Evie
I laugh lightly, loving his ability to poke fun at himself. He’s a bit rough around the edges at times, but he also has surprised me with his humor and manners.
Manners have become shockingly overlooked in our society today, but I still contend they go a long way to winning someone’s heart.
I wrap a hand around the cup then say, “First, you tell me a little bit about what you’re looking for. Be as straightforward as you can because the better I know you, the better I can find somebody who’s right for you—who will fall in love with the man. Not the wallet.”
He grabs his wallet from his pocket and brandishes it—it’s a brown leather billfold. “It’s a nice wallet, though. Admit it.”
“It’s a little small for my taste,” I tease.
He leans forward on his elbows. “Don’t let the size of the wallet fool you.”
“Are you saying what’s inside is quite large?”
He wiggles an eyebrow. “I’m saying other things are.”
A flush blooms across my cheeks. “Cocky much?”
He gives a carefree shrug. “Maybe I am.”
I glance at the table for a moment, because now my mind has traipsed across the dirty meadows to thoughts of large things.
When I look up, I try to affix a thoroughly professional expression on my face. “As I was saying, I know many women in Manhattan. I can vouch for them. I’ll only match you with women who are open and interested in the same type of relationship as you are.”
“So no flingers need apply?”
“Flinger? That’s funny. I haven’t heard anyone use that yet. But yes, I’ll make sure you’re only paired with someone who wants more than a fling.” I set down my cup and meet his gaze, making sure he’s looking me in the eyes. “It’s really heartwarming to meet a guy who knows what he wants and doesn’t want to play games.”
Now it’s his turn to blush, and my stomach surprises me by flipping when I see his cheeks go red. He looks at the straw, his light brown hair flopping over on his forehead. There’s something so sweet, almost innocent, about Dylan, but I love his raw honesty and the fact that he seems to know himself so well—flaws and all. So few men, and women for that matter, can hold up a mirror and assess their reflection honestly.
I take my first sip, and holy smokes. This beverage is not supposed to be delicious. I’m supposed to hate it. I suck up three tapioca balls in one strawful, and my eyes widen.
Dylan lifts his drink, and the reaction on his face matches mine as he drinks. “Wow. That was way more fun than it should have been.”
“There’s something incredibly satisfying about sucking on tapioca balls, I’ve just learned.” I raise an eyebrow naughtily, affording myself this one minor flirtation. “And yes, I do know that sounded dirty.”
He holds up his hands in surrender. “I have no problem with dirty.”
“You wouldn’t. You just made the comment about large things.”
“Do you mind large things?”
I roll my eyes. “I have no problem with largesse.” I take another drink and bite into a tapioca ball. “This is just so satisfying.”
He does the same. “It’s sort of like the fork sugar packet game.”
“What’s that?”
He jumps up from the booth, heads to the counter, and asks for a fork. The Mets fan gives him one, and he returns and grabs a sugar packet from the holder on the table. He positions the packet just so on the end of the fork, then smacks the tines. The pink packet flies up, arcs, and swoops down, landing in my lap.
“Lucky me. I have a sugar packet in my lap.”
“Your turn.”
I shake my head as I place the packet on the table. “I’m not any good at games.”
He arches a brow. “It’s a sugar packet. You can do it.”
I glance around, like I can find a reasonable excuse to avoid catapulting Sweet’N Lows across a tea shop. But seeing as we’re the only customers and Mr. Mets is engrossed in a book, I can’t find an out.
“C’mon. You know you want to,” Dylan urges. “I’ll give you an A+ if you land it in my lap.”
“You do know that sounded vaguely dirty, too?”
He wiggles an eyebrow. “I do know.” He tips his chin to the fork. “C’mon, Evie. Go wild with me.”
From behind his glasses, the green flecks in his eyes seem to dance with mischief. The way he says those words are part-goad, part-flirt, and there’s something about him I can’t resist. Generally, I try to be poised and polished with clients, but Dylan makes it impossible for me to resist this silly game, plus I know him outside of business. I position the packet on the end of the fork and then drop my hand down. The pink packet shoots high in the air, and I watch as it arcs above us then has the audacity to crash down on my chest.
“Nice boob catch.”
“Why thank you. Good thing I had them here for just that reason,” I say, taking the sugar packet from my breasts. I hand it to him. “Door prize.”
He clutches it to his chest. “I’m keeping this sugar packet forever.”
I smile then downshift back to the matter at hand. “So Mrs. Right will be a classy, intelligent, sexy, fun-loving woman who’s interested in new experiences and sharing all the good things, from eating out, to movies, to softball, to savoring the adventure of this amazing world together. Tell me more.”
He shifts to serious more quickly than I expected. “I like games, as you know. Laser tag. Geocaching. Sports. Anything competitive is my kind of thing,” he says, and that reminds me of how different we are. I’m not into sports or competitions. “And it’s not like she needs to be on my softball team, but it’s just fun to do things together. I want someone with a sense of humor, because at the end of the day, looks fade, but humor lasts.”
My heart thumps a little harder. You hardly ever hear that from a man. There’s so much focus on looks, but it’s deliciously delightful to hear a guy say that’s not his top priority. “I absolutely agree with you on that.”
“And I want her to be smart since, well, look. I kind of am,” he says, looking down briefly, almost as if he’s embarrassed.
“Well, you didn’t start one of the most successful software companies without a brain,” I point out, since he’s well known for founding an augmented reality technology that he and his twin brother then sold for multiple millions to one of the biggest computer giants in the world.
He smiles, and he has such a great smile—full lips and white teeth, and a dimple that lights up the room.
“But mostly, just someone I get along with,” Dylan adds with an earnestness that will win many hearts. “I want someone I can go on a long drive with and know we won’t run out of things to say. Someone to debate with, and to goof off with. That’s what I really want.”
“And why now? You’re twenty-eight, right?”
“Do you think I’m too young?”
I shake my head, smiling softly. “No, I think people are ready when they’re ready.”
He taps his chest. “That’s me. I’ve dated. I’ve had a few somewhat serious girlfriends. But given that I spent so much energy building our company, and now I’m on the other side, I have more time for the social pursuits that weren’t a top priority before. But I also think seeing friends like Ryder find that kind of connection made me realize I was ready for my own.”
There’s something wonderfully beautiful in the simplicity of his answer. “I understand. I see that every day in my walk of life. Sometimes, the lightbulb just goes on, and it’s time.”
“What about you?”
I shake my head. “Oh no. I’m far too busy and focused on work.”
“Ah, got it. So you’re not looking.”
“Nope.” I draw a deep drink, sucking down more of the soft, squishy tea balls. “Not looking at all.”
He nods several times. “I hear you. You’re only ready if you’re ready.”
“You can’t force it. That’s why I try to find just the right match for every client.” I take another drink of the tea and laugh. “I seriously can’t believe I like this. I’m almost ashamed.”
He lowers his voice to a whisper. “It’s kind of unfairly fun. Like the sugar packet game.”
Dylan grabs another packet, and two seconds later, he whacks his fork and sends it right on top of my head.
“Now you’re playing dirty,” I say, grabbing it from my hair.
I position it on the end of the fork then smack it high in the air, and it lands in Dylan’s drink.
He thrusts his arms in the air. “You did it! See? You’re a ringer. You’re a closet sugar packet fork hockey star and didn’t tell me.”
“It’s one of my many deep, dark secrets.”
We chat some more about dates and match-ups, and when we finish our drinks, he clears his throat. “So. Yeah. As you can see, I’m not so well-versed in date protocol. I’m guessing sugar packet fork hockey and talking about tea balls is probably not the best fodder for a first date.”
I reach a hand across the table and place it on his forearm. “As I tell my clients, it’s best to be yourself. But I still want to meet again and go over some of the things you want, then we can start matching you. What I’ve found works best is two or three initial consults, so I can really understand what you’re looking for. We’ll spend more time together and find your perfect match. Would that work?”
His eyes drift down to my hand, and I realize I’ve lingered too long on him. I yank it back.
“I didn’t mind that,” he says softly, making me want to say, I didn’t mind, either, especially since your arms are fantastic.
But I can’t flirt with a client any more than I already have. I slide into all-business mode. “And I also want to confirm I’m doing this pro bono.”
He makes a clucking sound. “Yeah, about that…”
“Didn’t Olivia tell you I offered to do this for free? As a gift to her.”
“She did, but I’d rather not be a charity case. I can pay my own way.”
I raise my chin. “I’d really like to help. Olivia started as a client and turned into a good friend, and it would truly mean a lot to me to do this free of charge.”
“Because I’m hopeless?”
“No! Because you’re her brother, and I want to help. Also, to be frank, it’s a bit of challenge for me, and I like that. I want to show you that finding a match in person can be better than finding one online.”
He raises a skeptical brow. “I still have faith in machines and algorithms. C’mon, don’t you know tons of people who met online?”
“Of course. But in some cases, it helps immensely to have a gatekeeper, and I think you saw the proof of that when you ran your ad.”
He nods, almost grudgingly, like he can’t quite accept the Internet failed him in this case. “But machines are still cool.” He waggles the cup of nearly empty tea. “Let’s be honest. A robot did make this amazing drink.”
I laugh. “Let’s make it a game then. Give me a week, and I’ll have you on a date with someone I think you can fall in love with.”
“Fine. I’ll see your offer and raise it. If you introduce me to someone I actually do fall in love with, I’d like to pick up the tab myself.”
“And if you wind up back on Plenty of Sharks, obviously it’ll remain pro bono and the biggest shame of my professional life,” I say with a grin.
He laughs. “Sounds like a deal, and I’ll root for you to not wind up on the matchmaking wall of shame,” he says, extending a hand to shake. “Want to meet for tacos next time?”
I rein in my disinterest in tacos, reminding myself that tacos aren’t a great idea for a date. But of course, he’s not taking me on a date. It’s a fact-finding mission. “That would be just fine, so long as you know I’m going to advise against taking a woman I match you with to a taco shop. And before we meet, I have some homework for you. I want you to think about your best traits. The top three things you think a woman should know about you.”
He makes a T with his hands. “Let’s discuss the taco blockade. Do you only represent snobs?”
I roll my eyes. “Dylan, most women don’t want to get tacos on a first date.”
“Good thing it’s not a date then, and good thing I’m not going to take you for anything but the best tacos in the world.”
“You’re a persistent one.”
“I am.”
“Fair enough. Take me to the best tacos.”
“And I’ll think about the three key traits.”
“And remember, there’s only one rule you should well and truly follow in this real world of dating.”
“What’s that?”
I fix him with my most serious stare. “Don’t sleep together till after the third date.”