"Let me just stop you right there," she said. "I'm going to come dress you if you don't get your clothes on right now."
"Why are you tormenting me?" I peered out from beneath the blankets, but the sun was shining and it felt a lot like it was mocking me. I pulled the covers back over me.
"I've set you up one more time."
"Oh no, you didn't." This was insane. How Cat could believe we were still doing this old-fashioned date thing she'd come up with was beyond me. Not after everything with Tate.
"You forget. Unmatchable. I proved it myself. Back to unicorn land."
"Stop being ridiculous. Be at Joe's in a half hour."
"No."
"You can't just say no. You're not five."
"Forget it, Cat. I'm not going. I don't care what catatonic soccer player you've managed to scrape from your social network. I don't need a match. I'm happy alone." I could barely make these words leave my tongue, they were so false.
She sighed. "I thought it might come to this."
Cat was still on the line, but a moment later, I heard the distinct sounds of someone entering my house with a key.
"I regret giving you that key."
"Don't make me come up there!" She was in my house. Yelling from downstairs.
I sat up, the sheer grumpiness inside me making it impossible to actually get out of bed. "Fuck."
Cat appeared in my doorway. "Oh my God. It's so much worse than I thought."
"Fuck you."
“You’ve already said that.” She nodded and went into the bathroom. I heard the shower go on, and then she appeared again, moving toward me.
"No." I ducked back into the covers, but Cat actually scooped them from the end of the bed and pulled, bringing the entire contents of my mattress, including my body, sliding to the floor. "Hey!" I yelled, untangling myself and finally standing up.
She grinned at me and then pushed me toward the bathroom. I was glad I'd worn boxer briefs to bed, but it still felt odd to have my grown sister accompanying me into the bathroom. She began to push me toward the shower, but I turned to face her. "I've got it from here."
"Don't take forever," she said, leaving the bathroom.
"Shit," I said, looking in the mirror. But in a way, Cat was right. I needed to get up, get moving. I did not, however, need a date, and I continued telling her this as she walked at my side toward Joe's.
"And," I said, continuing the rant I'd begun as she'd forced me out of my house. "I don't appreciate you making this happen at Joe's, my favorite coffee place. What if something goes terribly wrong and I can never come back here? You will have not only sent me on a completely pointless date with someone who could not possibly be my match, but you will have ruined my favorite coffee shop for me."
"Right," she agreed, smiling up at me.
We neared Joe's and I trailed off, my attention pulled from my anger by a huge brown dog standing on the beach with his front paw up on the low retaining wall separating the beach from the boardwalk. It looked a lot like Charlie. I looked around for Rose, figuring she must have brought him down to the beach for a run. But when I scanned the people around the huge dog, I didn't find her.
I found Tate.
"There's your date," Cat said, pointing right at the woman who had lived in my heart since the day I'd met her, whose face had lingered behind my closed eyes even when I'd tried to forget her.
I wanted to turn to Cat, ask her a million questions, but I was afraid if I took my gaze off Tate, she might disappear. "It's her," I said, my own voice sounding stupider than I remembered it.
"Go," Cat said, pushing me again, since I'd stopped walking.
I'd get her back for all the pushing at some point, but right now, I could only think of one thing.
Tate.
Chapter 147
Susan Rose Rides Again
Tatum
I watched Max approach, shock at seeing me standing on the beach with Charlie clear on his face.
My heart was beating erratically, thumping around like Charlie's tail with excitement at seeing him again. He looked incredible, clean shaven, and so fit and athletic, striding toward me in khaki pants and an orange polo shirt that set off his tanned skin. He smiled as he drew near, and my skin tingled with the memory of his touch.
"Tate," he said, stopping in front of me in the sand. He looked around, as if there might be a camera crew and someone to leap out and tell him it was all a joke. Then he looked back at me, his eyes concealed by the aviator glasses he wore. He pulled them off, his eyes shining. "You're here."
"I am," I agreed, laughing nervously. God, he was handsome. I suddenly wasn't sure what to say, what to do. My heart thundered and I felt giddy and loose. Charlie stepped to Max's side, wrapping the leash around his legs and then head butting him in the hip.
"I went to your house," he said, petting Charlie as he shook his head slowly. "In Palo Alto."
It was my turn to be surprised. He went all the way to Palo Alto? To find me? "You did? Why?"
"We had a game there."
"In Palo Alto?"
"Nearby. Sacramento."
"That's not really nearby. It's more than three hours away." I wasn't sure why we were suddenly discussing geography, but I was happy just to be talking to Max. To be near him. My fingers twitched, wanting to touch him.
"You weren't there," he said. His voice held a misty quality, shock, maybe. He wasn't making a lot of sense. "Tate, how are you here? Your neighbor said you moved away."
A happy laugh climbed out of me. "I did." I couldn't stand being so close to him now and not touching him. I reached forward, dared to put a palm against the firm muscle of his chest. He moved closer as soon as my hand touched him, his fingers coming up to circle my wrist, pressing my hand harder into him as if to make sure I wouldn't run. "Max," I said, "I moved here."
His mouth opened and then closed, and he stiffened for a second. "Here," he said, still sounding uncertain. "I don't really know what this means. I went to Palo Alto to see if I could talk you into giving us another chance, to see if maybe, even with your job—"
I was nodding, my head beginning slowly up and down, and then moving like a bobble head in violent agreement. "Yes. It's all fine," I told him. "I'm opening the office here, and—"
"Here? You're moving here and opening an office here?"
"Yes, I—"
I didn't get to finish explaining because Max's mouth was on mine then, his arms around me and our hearts pressed together as the warm sun beat down and my enormous shaggy dog tried to push his head between us. No one could have gotten between us right then, though, and Charlie finally settled for plopping himself down at our feet, pushing himself between our shins and laying on our toes.
Max pulled his head back, both of us laughing. "I can't believe you're here. Staying here."
I grinned back at him. I couldn't quite believe it either. "I am," I said, loving the way it sounded to confirm that this was real. I wasn't going anywhere.
"And how did you happen to be here? Right now? Are you really the person I’m supposed to be meeting?"
"Yes," I told him, squeezing his waist tighter. "I'm your date. Cat set this up," I looked around for Max's sister, but she'd gone. "I went to see her at the gallery, to ask if she thought you'd be willing to give things a real chance."
He grinned. "I was so mad at her today when she said she'd set me up again." He looked down at me. "I almost didn't come."
"I'm glad you did."
"So am I," he said, and then he was kissing me again.
After a while, Charlie grew bored with laying in the sand while Max and I stood and confirmed that we were both really here, both staying, that we could actually take the time we needed, and give ourselves a chance. He dragged us to the water's edge and I let him play while I stood with Max, hand in hand, and watched. My chest felt full and warm, and the smile wouldn’t leave my lips.
"It's crazy," Max said, stroking my fingers. "I've spent so much time believing
if things weren't logical, if they weren't mathematical, then they couldn't possibly work. I mean, we're just at the beginning, I know, and I don't want to jinx it, but ..." he looked at me uncertainly. "I found the profile you created. Susan Rose?"
"Oh, seriously?" That wasn’t good. I’d made half those answers up.
"I ran it against mine."
"Oh my God, you didn't."
"That's the thing, Tate. We're not a match. Not even a little bit." He looked utterly confused. "But what I feel about us makes me think it doesn't matter at all. Everything I've believed about love for so long is completely wrong in the face of what I think might be the real thing."
My head snapped around to stare at him. Max had just used the "L" word. I'd been feeling it, but things felt too new, too tentative to push into that kind of serious territory. Still, I knew he was right. "I think so too," I said, nervous as the words left my lips.
He smiled, but I could tell there was a part of him still hanging back, maybe unwilling to trust something that wasn't mathematically validated. "It's just hard to wrap my head around."
I realized I needed to tell him something before he went too far down the path of self doubt. "That profile wasn't mine, you know."
"What?"
"Susan Rose. I ripped through the questions as fast as humanly possible, making up all kinds of answers. I only went through it to see what it was like, not to fill it out in any real way. That's not really my profile," I explained.
The relief rolling off him was tangible. "Oh thank God." But then he gave me a pointed look again. "Would you be willing to take a real one?"
I pressed myself against his chest, looking up into his face. "Why? If we're not a match, do you really want to know? Can't we just trust what we feel?"
Max answered with a kiss, his lips and tongue answering every doubt either of us might have had as everything I was fell into perfect alignment with Max Winchell, Mr. Match himself.
We were a match. I knew it in my soul.
Chapter 148
Match Met
Max
Later that night after keeping Tatum prisoner at my house for a few hours to get reacquainted, she agreed to fill in a real Mr. Match profile. I couldn’t really articulate why it was important to me, but after years of believing in something so completely, I was having a hard time letting it go. I’d promised Tate it wouldn’t matter either way. But I felt like I needed to know. It affected my entire worldview. I needed to know what I really believed.
"I really don't see the point," she said, hunching over my laptop on the couch. "Didn't we just prove our compatibility again about fifteen minutes ago? That part where I was screaming your name didn't convince you?"
I grinned. "I liked that part. A lot."
Earlier in the day, Tatum's mom had met us for lunch and brought Roger along. Evidently Tate's mom was considered quite a catch among the recently retired men of San Diego. She seemed to be enjoying the attention, and I was happy for her.
"They're crazy for your sweaters at the hospital," she was telling Tate as I stroked Charlie's head absently. "But the one you brought yesterday is too big, honey."
Tate laughed. "Oh, that one wasn't for donation. It was for Charlie."
I looked at her. "You make sweaters? You made one for Charlie?"
"I crochet when I'm stressed. Mom gives them to the maternity ward at the hospital, or she did back in Palo Alto. And they're happy to have them here?" She asked her mom.
Rose nodded. "Definitely. And I'm excited I've found a place to volunteer again. I didn't realize how much I missed being needed." She smiled.
We had enjoyed our meal on a patio out in the sun, and then Rose had taken Charlie home with her so Tatum and I could spend some time together without a huge furry sidekick. I sat next to her on the couch now, my body loose and satisfied and my heart fuller than I'd ever felt it.
But I still wanted to know. "I can't help it," I tried to explain. "I just want to know."
Tate stared at me for a long minute, wrinkling her nose as she tried to understand why I was so hung up on the profiles and the logic of matching. "I'll do it, but only to make you happy. If it turns out we're not a match, promise me you're not going to run away."
"I came looking for you even when I thought we were the complete opposite of a match, remember?"
"But I'm worried it will plant some seed of doubt in your mind, and then if we ever hit a rough patch it'll give you an excuse to give up."
I took her jaw in my hand gently, turned her face to mine. I kissed her lightly, loving the way her eyes fluttered shut, the responding flutter in my own chest. "I promise you one thing. I will never give up on us."
She finished the profile and hit submit, and then we walked together around Mission Bay, holding hands and strolling. The sky was streaked with orange and red, and the air was warm and calm. My mind, which had rolled and churned for as many years as I'd been alive, was calm.
Tatum Archer was my match. I knew it as surely as I knew I was hers, and whether I ran the profiles or not, it wouldn't change that. Maybe I'd learned something through all this—that love wasn't a mathematical formula or something to be solved. It was about faith and magic, trust and belief. And Tatum had made me understand that, when nothing else in the world possibly could have.
As the sky darkened over the bay, I turned to her and pulled her close to me, threading my fingers into her thick dark hair and looking into the fathomless deep brown eyes. "I love you, Tate," I told her. "I'm sure it's too early to say it, but I don't care because I'm certain. I love you."
She smiled up at me and I felt the moment fix itself into the fabric of my life, instantly becoming a memory I'd hold close for the rest of my days. "I love you too," she said.
We stood like that a long time, looking into each other's eyes until it was almost too dark to see. And finally, we turned and walked back home, the connection between us firm and strong.
After all these years of struggling to figure it out, trying to make sense of love, I had met my match.
Epilogue
Max
"You made it!" Magalie greeted us at the door of a huge Spanish style house with red tile roofs and perfect southern California landscaping out front. "Everyone's out back at the pool."
I let Tate step in ahead of me and smiled as she and Magalie hugged. "It's so good to see you again," Tate told her. "The house is amazing."
"Thank you," Magalie said. She walked us through a sweeping open living room and out the other side, where floor-to-ceiling windows retracted to open up to the patio and yard beyond. "We're so excited to finally show it to everyone!"
"Cannonball!" Trace Johnson was in the process of launching himself into the pool as we stepped outside, and everyone who had been floating calmly on rafts and inner tubes was shrieking and holding their drinks high as the enormous wave splashed around Trace's entry point.
"Some things don't change," I said, laughing.
"Some things," Magalie agreed. "But other things ..." she held up the newspaper, pointing at the front page of the Lifestyle section where a picture of Tallulah Jeffries appeared beneath the headline "Mr. Match's Identity Confirmed. And the Mr. is a Ms.!"
I grinned. Tatum knew, and so did most of the Sharks, but the official announcement had just come out this morning. Tallulah was taking my place—at least in front of the media—as the puppet master behind Mr. Match. The Stars organization could use the publicity boost, and I wanted to be out of the spotlight.
Tallulah, it turned out, actually had a math degree and a pretty solid understanding of the inner workings of the Mr. Match back end, and she was trying to line up a post-soccer career move. She was willing to be the face of the company and manage the day-to-day data requirements under the direction of the new CEO Tate's company would bring in. Alex Craft was out, thankfully, and Tate was back for the time being.
Trace had hauled himself out of the pool and was making his way towards us, dripping and shaking off. "T
here you are, Winchell," he said. "I've been meaning to thank you for the couch you sent to go with those horrible chairs. So far I've been to the ER twice after trying to sit on it."
I chuckled. "Thought you'd like a complete set." As soon as the couch had appeared in Cat’s gallery, I’d bought and shipped it to Trace.
"Seriously. What the fuck?" Trace did not look amused. Magalie punched him in the arm. "I mean, thank you."
"They're all really unique," Magalie said, her smile looking almost genuine.
"You can burn them if you want," I said, laughing. "They're supposed to be art."
"They're something," Trace muttered. "But it's the thought that counts, so thanks. Maybe we'll send them back to you as a wedding gift." He wiggled his eyebrows, looking between Tate and me.
"Trace!" Magalie punched him again.
"We aren't quite there yet," Tate said, laughing. She didn't look even a little put off by the mention of marriage. My chest warmed, thinking about it.
"Right. It would be really soon for that," I confirmed. I mean, it's been like what? A couple months since we met."
"Yes," Tate said, meeting my eyes. "Much too early for that."
I held her gaze, and my entire body buzzed slightly. "Right."
She didn't look away, and even Trace had the good sense to stay quiet. Something was happening here. An idea was forming in my mind that was absolutely not a good one. Not a rational or logical one at least.
"I mean, people don't do that, right? Get married after knowing each other two months?" I asked her.
Unfazed, she said, "Some people do. If they're sure."
"If they're sure." My heart was sure. I was too. "I'm sure."
"I am too," she said.
Magalie was actually bouncing up and down, her hands clasped in front of her as she looked eagerly between us.
"It's not too early?" I asked.
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