Page 67 of Matchmaking On The Menu
“So,” I say, leaning in like we’re about to discuss something confidential, “if you happen to see someone come in… tall, like properly tall, broad shoulders, camera permanently attached to his hand like it’s an extra limb…”
He blinks and I take this as my cue to keep going.
“Dark hair, a little messy but in a way that feels intentional, like he woke up and still somehow looks better than the rest of us who actually try…”
His expression turns cautious. Should I keep going? I might be losing him, but I can’t stop now, can I? What would Herman think?
“And he has that whole broody, mysterious, tragic-backstory-but-won’t-talk-about-it vibe—”
“Shelly.”
“And he looks like he belongs in a black-and-white photo more than real life—”
“Shelly.”
I stop. “What?”
He stares at me. “That’s… very specific.”
I nod. “I like details.”
He exhales slowly. “And what, exactly, am I supposed to do if this very specific man walks in?”
“Simple,” I say brightly. “You tell him he’s the ten-thousandth customer of the year.”
He frowns. “I don’t track customers like that.”
“Details.” I wave my hand dismissively. “Unimportant.”
He continues to frown. “And then?”
“And then,” I say, like this is completely normal, “you tell him he’s won a prize.”
“Shelly.”
“A tandem bike.”
Silence.
He just… stares at me.
“I don’t have a tandem bike,” he says slowly.
“You’re in luck,” I reply without missing a beat. “I do.”
He shakes his head. “Why would anyone want a tandem bike?”
“Because,” I say, already pivoting, “it’s a birthday gift.”
“For?”
“My friend.”
He narrows his eyes. “Which one?”
I don’t even hesitate. “The one that’s impossible to shop for.”
Technically not a lie. He still looks suspicious, which is fair. I slide the insulated bag toward him.
