Page 3 of Dating Mr. Right A Collection
She rolls her eyes. “There’s a good chance.”
That’s the problem. I’m at the point where I want more than a string of dates. I want the same thing everyone wants—a spark, a sizzle, and a person. A someone I like being with, sharing with, spending my days with.
But that starts with common ground.
And finding common ground requires a whole new strategy.
“From here on out, it’s an algorithm and an algorithm-only world.” I raise my arms like a high priestess. “I believe in the church of Google. I pray at the altar of machines and put my trust in artificial intelligence.” I grab my tablet and click to a dating site. “That’s why I signed up for an online dating service, allowing me a wider selection of potential dates and a more systematic approach. I’ve already chatted with a few men. Let me show you Jared.” I click on the profile of a software developer with gray eyes and a square jaw.
She shudders. “Serial killer.”
“Grams.”
She shakes her head. “Mark my words. Those beady eyes.”
Fine, maybe Jared and his little eyes aren’t the best place to start. Clicking around, I find a profile of Porter, who’s new to the site and looks promising. I read his note to me out loud. “Good evening, Kristen. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I was delighted by your profile and am tickled pink to know you enjoy piano, logarithmic functions, studying new sources for alternative energy, and the companionship of a good science book.”
She stares at me like I did, in fact, steal her prized car for a late-night joy ride. “He’s clearly an ax murderer.”
“How on earth could you say that?”
She points at the screen. “Porter is either an ax murderer or wears ladies’ underwear.”
Laughing, I shake my head. “He is not.”
But now the idea’s been planted in my head, and I’m not too fond of it. Neither the ax murderer nor the undies.
“Let’s try one more.” I swipe over to Wallace. “Look, he’s perfect for me. He believes in the beauty of a well-formatted spreadsheet.” I flutter my hand against my chest as if it’s my beating heart. “Is there anything better than the behind-the-scenes functions baked into a spreadsheet?”
“Everything. Literally everything.”
I hum thoughtfully, like I don’t know it drives her crazy when I go full math geek on her. “I don’t know. Spreadsheets are mega hot. I think I’ll write back.”
She grabs my wrist, her blue eyes tinged with genuine desperation. “He could be dangerous. Why don’t we use a matchmaker instead?”
“Isn’t that what we already did though?”
“I mean, an official matchmaker.”
“Who does that anymore? Are we in Fiddler on the Roof?”
“No, but that’s a damn good musical.”
“True. That’s one thing we can agree on. But listen, I’m confident I’ll find someone online who shares my interests.”
“Question-asking, troublemaking, and high levels of sarcasm?”
I smile. “I also enjoy beaches, museums, and urban art, thank you very much.”
And, I’d like to find that certain someone who likes the same things. Who wants to learn from me, and who I can learn from. Someone to talk to.
Someone I can share my days and nights with.
Later, I send a simpler thanks-but-no-thanks letter to Henry, and he replies with a curt same, only solidifying my belief that I made the right choice.
* * *
The next morning when I open the door to my condo at Grams’s knock, she quirks a brow then breathes a sigh of relief. “You survived the night, I see. Now please tell me Porter didn’t lock you up in a supply closet.”
“No, I locked him up. Would you mind coming inside and helping me remove the duct tape from his wrists?” I deadpan.
She narrows her eyes. “You are always trying to pull a fast one.”
“Because you’re always trying to be faster.” I shoo her away. “Go see your friends, Grams. It’s Sunday Funday and you have poker club and the repo car auction.”
Her expression lights up, and she rubs her palms. “I do love seized cars. And how fabulous is your mother for finding me a new sale to check out?”
“She is most fabulous at taking an interest in our passions.” My mom, I admit, is pretty freaking cool.
“If I’m lucky I can finally nab a Camaro there for Betty.”
“Don’t forget, if you come across a Bugatti, you better bid literally everything on it for me. Like, feel free to use my brother’s rare baseball cards as collateral.”
“Do you seriously think there are any Bugattis at police auctions?”
“Hope springs eternal.”
She takes off, and on my way to the roller rink to work out—because skating equals killer cardio—I stop to grab a cup of coffee with my mom, updating her on Grams’s ax murderer concerns.
“You know what your grams is like. Too many crime shows. Besides, you have pretty good radar when it comes to people. Just don’t invite any men to your home, a back alley, a dark and deserted road, a public park, or any place with less than one hundred people. Oh, and be sure to text me before any dates with strangers so I’ll know your whereabouts too.”
