Page 108 of Stupid Matchmaking Love

“And good morning, little sister. It’s great to see you, too.”

“Cut the crap, Rhett. I saw you on that live stream. You were magnetic. Cristina was magnetic. Together, you were tectonic plates . . . Pangea. You were Pangea, shifting.”

“And, let me guess, becoming a new world.”

“Exactly.” There’s crying in the background. She looks away. “Jackson, what’s wrong? You dropped your cup. But your milk’s empty. Oh, you want more? Baby, say hello to Uncle Rhett.”

My nephew appears—tears streaming down his face, red cheeks, running nose.

“Hey there, big guy. Why the tears?”

“I dwopped it.”

“I bet your mama’s gonna get you some more.”

Jessie takes the phone and hands Jackson his sippy cup. “There you go, baby. Let’s play with some blocks.”

She walks with the phone, and I take a moment to let my eyes trace over the spreadsheet on my computer.

“Sorry if you’re in the middle of something,” she says.

“It’s fine.” I rub my eyes. “I could use a break anyway. All the numbers were starting to blur.”

She sits and I hear the sound of wooden blocks clinking together. I love that sound—it reminds me of children, laughter, happiness.

“I want to know everything,” Jessie says. “When can I meet her? Are you bringing her home for the holidays? Mom already says she loves her. Cried during the trust bridge, actually. Said you looked at Cristina the way Dad used to look at her—you know, when they were still together.”

I drop the pen I’m holding and know my face must betray how hard that hits me. But Jessie’s turned away, handing a block to Jackson.

I clear my throat. “What have y’all been doing, swapping notes?”

“No, we get together and watch the live streams. You know mom can’t work technology. She comes over here and we watch.” My sister clutches her chest. “I almost died when she slipped on that bridge. So dramatic! And your ‘Do you trust me?’ I’m surprised I haven’t seen T-shirts printed with that saying on them. Maybe I’ll start. I’ll put your face and Cristina’s on it with the quote. What do you think?”

I blink. “Sounds like overkill.”

“Are you joking?” she shouts. “Oh, sorry, Jackson. Mama’s okay. Just talking to Uncle Rhett, who clearly doesn’t understand what the rest of the world already knows—that he’s in love with a woman named Cristina and they’re going to get married and have lots of little cousins for you to play with.”

Normally that kind of talk would make me end the call, but when Jessie talks about Cristina like that, I don’t know . . . my chest kind of buzzes with excitement. Like, yeah, I can see that, too, and I’m not afraid of it. I’m not running away, terrified of the consequences of loving her.

“Oh. My. God.” Jessie’s eyes nearly pop from her head.

“What?”

“You are so whipped. The look on your face, it’s all dreamy and done for. You look like you’re lost in the ocean and Cristina is the only life raft that can save you.”

I toss my head back and laugh. “She is . . . something, isn’t she?”

“Rhett Maddox, if you don’t tell me everything, I’ll never talk to you again.”

“You know I don’t kiss and tell.”

“I don’t want to know about your bodily functions. I’m a woman. I want feelings.”

“And I want to know what you said to her on that call when we were at the fair.”

She flicks her hand. “Oh, that? It was nothing, just that you snore when you sleep, you probably still drool, too, and your farts smell like hell itself.”

“You’re in trouble now.”