“But you never got his number or his handle?” James asks.
“Nope.” I shake my head.
Teagan clears her throat, cutting through the chatter and getting us back on track. “Which is precisely the point of Made Connections. What I always loved about those posts was how they gave you a real sense of how people were meeting and how many moments we let slip away. Opportunities unseized. Moments like your Sweet Nothings one, Bryn. I feel like that could be the basis for our next great piece.”
“She’s right,” Matthew seconds with enthusiasm. “The audience will devour it.”
Teagan’s excitement rises at his interest. “We should test that app for the site. Really put it through its paces. Let our readers know if it works.”
I nod wholeheartedly, giving my seal of approval to Teagan’s concept. “Speaking of seizing the moment, anyone want to volunteer as tribute to write this piece?”
This is a normal request for a site like ours to make of its staffers. Many of our writers and editors test the wares, whether they are dating venues, toys, apps, or ideas. If a concept doesn’t feel right to any of the team, I farm it out. There’s never pressure to date or not date.
James shakes his head. “I just started dating someone I met on POF.”
Matthew is next, offering an apologetic look. “I have a steady boyfriend now, so when it comes to test-drives, I’d better stick to the couples’ content.”
Rosario chimes in. “I have a second date with a guy from Tinder this weekend, so I should see how that goes first.” She raises crossed fingers with a hopeful smile.
I smack my forehead. “What is the world coming to? I run a dating site and none of my writers, editors, or designers want to test out a new dating app. Oy. I’ll have to find a freelancer.” I lower my voice to a stage whisper. “But I still love you all best.”
Then Teagan raises her hand. Perfect. She will bring her brand of irreverence to any article.
I point at her, then tap some notes into my tablet, marking her down for the assignment. “Yes, Teagan. I accept your offer. You can do it. Your pieces are always hilarious.”
She laughs lightly, a you’re so cute chuckle. “I was going to suggest you do Mr. Lunch Box.”
My gaze snaps up from the tablet, and I stare an oh no, you didn’t at her. But oh yes, she did, even though she knows the team will pounce on those words.
“Ooh. Who is Mr. Lunch Box?” Rosario asks, her voice dripping with curiosity as she bats her lashes.
Matthew parks his chin in his hand. “We’re waiting, boss lady. Details, details. Leave no hot stone unturned.”
I narrow my eyes and growl at Teagan. “You’re dead to me.”
She simply smiles, the evil genius. “Well, you did have a moment,” Teagan adds. “You didn’t seize the strawberry-fennel moment, so maybe this is your potato-chip-chocolate-chunk swirl.”
“Don’t keep us in the dark. Who is Mr. Lunch Box?” Quentin asks, eyes wide with question marks. “And does he like sweet and salty too?”
“He’s no one,” I say, heat creeping across my cheeks. Mentioning him makes me feel a little foolish. It was naive to think he was going to ask me out. We were simply chatting, nothing more.
“Sounds like no one is someone,” Rosario goads, wiggling her fingers to get me to serve up the tale.
“She met him in Your Little Loves. They grabbed the same lunch box, and their chemistry was so strong it was like a science experiment,” Teagan says, throwing raw steak to the lions.
“Ooh, does he look like a hot scientist?” Matthew asks. “Lab jackets are sexy.”
“I think it sounds like a rom-com meet-cute. When do you meet-cute him again?” Quentin asks.
I hold up a stop-sign hand and shake my head. “I’m not seeing him again. I don’t even know his name.”
Matthew slaps the table for emphasis. “But you had a moment, and that’s what Made Connections is. You should try it, Bryn. You’re like patient zero.”
“And why does that description somehow feel apropos?” I shudder.
Teagan leans back in her chair and crosses her arms with a satisfied smirk. “He’s right. You’re the one who had an actual missed connection. Ergo, you ought to test it.”
“What was he like? Mr. Lunch Box?” Matthew presses on. “Tell us all more about the chemistry. Were there beakers bubbling over?”
I flashback to an hour ago—the locked eyes, the heat in my chest, the finger brushing . . . That moment when I was sure he’d ask for my number.
My chest tingles, and that wild whoosh I felt earlier reappears, running roughshod over my skin.
There was definitely a moment.
More than one.
There were many, and they weren’t foolish at all. I wasn’t naive in the least to think there was something brewing.
Chemistry, for sure. No doubt about that. Would it translate to the bedroom though? His eyes had been etched with hunger, dominance, even, so a woman could dream.
