Page 22 of Imperfect Match (Imperfect Match 1)
I try really hard not to let that comment get to me. I know he’s saying that he loves me as a friend. We both have said it countless times before, it just ... feels different.
Stick to the plan, Willow. Find him a match.
“So I’m thinking one night this week will be perfect for you to invite Kandace for drinks after work,” I tell him, poking at a tomato in my salad.
“Who the hell is Kandace?” he asks, his mouth full of the pilfered roll. He takes his suit coat off, hangs it on the back of a chair, and drops into the seat. There’s another salad on the table in front of him, and he gestures to it. “Is this mine?”
“Yes. Kandace is your dream girl.” I look him in the eye and smile sweetly. “Your perfect match.”
He snorts. “Is this the one Aspen thinks is a winner?”
“It’s the one I think is a winner.” I stick the tomato in my mouth, although I’m suddenly not that hungry.
Reid sticks the rest of the roll in his mouth and sits back in the chair, arms folded across his chest. He chews and swallows, never taking his eyes off me. “You’re really going to make me do this?”
“Yes. I think Thursday would be perfect,” I go on, sticking my fork through a piece of lettuce on my plate. “Nothing too fancy, just a happy hour cocktail. If it goes well and you hit it off, you can ask her to dinner.”
Exhaling heavily, he gets up, goes to my fridge, and takes out a bottle of ranch dressing. As he dumps giant blobs of it into his salad, he says, “I’m not asking her to dinner. One cocktail and I’m out.”
“Don’t be so negative,” I scold. “You promised to go into this with an open mind and a good attitude. You have to at least try to be charming—although I know that’s difficult for you.”
He gives me a look as he sticks a bite of salad into his mouth. “And what do I get out of this again?”
“You mean aside from everlasting love and a soul mate for life?”
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Aside from that.”
Laughing, I get up from the table and take the c
asserole from the oven. “You can be godfather to my intergalactic baby?”
“You’d trust me to give spiritual guidance to your child?”
I shrug as I set a trivet on the kitchen table and place the hot dish on top of it. “Why not? And if anything ever happened to me, you think I want Aspen raising my kid? Poor thing would probably go to school without shoes and never get a tetanus shot or see the dentist.” I grab two large, shallow pasta bowls from the cupboard, and serve myself a small portion and Reid a massive slab of the casserole. When I finally sit down and pick up my fork, I notice he’s staring at me silently.
“What?” I ask, disconcerted. “Is there something on my face?”
“You’re serious about that.”
“About what?”
“Naming me the godfather of your child.”
I blink at him. “Of course I am. Does that surprise you?”
“Yes. No.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know … I guess I just picture a godfather as being, you know, an adult.”
I have to laugh. “You are an adult, Reid.”
“An adultier adult.” He scratches his scruffy chin. “Someone with a lawn mower and a grill in the yard and a station wagon for Sunday drives. My car doesn’t even have a back seat. And what if I forgot to feed it? Look what happened to your plants.”
He looks so distressed, I can’t even tease him—much. “Not even you could forget to feed a child. I promise. Kids let you know when they’re hungry.”
“But I don’t know how to cook.”
“I suppose you’d have to learn. Or hope that your wife knows.”
“Oh, right—I forgot about her.” Looking relieved, he digs into the crunchy topping of the casserole. “What’s my wife’s name again? The one for Thursday?”
