Ashley stopped typing, looking almost spellbound by my description of this imaginary man, and exceptionally pleased with herself. I have a talent for reading people. I know what pleased looks like even in its subtlest form.
I stopped myself. "You think I should write fiction, right? This man I want, he can't possibly exist." I bit my lip. "But he does." I stopped short of saying I'd met him. I'd met a guy who, as far as I knew, was this guy, though I'd certainly built him up and made him perfection in my imagination.
"I like your conviction," she said.
"You've heard this all before," I said. "You think I'm being corny and unrealistic. A fantasy can be more dangerous than reality. Too much sugar isn't good for your health in any form." I paused and frowned. "I'm too much of a dreamer to ever find a man who comes close enough to what I want." I sighed. "My friends tell me all the time that I'm too picky."
Ashley picked up her cup of coffee and took a sip, though it must surely have been tepid by now. "On the contrary; you should never settle for a marriage partner. I mean, this is a person you're going to have to live with."
She set her cup down. "You're perfectly right to wait for the right man. And I have good news for you—you've just described one of my male clients very closely. I had a feeling about you and him when I first saw you. He's a big part of the reason I gave you my card. You just confirmed my instincts." And yet she hesitated.
I frowned. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she said. "Nothing at all. Once I sell you to him, everything will be perfect."
* * *
Jeremy
Five stitches, a shaved patch on the back of my head, and an overnight in the hospital—that was what I got for saving that trucker. The shaved patch ruined my floppy boy-band hair. I may not be classically handsome, but I can generally pull off cute. Ashley insisted I get my hair cut short so the bald patch "would blend in." Eyebrow raise. The stitches pretty much killed the look. Too bad it wasn't Halloween yet.
Apparently, I have to listen to her if I expect to find a woman who will put up with me. That was what she told me, repeatedly. All right—she was the professional. She didn't tell me how to code. I wouldn't tell her how to make matches. I was with her for her professional advice. I was sporting a new short haircut and a beard when I finally made it to that meeting I'd missed with her because of the crash.
The beard, short-cropped and dark, was easy to explain. I'm Italian. I woke up with it the morning after that dramatic rescue. Which made the news, by the way. I was too worn out and lazy to shave for a couple of days, so the beard got a chance to establish itself. Once my hair was short, I liked the way the beard looked with it.
I decided I liked to have hair parity. Must be some kind of an OCD-like thing with me. Either the hair on my head or the hair on my face had to be long to balance things out. The new look was more rugged than the longer hair, or so I believed. I could dream, anyway. The truth was that no woman was ever going to mistake me for a Scottish warrior, like my big stud of a bud, Austin.
I met Ashley at a café downtown that was famous for its biscuits. They served them any way you liked. I liked mine with gravy, and plenty of it. I was starving by the time we met, and looking forward to an extra helping of bacon with my biscuits.
Ashley stood and hugged me when I reached her table. "You took my advice."
"Took your advice? That's a diplomatic way of putting it. You mean I followed your instructions. What do you think of the new look? You commanded it. You must have an opinion."
She pointed to her head. "I like it. Very handsome and trendy."
"Trendy. Again with the diplomacy." I helped her scoot her chair in like a gentleman.
She shook her head. "You're so agreeable and take commands so well. The wrong woman would steamroll right over you, my darling boy. Good thing you have me to find you the right one."
"About that." My pulse quickened. "Have you found the girl?"
Ashley gave me her pitying look. "I'm sorry, no." She paused. "I talked to everyone I could at the scene." Her tone was sympathetic, but wary. "At the shops and businesses along the route."
She paused again, one of those pregnant pauses that was so full of meaning it was about to pop. "No one knows her. No one knows anything about her. A few think they remembered seeing a thin, pretty blonde, but no one has any idea who she is. We have nothing to go on to find her. You don't even have a first name." Ashley took a deep breath. "You had a pretty good bump on the head. A bump like that can…alter reality. Is she really as fantastic as you remember?"
"Fuck," I said too loudly. The group of people at the next table looked askance at us. I lowered my voice. "I wish I'd had time to get her number."
I ran my hand through my hair and came up short, literally. It startled me. I picked up my fork and started fidgeting with it. "She could very well be the one for me, my match. If we don't find her, we'll never know." I set the fork down.
Ashley reached across the table and touched my arm. "She obviously doesn't want to be found or noticed, for whatever reason. That alone might cause some alarm. Is she terminally shy? Hiding something? Hiding out from someone?"
"You should be writing novels. You have a vivid imagination," I said, lightly. "She was late to a meeting. She's probably just modest and didn't want to be in the spotlight. Or maybe she should have been at work or someplace else. There are a dozen legitimate reasons, maybe more, none of them sinister."
"She left the scene of the accident and slipped away unnoticed intentionally. It took some effort. The street was crawling with people, trained police and firemen included, and no one saw her leave. Is it fair to try to find her and disrupt her life?"
Ashley could be so damned irritatingly reasonable and calm. So logical, damn her. Logic was my weakness. It was damn hard to argue against.
"We had a connection," I said. "An undeniable connection. I can't get her out of my mind. That's never happened before."
Ashley raised an eyebrow. "Never is a long time. Unless I'm missing something, you were a teenage boy at one point."
I laughed. "And had a lot of fantasies, that's true." I paused, debating whether to lay my heart completely bare. What the hell? This was Ashley. My specialist in love. "I've never felt this way before. Corny, I know. You have to promise not to tell Lazer, but I can't get this girl out of my mind. She's stuck like an earworm."
"An earworm? That's romantic," Ashley said, but her expression and tone were kind. She even looked the tiniest bit impressed.
"I keep thinking that, like listening to a song that's stuck in your head, I have to see her again to get her out of my system. That's the only way."
Ashley was quiet, letting me talk while she listened.
"We have to think. There must be some way to find her." I picked the fork up again and mulled over the possibilities. "I could advertise. Offer a reward to anyone who has a tip that leads to her—"
"And get a bunch of kooks and get-rich-quick scammers coming out of the woodwork?" She gently pried the fork from me and set it down, holding my hand across the table. "You're rich. The gold diggers will come out with their talons bared and their hair dyed blonde trying to convince you they're your girl. If they can't pull the look off, they'll try to bleed you dry with claims that they can find her." She was teasing, but beneath her light tone was a warning.
"You have a high opinion of me. Just how gullible do you think I am?"
"Where women are concerned?"
"Touché." I put my fist on my heart. "I won't rest until I find her." I was only half teasing.
Ashley rolled her eyes. "All right, Prince Charming, do what you must. It's too bad she didn't leave you a glass slipper. At least then we'd have her shoe size to go on."
I laughed.
"There is another solution to get her out of your head," Ashley said. "I present you with a woman who's her equal or better."
I recognized her excited expression. Damn, she usually had more control. If I'd been smart, I wo
uld have backed away. "What do you have up your sleeve? Or should I say who? You have someone in mind."
"I do." Her eyes lit up. "I have a new client who is perfect for you. I'm rather proud of myself for finding her, actually. I'm always on the lookout, especially for you, Cam, and Dylan." She leaned toward me. "This woman, her name is Crystal, is just your type—petite, slender, cute little upturned nose, fashionable—"
My turn for the eyebrow raise.
Ashley shook her head. "Wipe that skepticism off your face. I haven't gotten to the best part. Yes, she fits your physical wish list perfectly. But better yet, she's an accidental heroine to your accidental hero, as the guys say."
"Really?" I crossed my arms, but I was at least mildly intrigued. "And how would you know?"
"I saw her in action."
"And yet you've kept her act of heroism to yourself? You didn't think to share?" I let go of any pretense of keeping my doubts to myself.
"I was waiting for the right moment. Timing is everything."
She was telling me.
"You're going to love this," Ashley said. "I met her at your favorite steakhouse."
"The Bellevue or the Seattle restaurant?" I said. My favorite steakhouse had two locations. One was far superior, in my opinion.
She rolled her eyes. "Bellevue. Because it's better, am I right? That's the prevailing opinion among you guys."
I nodded. "All right. She gets points for having good taste. You're dying to tell me all about her. Go ahead. I'm listening."
Ashley told the story of having lunch with a male client, a drunk woman with long hair bumping into a table, a candle setting her hair on fire, and this accidental heroine dousing the fire with a glass of water and a slice of lemon.
I listened patiently. "I hate to tell you this, Ash, but you need to work on your storytelling. You want me to equate throwing a glass of water in a drunk's face with pulling a three-hundred-pound trucker out of a burning truck? As far as acts of heroism go, dousing some split ends doesn't have the same impact. And for the record, I bet a lot of people would have paid to throw water at an obnoxious drunk."
"No one said she was obnoxious." Ashley sighed. "You're being deliberately obtuse and missing my point entirely—the drunk was on fire. Crystal reacted. Before anyone else."
I gave Ashley a pitying look. "Yeah, but where was the danger?"
"It's not the level of danger that makes the difference, is it? It's more about the attitude, right? Crystal has the heroine mentality. Besides, that's not even the most important thing. I had an immediate gut feeling. I always trust my intuition. After talking with her, my original impression was reinforced—she's a match for you. Maybe the match. And she's eager and committed to finding her match. That's so terribly important. You have to give her a chance. Let me recommend you to her."
I pursed my lips to one side. "We're both clients?"
She nodded.
"That complicates things, doesn't it?" I said. "I'm used to dating members where my interest trumps theirs."
"I can work for both of you."
"Have you already talked to her about me?" I said.
"Not yet," Ashley said. "I wanted to get your buy-in first."
"She may not even be interested?"
Ashley pulled her smartphone out of her purse. "She will when she sees how absolutely adorable you are." She pointed the camera at me.
"Adorable. Fuck, I hate that." I covered my face with my hand.
"What's wrong with being adorable? It's an accurate description," she said. "Women love adorable. Look at all the baby rock stars that melt ladies' hearts."
"You mean bubblegum pop artists that melt fourteen-year-olds—"
"Drop your hands so I can snap a picture."
"Women love badass." I dropped my hands. "You already have a zillion pictures of me. Why do you need another one?"
"You changed your look," she said. "I like to show my clients the most up-to-date, accurate representation of possible matches. Now give me your good side and smile."
I gave up. She snapped a few shots and showed them to me.
"Fine," I said. I looked decent enough. I really didn't give a damn anyway.
"Fine?" She laughed. "These are awesome. She'll fall in love with you at first sight. Trust me—you're her type."
"You want me to stand up and show some skinny-jean leg?" I slid my chair back. "Will that help my cause even further?"
Ashley laughed. "What I have is perfect."
I shook my head. "I suppose you have a picture of her for me to see?"
Ashley nodded, and reached for her bag, ready to pull a glossy photo out. She was big on not handing out digital photos at first. Safety reasons.
I held up a hand. "No need to show me her photo."
Ashley looked puzzled. "What? No picture?"
"Yeah, no picture, why not. Surprise me." I nodded very slightly, agreeing with myself. "I'm tired of looking at pictures of women. It seems shallow and judgmental.
"Pictures can be too superficial, if you know what I mean. It's too easy to reject someone from a picture. To get too picky too quickly and miss someone who has a great personality. That's what I hate about online dating sites. I don't want to go to this first date already biased against her and reluctant because in a picture her nose is slightly crooked. Or her smile is a little goofy. Or the sun was in her eyes. Nah. I'd rather meet her and let her personality be the thing that makes her more or less attractive."
"How very mature of you," Ashley said with a smile as she closed her bag.
"Yeah. I'm learning." I grinned. "I'm bad with faces anyway. You know that. Take a person out of context and, bam! I won't recognize them immediately. When I get nervous?" I shuddered. "Left over trauma from being a rejected geek during my formative years. If she's hot, I'll be lucky if I can look her in the eye, let alone recognize her from her picture. If she's done something dramatic like changed the color of her eyeliner, it's game over." I shook my head. "If she's changed her hair, I'm done for."
Ashley laughed. "Poor baby." She sounded sympathetic. "Nerves do strange things to people."
"At least this way I'll have an excuse if I walk right past her. Give me a few basics," I said. "So I know generally who I'm looking for."
"She's a brunette with red highlights," Ashley said. "Before you protest that you like blondes, she was a blonde when I originally met her. She changed up her look on a whim. Apparently she changes with the seasons."
I shrugged. What was hair color anyway? It could be changed. "Adventurous with her style. I like that. Straight or curly?"
"Curly," Ashley said. "Very good with makeup. Her look is more dramatic for fall. When I first saw her, she had a beautiful natural look. She really is a natural beauty, but she's pretty either way. And bubbly and fun."
I tried not to look too skeptical. I still had that blond on my mind, but I was trying to be open to possibilities. And Ashley did have good taste.
"Trust me." Ashley gave me the side eye. "Don't douche out on me. Give her a chance." Ashley's face was determined and set, her posture tall and rigid. It was no use arguing with her when she got that look.
I held my hands up, defeated by a determined matchmaker. "You can be such a yente sometimes."
"I'll take that as a compliment," she said. "My grandma would be very proud. And by the way, the Jewish word for matchmaker is shadchan."
"I was going with the common usage," I said.
She continued with the side eye.
"All right. I give up. If she likes what she sees and hears about me, I'll text her and ask her for coffee. But only to please you." I enjoyed pulling Ashley's chain.
She rolled her eyes. "There are days I wonder how I let Lazer talk me into this job."
I put on my innocent look.
She pointed at me. "You can afford a lot more than coffee, by the way."
"By the way, first dates with non-blondes get coffee," I said, yanking her chain just a little harder.
"Trust me, now is the time to make a good impression. This woman is dinner-worthy. If you pass her up, I have dozens of other male clients who will fight each other to get a date with her."
"Let them fight. My time is at a premium. We're putting the cart before the horse here, though, aren't we? Before I start planning an awesome coffee date, see what she says."
"She'll say yes." Ashley grinned broadly. "You're just too damned adorable to resist. If you stutter for her, you'll have her heart in the palm of your hand."
"Let's make this very clear," I said. "I will never intentionally stutter."
5
Crystal
I got a call from Ashley as I relaxed on my sofa at home.
"It's a go," she said. "My client is interested in you." She sounded upbeat, but measured. And like she was walking outside while she was talking. I could hear the wind breezing through her phone microphone.
"How interested?" I didn't know why I asked. It wasn't insecurity. It was more like curiosity so I could weigh my odds of success. I didn't want to get my hopes up. This matchmaker felt like my last chance, though that was crazy. I was still young. If my great aunt could find love again and a second husband at eighty, I surely had time.
"Interested enough to say he'd text and arrange to get together," Ashley said.
"Do I get to know his name? See his picture? Hear a bit about him?"
"His name is Jeremy," she said, sounding like she was getting into a car. I heard a door close. "I'll text you his picture when we're done talking. Hang on. Let me switch to Bluetooth."
An instant later, I was on Bluetooth speaker. I heard the purr of an engine and the pinging of an alarm warning her to buckle her seatbelt.
"Jeremy," I said, trying the name out as I shifted position on the sofa. Could I picture myself with a Jeremy? "I assume he has a last name?"
Ashley laughed. "Naturally. But I'll leave it up to you to find it out after you meet. I don't give out full names before a first date.
Mr. Accidental Hero: Jet City Matchmaker Series: Jeremy Page 4