Mr. Match: The Boxed Set

by Delancey Stewart

  "Those girls have been ogling cakes for twenty minutes. I don't know if they're buying anything or if maybe they were hoping to catch a glimpse of Shark and Snappy. Maybe they heard already." Anna looked excited about this possibility.

  "They got what they wanted then. 'The Hammer' is out there now." I cringed at Hamish's ridiculous nickname. The man was the most gentle human being I'd ever known. I'd once seen him rescue a baby skunk who'd somehow been separated from his mother and was swimming desperately in a pond behind the house, close to drowning. Hamish had plunged straight into the frigid water, scooped up the tiny thing and wrapped it in the bottom of his kilt, carrying it into his mother's kitchen to warm. It was all fine until the little guy recovered and decided to spray half the kids in the house as they bent over to admire the little thing. But Hamish hadn't even let that faze him, and his determination to deliver the guy back to its mother paid off. And resulted in him being sprayed a second time, by the mama skunk.

  "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

  "You should sell those girls some cake."

  "I don't mean with them." She glanced out the window and then returned her steady gaze to my face. "With you and the prince."

  "Don't call him that, please. He's actually not even a prince. He's seventeenth in line, and only the family of the oldest son are technically princes and princesses—"

  "Your face changes when you talk about him."

  "Because he broke my heart once, and now we're done."

  "He's still here." She was peeking through the window again.

  "He's leaving." I turned back to the cake I needed to assemble today and refused to answer any more questions from Anna. Eventually she went out and sold Hamish's fans some cake, and after a while longer, he finally left.

  "I'm confused," Anna said when he returned. "He clearly came to see you, and from the look on his face when he left, you might have broken his heart too."

  "We were young and stupid," I said. "Best not to rehash the past."

  Anna crossed her arms and leaned a hip into the counter next to me, watching me level the cake I was working on. "Right," she said. "Okay then."

  I was happy when she went back to work so I could hold the pieces of my crumbling heart together privately. Perhaps like cake, I thought, I could use buttercream frosting to seal up any cracks.

  That night I went out for a glass of wine after work with Anna and some of her girlfriends in La Jolla. I'd sworn her to secrecy about Hamish, so the conversation moved around me as we sat at a high-topped table and sipped cocktails. The other girls talked excitedly—one of them had just gotten a match email from Mr. Match.

  "Who is he?" Anna breathed, fascinated.

  "A greenskeeper at the golf course in Torrey Pines, I guess," she said. "I don't know anything about golf. I don't know if this could possibly work."

  Anna shook her head. "It's not about silly stuff like what you do for work. Mr. Match looks at all kinds of other things. You've seen the statistics. You have to go out with him."

  The girl, Tabby was her name, nodded. "I will," she said. "I'm so nervous though."

  "It'll be fine," the other girl, Angelica, said.

  "Sophie's signed up too, but Mr. Match hasn't found anyone for either of us," Anna said, frowning into her drink.

  Angelica leaned in. "I have a friend who signed up like the month the site opened and has never heard a word."

  "There's not a perfect match for everyone," I snipped, surprising myself. I hadn't intended to speak. The cabernet was clearly taking charge of my tongue.

  Anna frowned at me. "You don't really believe that, do you?"

  "Or sometimes maybe you met your match already and it doesn't matter because it's all gone to hell in a hand basket before you're even old enough to know what on earth you're doing!" My mouth had passed on taking its cues from my mind, it seemed. "And so you're just right fecked. Destined to be alone. Cats. Destined for cats." I swallowed the last of my wine and stared glumly at the people moving on the sidewalk, ignoring the open-mouthed stares of Anna's friends.

  There was evidently a reason I didn't get invited out for drinks often.

  "Sophie," Anna said, leaning close and putting a hand on my arm. "You really didn't even give him a chance back then. And you're not giving him one now."

  I sniffed, wishing my heart did not agree with her. But I had realized since this afternoon that if Hamish came back, if he actually asked for another chance, I wouldn't be able to say no again.

  Chapter 89

  Skywriting and Smoke Signals

  Hamish

  I don't know what I'd expected Sophie to do when she saw me, but my imagination would never have come up with what actually happened.

  It turned out Sophie hated me. Who knew?

  I'd waited out there with all those tiny cakes in the cabinet, hoping she'd come back out and give me another chance, and she'd just walked away. Part of me still couldn't reconcile the girl of my youth with the hard-eyed woman who'd told me to go away and never come back. And no matter what she said she thought was best, I didn't think I could respect her wishes.

  "Keep up, you big oaf!" Max Winchell was setting a grueling pace as we ran down the boardwalk at Mission Beach, dodging around tourists and forcing me to actually focus on the workout instead of letting me mope over Sophie like I wanted to.

  "I'm trying to, but my legs aren't cooperating today, Max." I slowed to a walk, feeling utterly defeated, and after jogging well ahead and realizing I'd stopped, Max quit running and waited for me to catch up.

  "What's going on?" he asked, leaning over and resting his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

  I shook my head. As much as I wanted to talk about Sophie, I wasn't sure Winchell was the guy. We began walking side by side toward the bay, and despite my misgivings, his silence encouraged me to confide. "It's a woman," I said, my voice as miserable as I felt.

  Max turned his head to study the side of my face and then looked back at the wide paved path in front of us. "Interesting. I've never heard you talk about women before last weekend. I'd thought maybe that wasn't your thing."

  "Not that it's any of your damned business," I told him. "I like women."

  "What's the issue? I don't know a single Shark who has a hard time finding girls."

  I made a scoffing sound. "It's one particular woman. The only one I want."

  "Aha. Name?" he asked.

  I turned and eyed him suspiciously. "Sophie."

  "What's her last name?"

  "Why?"

  "Helps me frame my mind around the girl we're discussing."

  Max was a weird dude. "Fine. Was James when we were growing up. Just found out she changed it. Now it's MacMartin. For her ma."

  Max stayed silent after that, except to make encouraging noises as I explained pretty much everything, even tossing in the part about the ultimatum.

  "So you're in a hurry to tie the knot, and you want to win back the heart of the girl you've loved since you were a kid." Max was nodding, like he heard stuff like this every day.

  "That's pretty much it, yeah."

  "Say no more." We'd arrived at the door to the condo the Isleys rented, which sat facing Mission Bay. They'd been married a couple years and had an adorable little guy who toddled around the place on unsteady little fat legs. Max knocked and Isley let us in.

  "Most people drive here," he commented, taking in our sweat-drenched forms.

  "We'd planned to run a full loop and end up back at the car," Max said. "But Hammer turned into a pussy so we didn't finish our run. Now you get to drive us there to get our stuff."

  The Isleys had invited everyone over to watch American football, and a few of the other Sharks were lounging in the living room beyond the foyer.

  "Dude, I can't leave. I'm the host." Adam said, clearly annoyed. Max just smiled at him.

  "Trace!" Adam said, turning to look into the living room and calling the closest able body. "You're driving these assholes back to
the parking lot to get their stuff. They can't come in here and sweat all over everything. Melinda will kill me."

  Trace stood and gave a little mock salute to Adam. "Sure," he said, grinning. Trace had always been a nice guy, but he was even more easygoing now that Magalie was constantly at his side. She'd mellowed him, if that was even possible. At least he'd stopped forcing people into bizarre food challenges.

  When we'd returned and taken turns showering, I carried a beer to join the others on the couch and found Max sitting with his laptop on his knees, deeply intent on something on his screen. I peered over his shoulder. "Mr. Match, eh?" I laughed.

  He shut the laptop quickly and spun, glaring at me and glancing around, looking strangely guilty. "What?"

  "You're on that site. Looking for love, Winchell?"

  For some reason, Max relaxed when I said this and Fuerte, sitting next to him, chuckled. "Sure," Max said. "Everyone needs to meet their match."

  I patted his shoulder and sat down on the other side of Fuerte, and Max reopened his laptop and began typing madly. I shook my head. The guy was clearly invested in this matching thing.

  An hour or so later, Max cornered me during halftime. "Would you say you're more of a beach guy or a forest guy?" he asked.

  "Beach, I guess."

  "And did your mother deliver you vaginally?"

  I punched him in the chest at that. "Don't talk about my mam like that." Then I squinted at him. "Also. What the fuck?"

  "Just curious."

  I sighed. "Yeah, she had seven of us. All came out the way God intended, not that I enjoy talking about it. Arsehole." I walked away from Max and his weird questions to think about how I was going to convince Sophie to give me another chance.

  It ended up being easier than I would have thought. Max had emailed me Sophie's email address during the party. He'd always been kind of a computer-savvy guy, and while he'd gotten a little bit in my business tonight, I found I was grateful to him now as I sat in my apartment. I wished I knew my way around a computer like that guy seemed to—I wondered how he'd magically conjured up an address when I'd searched all night for it.

  I sat at my quiet little table and wrote from the heart.

  Dear Sophie:

  I hope you know I would never have hurt you intentionally. When I tell you I wish with all my heart I'd known the second you arrived in San Diego, I mean it. Whatever you saw at the bar that night, I guarantee you, it didn't lead anywhere. I've never let things go very far with a single lass. If you want to know the embarrassing truth...I've always hoped one day I'd have another chance with you.

  Please tell me I don't have to give up the hope now that I've finally found you again.

  Call me. Or email. Or skywrite.

  Please, Soph. Give me another chance. I've missed you with all my heart.

  Hamish

  I hit send with my heart in my mouth, realizing that if Sophie didn't respond, I'd have to find a way to get over her and move on. I realized as I lay down to sleep that if Sophie didn't respond, every hope and dream I'd ever had about her would need to be tucked away and forgotten, and that somehow, I'd have to go ahead and move on with my life. Especially if I wanted to keep my family legacy. And honestly, if I lost Sophie, my family and my home would really be the only things I had left. I couldn't lose those too.

  Chapter 90

  Kissing in the Coffee Shop

  Sophie

  I read Hamish's email thirty times before bed. And then I got up in the middle of the night and read it again, because I'd managed to convince myself I'd dreamed it.

  Though my fingers itched to do so, I didn't respond immediately. The anger and the love inside me needed time to square off, time to face one another and maybe throw some proper punches. My heart needed to settle on a decision where Hamish was concerned.

  In the middle of a long and somewhat sleepless night, I replayed that scene from the bar over and over behind my eyelids. Hamish, his arms around the waists of two painfully pretty American girls. Hamish, kissing a pretty blonde. Hamish, with someone else. I forced myself to watch, to remember the pain I'd felt after crossing the world to find him. But his words revolved above the scene now. And while Hamish certainly had faults, he was not a liar. And I didn't think any amount of time spent wrapped in the fame and glory that being part of the Sharks had brought would change that about him.

  Hamish was sturdy and reliable, loyal and true. But I'd made a choice to give him his freedom, to find a life that didn't include me. And from the little I'd seen he had wasted no time in doing so.

  Though this email said something different.

  When I rose from my bed, I popped the email back up onto my screen and thought some more.

  I was happy here. I had a life here. I would have been fine if Hamish hadn't stepped into the bakery, wouldn't I?

  The difficult thing was, I realized as I brewed some coffee and rubbed my swollen eyes, Hamish could go on oblivious to me forever. But me? I had to see him constantly, and I had for the last six years. I'd had to listen to stories about him on the news, had to see his face on the papers as I walked through the coffee shop and grocery store. I heard about the Durnish terror any time people spoke about the Sharks, and every single time, my heart ached.

  Had he really done anything wrong?

  I poured coffee and tried to force my mind to make sense of things. Did I want to open that door again?

  "Hell yes, you do!" Anna practically screamed when I told her everything at work that morning. "He's famous, he's gorgeous, and you have a this super-fated, uber-romantic destiny story to fulfill. Oh my God, Sophie, it's perfect!"

  I sighed, tucking mini-cakes down into the counter as she bubbled around the bakery straightening things up and shrieking about Hamish. When she came to a rest near the counter, staring at me expectantly, I stood up and looked at her.

  "I should see him again," I said.

  She nodded eagerly.

  "He didn't do anything wrong, not really."

  "He didn't know you were here, and if you believe what he told you, he's never 'done anything wrong'." She put air quotes around that last part.

  I wondered if that could possibly be true. I'd told Mari I wanted to give him a chance to live here, without me. I thought that was what he must have wanted when I'd seen him that night—freedom to explore. I'd convinced myself it didn't mean what we had wasn't special or real, just that he needed to move on. And I told his entire family I did too.

  God, I missed them all. Hamish especially.

  "What will you do?" Anna looked like she might explode from the excitement and suspense of my situation.

  I pulled my phone out of my back pocket. "I'll text him," I said. His number had been at the bottom of the email.

  "And say what?"

  "Um..." My fingers hovered over the phone. "That..."

  "Tell him to meet you after work. Have him come here." She already had her elbows propped on the counter, watching me struggle to compose a text. If he came here, she'd drape herself over the counter to hear every painful word we might exchange.

  "Maybe Starbucks," I said, watching her face fall slightly.

  Sophie: Hi Hamish. It's Sophie. I got your email.

  Hamish: . . .

  The dots appeared and then vanished multiple times. I realized I hadn't given him any idea what I was thinking and he probably had no idea what to say to that. I typed more.

  Sophie: If you have time, I'll meet you tonight at Starbucks near the bakery. I have to work until five. After?

  Hamish: I'll wait for you. See you then.

  I put the phone down and waited for something inside me to shift, to change. My stomach was tight with nerves, but that was it. It was going to be a long day, I thought.

  I met with two new couples and found myself getting distracted while they talked and tasted cake, giving them less than the attention they deserved as my mind turned over all the potential outcomes of allowing myself to see Hamish again, allowing him
back into my life, my heart.

  Finally, the day was done and we turned over the sign on the door and locked it behind us.

  "Glass of wine?" Anna asked, tilting her head at the wine bar across the street.

  "Not tonight," I told her, smiling. "I have a date, remember?" My heart was already sprinting down the sidewalk, moving toward Hamish, who I knew would be waiting.

  "Oh my God, how could I forget that? Go! Wait, here, lipstick." She pulled a tube of lipstick from her apron pocket and came at me with it.

  "I've got mine, I'm good," I said, backing away.

  "You must swear to tell me everything," she said as I finished primping and turned for her final approval. "You look amazing."

  "I'm nervous," I admitted, my stomach clenching.

  "You're fated," she reminded me. "And you have to tell me everything."

  I hugged her and then we both went out the front door of the shop and I waited as she locked the door. "See you at seven tomorrow morning," she said. "Have a good night!"

  We turned in opposite directions and I forced my feet to move slowly toward Starbucks, but honestly it seemed like an ethereal light was pouring from the storefront. There might as well have been a neon sign strung up out front reading, Sophie, your life can start again here. Because that's how it felt. Like my life had been on hold these six years while Hamish and I had been apart. Maybe it didn't make sense, but it didn't matter. Some part of me just fit with some part of him, and I was pretty sure we both knew it. Felt it. And had since we were tots.

  I stepped inside the coffee shop and my eyes fell immediately on the tall broad figure seated at the same table we'd had the day before. Hamish grinned, his dark eyes glittering beneath the ebony hair as he stood. He wore a pair of pressed slacks and a button-down shirt, reminding me of a college boy dressed for a first date. His hair was combed and gelled, and his beard had been trimmed. There was something so charming about thinking of him preparing to meet me that way—not that he wasn't handsome naturally, but Hamish was always a little rugged looking. It was part of his charm.