Evie
Olivia isn’t home.
Olivia hasn’t answered her phone.
Olivia isn’t where I need her to be, and I’m standing in front of her brownstone, wishing her fiancé had installed a microchip in her, like she was a little beagle, and that Dylan was using his pet tracker on her.
Wait. That’s a terrible thought.
I don’t really want Olivia microchipped.
I do want to find my friend. As I wait on the stoop to her home, freshly showered and wearing a peach sundress, I do what any woman would do in this situation.
I dial her number every ten seconds, in between checking Pinterest for vintage clothing inspiration.
I try her number for the 417th time, cursing once more when it goes to voicemail. “Where are you?” I mutter.
“Looking for me?”
I snap my gaze up and follow the voice down the street. With big Jackie O. sunglasses, Olivia strolls down the street as if she hasn’t a care in the world.
“Why aren’t you answering your phone when I’m having a crisis?”
“Mia and I decided to have a cell phone-free meal. We were inspired by your effort not to look at your phone while walking, and I forgot to turn it back on.”
“Don’t listen to me ever again,” I tell her. “I needed to reach you desperately.”
She reaches the stoop and yanks off her shades. “What’s going on?”
I meet her eyes, and I speak the truth. “I’m a terrible friend. I’m a terrible matchmaker. I’m a terrible businessperson.”
Olivia’s face is crestfallen. “Oh honey. No, you’re not. What’s wrong?” She wraps an arm around me. “Come inside.”
A minute later, I flop down on her couch, drop my head in my hands, then look up. “I’m completely falling for your brother.”
Her lips twitch. “Really?” Her voice is high-pitched, as if she’s holding onto some possibility.
“Yes, and I’m so sorry. It’s the cardinal rule of my business—don’t fall for clients. And I did it. I fell for him. And I like him so much, and I can’t set him up with anyone. And I had to tell you that I slept with your brother, and you’re my friend, and I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” She cackles as she repeats the word.
“I mean it. I’m so sorry.”
“Oh Evie, don’t be sorry at all. I’m smiling. I’m laughing. I’m completely delighted.”
“You are?”
“I think it’s fabulous.”
“You do?” I’m so confused. How can she be delighted?
She squeezes my arm. “Yes. I’m thrilled. I want you to be happy, and you have to stop apologizing because there’s nothing wrong with falling for someone. You don’t just have to make other people happy. You can be happy, too, and you didn’t cross a line since you never set him up with anyone else.”
I fidget with my watch. “Are you sure?”
“Hon, I’m positive. Stop being so hard on yourself. You fell for a client. It happens. But you did it before you went too far in the business relationship. Now, you can focus on being with him.”
I draw a deep breath. “That’s the thing. We’re not technically together yet.”
“Does he know how you feel?”
“Sort of?” I offer with a shrug.
“Let’s make sure it’s more than sort of. You helped me find the love of my life. Now it’s my turn to help you.”
* * * *
I walk home, weighing what to say and how to say it. When I reach my apartment in Chelsea, a plan is fully formed. It’s simple but direct, and I think that’s what I need at this point. Once inside, I sit down at my desk, grab a fresh sheet of paper, and write another note.
I head to the bathroom, check my reflection, freshen up my makeup, fluff out my hair, and call Dylan.
“Hey you,” he says when he answers, and the way those two words sound melts me.
I like this guy so much. “Hey.”
“How are you?”
“I’m good. I was hoping to see you,” I say as nerves flutter inside me.
“I was hoping to see you.” He takes a beat. “In about five minutes.”
I startle. “What?”
“I’m in your neighborhood. Can I come over?”
“Yes.” The word comes out as if it’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted to say to him.
When he arrives, and I buzz him in, I peer down the hall. As soon as he rounds the top of the stairs, my heart flip-flops in my chest, like a fish on the shore. I place a hand on my belly, as if that’ll calm me down, but I’m not calm, nor cool, nor collected. Because he’s here. Striding toward me, carrying a cute little pink shopping bag with a bow on it. He wears jeans and a gray T-shirt that fits him well, showing off those arms that caged me in last night, that spread me open, that held me close. And those eyes are smiling, but I also see the nerves in them.
That’s what turns me inside out with hope. He’s as nervous as I am.
“Hi.” My voice is breathy. “Want to come in?”
“I’d love to.”
I hold open the door, and he steps inside my one-bedroom for the first time. It’s light and airy, with three cool white walls and a sky blue one. The curtains flutter in the summer breeze. Magazines and books are stacked neatly on my silver coffee table, alongside a vase of blue irises.
“You are a neat freak,” he says.
I smile, owning it. I show him to the dove gray couch, and we sit. I grab the letter. “I wrote you a letter,” I blurt.
“I bought you some gifts.”
I laugh, and he does, too.
“Jesus, are we both dorks?” he asks.
“Maybe,” I say with a laugh.
He sets down the bag on the coffee table, then meets my eyes. He parts his lips to speak, then mutters fuck it. He cups my face in his hands and dips his mouth to mine. We kiss, and I feel as if it’s been days rather than hours. He slides his lips over mine like he wants to do it again and again, for a long time. It’s dreamy and tingly, sexy and hot at the same damn time.
When we separate, he breathes out hard as he holds up a finger, the sign to wait. “First, forgive me. It’s going to be very hard for me to not kiss you right away when I see you.”
A smile spreads on me. “Is that so?”
“Because I’d really like to keep kissing you. And to keep seeing you. And to keep dating you.” He runs a hand through my hair, and I lean into it. “I’m not interested in anyone else. I’m falling so hard for you.”
I squeak.
Yep.
I freaking squeak as my heart shimmies up my chest and does a jig. “I’m falling for you, Dylan,” I say, and then it’s my turn to stop resisting. I run my finger over his top lip, and I dive in for a quick and passionate kiss. He pulls away and reaches for the bag. “I have some gifts that I hope will show you how I feel.”
I rub my hands together. “I love gifts.”
“I figured you did.”
He reaches into the bag and hands me a cup of boba tea. “I picked this up a few minutes ago. This is because I want to experience new things with you, like this tea that I suddenly like a lot.”
He hands it to me, and I take a sip. It sends a dose of happiness through me. I give it back to him and say, “You have some now.”
He leans into the straw and sucks, his eyebrows wiggling in delight. Then his hand goes fishing again, and he takes out a jar of spicy salsa. “This is because there’s no one I’d rather take out for cheap tacos or for fancy sushi, for that matter.”
“I want to be the one you take out. For both,” I say.
One more dip inside, and he grabs something black. A swath of fabric. I arch a brow in question as he hands me the material. Yoga pants.
“This is because I like you so much I’d tolerate yoga to be with you,” he says. “Also because your ass looks spectacular in yoga pants.”
I shift my shoulder toward him flirtily. “Yours looks great in gym shorts.”
He reaches for my hand and threads his fingers through mine. Sparks spread in my body, and it feels so damn good. “I want you to match me with you.”
And my heart skips out of my chest, flinging itself at him.
But I have things to say, too. “I left quickly this morning because I felt like I was taking something away from my clients because of how I want you. But even if I feel guilty, it’s not changing how I feel for you.”
His smile is beautiful as he squeezes my hand. “Good.”
“You have to know I tried to do my job. I tried to find someone for you.” I raise my chin, ready to deliver my news. “And I think I have.”
“What?” The look on his face is pure confusion.
“I reached out to a matchmaker,” I say, in a happy, upbeat tone.
He furrows his brow. “Why would you do that?”
“It’s a woman I know. A friendly competitor.”
He drops my hand. “I don’t get it.”
“I told her what I’m looking for.” I hand him the letter.