embarrassed. "Then I don't have to tell you how good the coffee is or sell you on the velvet foam."

"Sell me?" I shook my head. "The velvet foam is why I come here."

He insisted I order first. I ordered a latte. He ordered a Vienna coffee, which is coffee infused with whipped cream and, in Jet City's case, topped with foam. He offered me a pastry. I declined. To his credit, he whipped out his wallet and paid before I could make a move. It was one of the rules, but I appreciated the deft way he handled it.

We moved to the far end of the counter to wait for our coffee.

"Have you been doing this long?" I said, genuinely curious as well as making conversation. How long had he been in the marriage market seriously seeking a wife?

He leaned toward me and whispered in my ear, "Meeting women in coffee shops?"

I smiled. "Exactly that, I guess. But I meant, more specifically, doing the matchmaking thing."

"About a year."

My eyebrows flew up to my hairline before I could stop them. "A year." I hadn't expected such a long time. My timeline for finding a spouse and getting off the dating merry-go-round was a little more aggressive.

"Don't like the sound of that? Does it make you think I have a fatal flaw?" His tone was teasing.

The sound of coffee grinding temporarily brought our conversation to a halt.

I waited until the grinding stopped before replying. I gave him a seductive smile. Let the games begin. If he had a fatal flaw, I was game to discover it. He was delicious. "I'm of two minds on the why of you still being in the game. Either you're extremely picky, in which case I will have to up my game, or the competition for women in this city really is as fierce as I've heard. In which case, you will have to up yours and I have the upper hand."

"Maybe it's a bit of both."

The barista called out our order. We grabbed our coffees and found a two-person table in the corner between a window and the merchandise shelves. He gave me the pick of seats. I put the tempting merchandise at my back and settled in while he sat.

I took a sip of my coffee. "I'm new to the matchmaking game. I just signed with Ashley. This is my first time out on a date. Since you're the expert, you'll have to lead."

He laughed. "My…my pleasure."

A stutterer? Okay, some women might consider that a deal breaker. But as hot as he was, not many, I'd guess. It didn't explain why he was still single.

I ignored the stutter. "I was actually hoping the process was a little quicker. I've been playing the dating game too long. I'm tired of the awkward small talk of first dates." I grinned at him conspiratorially. "This really is the worst part, isn't it?"

I wrapped my cup in my hands and leaned across the table intimately toward him. "Let's dispense with it and put the awkwardness behind us."

He studied me. "Sounds good to me. I still can't get over that you're…you." He paused. "Can I be honest? I was chasing you up that hill. I wanted your number, and hell, I didn't even get your name."

"A skirt-chaser, are you?" I teased.

"When you put it that way." He laughed. "Look. Don't let my matchmaking slowness scare you off. I'm serious about finding my match. When the right woman comes along…" He cleared his throat. "Part of it's my fault. I took some time off. Until recently, I was distracted with my app launch and career. I've been accused of being a workaholic." He made the admission with a sheepish look.

"So am I," I said with first-date enthusiasm and that happy glow of having something in common. "I like men who work hard. I understand them, and they me. What kind of app?" I took another sip of coffee. The foam really was the best in the city.

"Y-y-you won't believe this." He took a deep breath and slowed down, as if trying to gain control of his words. "A dating app. The dating app that helped launch the matchmaking firm we're using. That helped launch Pair Us."

"Really? You're kidding."

He shook his head.

"I'm impressed. I'm hard to surprise." I paused. "I've used your app! It's great. A brilliant idea."

He beamed and told me how he and his buddies had developed it and recently sold it.

I listened raptly, even though I knew this story. Trends, remember? I knew most of what went on in the business world in this city. But half of being attractive is listening, really listening and paying attention to the other person.

I had another reason for my avid attention—when a person talks, they reveal a great deal about themselves. In this case, Jeremy was intelligent, very intelligent. Check and check. He was a storyteller. He was humble—I knew this because I knew the details of the app and its success, and he was definitely downplaying them. He was passionate. He was funny, joking while he talked. All highly desirable things, at least in my book.

And yes, of course, he revealed, just by saying he developed the app, mundane, factual, résumé-type things. For example, that he was a coder, a software engineer. That prior to the app, he had been a real geek, not much of a ladies' man. The app had started as he and his buddies' way of upping their odds of finding women.

As he talked, recognition of another sort dawned on me. I didn't know why I hadn't recognized him that way before. Maybe it was because that while I knew a lot of facts about business and people in the city, unless I had a reason, I didn't need to know what they looked like. Jeremy's picture had been in the news and on social media a lot this year. I just hadn't paid close enough attention.

"I don't know why I didn't recognize you before. I know who you are," I blurted. "You're Jeremy Marino. I've read about you in the Seattle business news. Ashley was your advisor for the app."