Page 100 of Matchmaking On The Menu

“Very.”

I smile as I let myself drift.

When I wake up, it takes me a second to remember where I am. There’s warmth at my back, an arm wrapped loosely around me, steady breathing just behind my shoulder. I lie there, letting it settle.

Then my brain catches up. Suddenly…

LOCAL WOMAN REMEMBERS EXISTENCE OF RESPONSIBILITY. REGRETS EVERYTHING.

The application.

I shift carefully, slipping out of his hold as gently as I can so I don’t wake him, grabbing my phone from the nightstand. My heart rate’s already picking up, that familiar mix of nerves and anticipation bubbling up as I open my email.

Okay. Okay. Today’s the day. I can do this.

I pull up the application link and frown. That’s… weird. I refresh the page. Nothing. Try again. Still nothing.

A small knot forms in my stomach as I scroll, reread, click around. Maybe I missed something. Maybe there’s a button I’m not seeing, some hidden link or something…

Then I see it. Applications are now closed.

My stomach drops. No. No, that’s not…

I check the date. Check it again and again. It doesn’t change. I missed it. I actually missed it.

I stare at the screen, like it’ll fix itself if I look at it long enough, hoping the words will rearrange into something else, something better. They don’t.

Oh my god. I can’t believe this.

“Hey.”

I don’t realize I’ve made a sound until I feel the mattress shift behind me, his voice rough with sleep.

“You okay?”

I swallow hard, blinking at the screen because my vision’s starting to blur. That’s ridiculous. It’s just an application, it’s not…

“Hey,” he says again, softer this time.

I shake my head quickly, trying to stop the sting building behind my eyes. “It’s stupid.”

“It clearly isn’t.”

His hand slides slowly up and down my back, steady and warm.

I stare down at the screen. “I kept thinking I had time to submit the application.”

“What was it for?”

The question settles over the room quietly. No pressure in it. Just curiosity. Like he genuinely wants to know every piece of me.

I let out a shaky breath. “A journalism mentorship program. In Chicago.”

I feel him still slightly behind me.

“And you wanted it?”

The answer comes too fast. “Yes.”