A Sensible Arrangement: A Modern Match-Maker Romance

by Ryder, Rocklyn

  Imagining what those tits would feel like pressed up against my chest while my hands roam her body does the exact opposite of what I need right now-- namely to get my dick under control.

  Dinner conversation wasn't very useful in learning more about her. The steak joint was loud on a Saturday night and having Helen and Raven both with us made it feel more like a dinner party than the first time I got to meet my future wife.

  I was hoping Tiffany would be up for ditching the chaperons and spending some time getting to know each other some place quiet where we could really talk. If we happen to end up back at my hotel, all the better.

  That wasn't my plan when I decided to stay the night in Durango. My place is an hour or so away and not knowing how long it takes to meet one's bride when she's already been picked out for you, I wasn't sure I'd be up for driving back the same night.

  It might have crossed my mind that if things went well, it'd be nice to be around for breakfast before the girls head back home again. I just didn't think I'd be thinking that grabbing breakfast with my fiance might be nicer if it's room service.

  Tiffany's head bobs up and down when I run the idea of grabbing coffee by her again but she calls out for Raven and Helen and my heart sinks.

  Yeah, I guess it's still technically our first date and we're supposed to be under supervision. I like Raven well enough, Lord knows I owe her more than what she charged me for finding me a woman like Tiffany, but I was hoping for a chance to get some alone time with my bride to be.

  "Coffee sounds like a great idea," Raven agrees with a bright smile as her head moves with her eyes from Tiffany to me and back. "I'll take this back to the room for you and put it in the fridge." Raven reaches for Tiffany's boxed-up left-over steak.

  "You're not coming with us?" I can't tell if Tiffany's voice is relieved or disappointed.

  "Oh heavens no." Raven laughs, her eyes landing on mine with what I swear is a twinkle. "I'm still on California time," she looks at the designer watch on her wrist, "I still have a ton of work to get done today. You two have fun."

  "They sneakin' off behind the bleachers?" Helen jokes as Raven joins her and I watch the two women head back to the parking lot.

  Of course, my neighbor makes sure to say it plenty loud enough that me and Tiffany, and the rest of Durango, can hear her.

  I can't hear what Raven answers but I do hear both women laugh out loud as they leave us standing on the sidewalk.

  "Did Helen come in her own car?" Tiffany half asks, half wonders out loud.

  "Nope," I answer.

  "How's she getting home?"

  "Looks like Raven's dropping her off at the hotel, I guess." No one mentioned it to me, and watching Helen get into Raven's rental car like it was the plan all along gives me a weird feeling like maybe this wasn't my idea after all.

  "Was that always the plan?"

  Tiffany sounds like I feel as she turns back toward me like she thinks I know more than she does. All I can do is shrug. "If it was, they didn't bother running it by me first," I tell her.

  The smile I got used to during dinner spreads across Tiffany's face, lighting her up like a Christmas tree.

  "I think we've been bamboozled," she says with a wink.

  "I think you're right," I agree. "There's a coffee shop just up the block if you don't mind walking?"

  Just like that, I've got Tiffany's arm threaded through mine as we head to the little coffee place I spied on my way to the steakhouse earlier.

  I have to walk slow so she can keep up and I wonder if it's the heels or if my long-ass legs just carry me everywhere too damn fast.

  Secretly, I find myself looking forward to taking it slow for the rest of my life with Tiffany's hand on my arm like it is now. I like the idea of giving all these sorry fuckers driving past us plenty of time to hate my guts for taking this woman off the market.

  Sorry guys, I don't know why her last husband gave her up, but I'm not planning on being stupid enough to let her get away.

  Tiffany

  The coffee shop is almost empty. I guess everyone in town is busy drinking at the bars or one of the breweries that seem to be everywhere.

  It's just me and Nathan, a guy working on his laptop with headphones on, and a couple of women in their 60's that I'm pretty sure are on a first date themselves.

  Nathan asks me how I like my coffee and I admit I don't. His handsome face falls in obvious confusion, or maybe disappointment, but he recovers fast.

  "Sorry," I can't help but laugh at myself, "I guess going for coffee does seem silly if I don't drink it."

  "I'm just going to interpret it to mean you weren't ready for our date to end." He gives me a wink and that mischievous grin that makes my insides go all fluttery as he heads to the counter armed with my order for tea with milk while I choose a nice corner for us that offers 2 leather chairs in mismatched colors and a small table that's been painted a bright yellow over a dark brown with little cut outs of butterflies decoupaged on it.

  The place is eclectic, that's for sure. A ceiling height bookcase creates a room divide behind my chair. A small sign printed in a swoopy font is displayed on the shelf that's just about eye-level with me while I'm standing in front of the case, checking out the collection. It says "Need a Book, Take a Book, Have a Book, Leave a Book."

  There's a surprising amount of high fantasy and science fiction books on the shelves, a decent section of cook books, and some text books. Not nearly as many romance novels as I would expect, but maybe that's just me? Romance makes up more than half my own book store but I guess it's not the sort of thing the coffee shop patrons are into.

  "Oh, thank you." Nathan coming back with our drinks distracts me from my book snooping. I put my hand out to take my steaming mug of hot tea but he sets the tray down on the little table.

  "It's still steeping," he says with a wave of his hand indicating I should continue with what I was doing. "Go ahead and pick out a good book," he tells me as he takes a seat behind me, "you might need it if I get too boring."

  The way he says it doesn't sound sarcastic at all. He's genuinely making a joke, poking a little fun at himself, not criticizing my interest in the books at all. It feels-- comfortable. Like he already knows something about me and accepts it.

  Those butterflies stir up in my gut again, along with a warmth that starts in my chest and blossoms from mere gratitude to something else.

  This man is more than I expected. He makes me feel...I feel my face pinch in a combination of self-consciousness and concern while I pretend to still be studying the broken and tattered spines of the paperbacks with my back to Nathan...that's just it, I conclude. He makes me feel.

  "I doubt you get boring," I assure him as I turn around, plastering a not-at-all fake smile on my face as I take my seat and fix my tea up like I like it.

  Nathan peers at me over the edge of his coffee cup while he finishes taking a sip.

  "I hope not."

  His voice is a somber tone that I've already come to think of as uncharacteristic for him as he sets his mug down on the table between us.

  "What on earth makes a woman like Mrs. Tiffany Henries-Rowe hire a professional marriage broker to find her a husband?"

  And there it is.

  The question hangs pendulous and obvious in the air between us just as the women sharing a slice of cheesecake at the table across the room break into laughter, sounding suddenly as comfortable with each other as Nathan and I seem to suddenly not be.

  I stir the milk into my tea with the dainty little silver spoon that was set on the edge of my saucer and try to think what the right answer is.

  Raven told me it was my story to tell, that she hadn't shared all the details of my situation with my future husband. At the time, I was relieved. I thought it was very professional, as well as considerate, of her to leave it up to me.

  Now I wish he already knew everything. I wish I'd told Nathan's daughters-- or at least Helen-- so I'd know that this match was made under full
disclosure. That way I could be having this conversation with a man who'd already had a chance to go through my baggage and decide if it was something he was willing to have stashed in his closet.

  Metaphorically speaking.

  "Um," I cough lightly like maybe the tea went down the wrong pipe or was still hotter than I'd expected but the truth is that I'm painfully aware that I'm taking too long to answer him but I'm still stalling for time.

  "Well," I set my cup back down on the saucer and look up at Nathan with a firm resolve. I'm just going to say it. "My husband passed away," I hold my breath, pausing for the obligatory sentiment that always comes with the statement. Nathan's expression turns soft and he gives me an apologetic nod but he waits for me continue.

  His silence is welcome. It makes me feel like he's interested in the part where I'm here with him, not holding me in a past that I've left behind me already.

  I breathe again, feeling slightly lighter. "It's been six years now," I mention, feeling like I owe it to him to assure him that this arranged marriage idea isn't a rebound reflex or desperation to fill a suddenly empty space in my life.

  Nathan nods again. He looks like he's about to say something but then he just gives me a helpless little shrug that tells me he's not sure what to say.

  "I tried dating again," I say, "but it wasn't...what I was looking for." I choose my words carefully for finishing the thought, not sure how to phrase it right.

  "What are you looking for?" Nathan asks softly.

  I take the opportunity to think for a second by lifting my cup from the table and slowly enjoying a sip of tea that's been brought to the perfect temperature by the cool milk.

  "I don't prefer living alone," I tell him, "I don't want to choke to death because there was no one to give me the Heimlich maneuver."

  Nathan's smile returns to his face and we break into shared laughter not unlike the girls at the other table a few moments ago.

  It feels good.

  It feels really good to share an evening with someone. To share laughter with someone. That giddy feeling in the pit of my stomach ramps up again and I start thinking how good it would feel to share other things with someone.

  Not "someone." Nathan.

  Just like that, the giddiness turns sour and drops, leaving me dizzy and sightly nauseous. Like the roller coaster ride I've been enjoying has gone on too long.

  His laughter dies off and he contemplates his coffee in silence while he mulls over the information I've just dumped on him.

  If it changes his mind about marrying me, then it's best to get that over and done with right up front so neither of us waste any more of our time.

  That's what I tell myself, but the few seconds that he's quiet drag on in what feels like an eternity while I find myself holding my breath again.

  It's right now, right here, sitting with my knees crossed like a proper lady while I hold an over sized tea cup in my hand trying not to let it shake too much, that I realize how much I want this man to marry me.

  I mean, if I'm going to marry a virtual stranger it might as well be one who's handsome and witty and makes me feel like...oh boy. I catch my lower lip between my teeth and chew worriedly. This isn't what I was looking for at all when I hired Raven to find me a husband.

  All I wanted was something solid and dependable. A man to keep company with and grow old with. Something sensible.

  Not this.

  I recognize this feeling.

  This feels suspiciously like falling in love.

  Nathan

  She's so young. That's the first thought that hits me when she tells me she's been widowed for 6 years. She so young now but 6 years? 6 years ago she was just a baby.

  I have tons of questions but I'm not sure asking any of them is appropriate. It's obvious that telling me about her past has her worked up. I'm just not sure if she's emotional about her deceased husband or if she's nervous about telling me.

  Fortunately, Tiffany relaxes after I let her talk for a few minutes and I like that she feels safe enough with me already to open up about the reasons she ended up hiring Raven Swann.

  Soon we fall into that same natural easiness I've felt with her since dinner and before I know it we've wandered off the subject of her tragically short marriage in her 20's to laughing about her interviews with Dani and Summer and, of course, my dear neighbor Helen.

  "Honestly," I manage to say between gasps for air from laughing so hard, "I had no idea she was a crazy old lady."

  "How could you put her on your team without knowing who she really is?" Tiffany says while wiping her eyes.

  "She's always been the picture of propriety, all the years I've known her."

  Tiffany cocks her head to the side and raises an eyebrow at me.

  "OK! OK!" I hold my hands up in mock surrender, "Maybe 'propriety' isn't the right word."

  "I can't believe Raven let her get away with drinking at dinner tonight," Tiffany says, shaking her head. "I don't think the chaperons are supposed to drink either."

  "Who's going to argue with an 80 year old woman?"

  "Good point. I still wonder if they planned to ditch us after dinner from the beginning?" Tiffany smirks as she sets her empty tea cup down on the table.

  She's beautiful, sitting across from me with her legs crossed at the knee. Her red dress stands out against the dark stain on the bookshelf behind her. It compliments her dark hair and the subtle olive tone of her skin and she turns our corner of the cafe into a work of art.

  We've been sitting here for hours now, I realize. Mostly ignoring our drinks till just this minute when we finally stop talking long enough to down the remaining drops of cold tea and coffee and set the cups down in unison.

  The barista locking the door and turning the hand-crafted sign to "closed" is probably what triggers our mutual attention to the time.

  "Is it really 11 o'clock?" Tiffany asks as she uncrosses her legs and sits forward on the edge of her chair while she takes her cell phone out of her purse and sees the time.

  Checking my watch, I confirm.

  We're the only ones left in the cafe and the barista is busy cleaning up behind the counter.

  "Are you about to turn into a pumpkin?" I ask, gesturing toward Tiffany's phone, wondering if our match maker has set a curfew for her.

  She smiles while she turns the screen off and slides the phone back into the small bag she's carrying. The slow shake of her head makes the fallen tendrils of hair around her face move gently and the way she catches her lower lip between her teeth as she shyly smiles up at me makes my heart speed up.

  It also makes my dick jump to attention again in a way that makes wild images pop into my head.

  Images of Tiffany lying back on my bed with her legs wrapped around my neck while I listen to her panting and make her writhe against my face.

  I want to know if she'll moan or mewl or cry out as I make her come. I want to know if her hands will twist in my hair or clutch at the bed sheets beside her.

  I imagine what's left of her red lipstick smeared along the base of my dick and it's enough to make me want to drag her off that chair right here in the cafe.

  Instead, I manage to preserve some sense of self control and will myself back down. Then I gather up our tray of dishes and return them to the counter while Tiffany excuses herself to the restroom.

  When she's returns, she's fixed most of the fly-away hairs and reapplied that damn lipstick, sending my thoughts into overdrive again.

  Walking back to my car in the steak house parking lot, both of us are quiet. Maybe she's tired; all talked out for the night; thinking how the hell is she going to get out of marrying the geezer who can't stop turning his head to admire her under the parking lot lights.

  There's no telling what's going through Tiffany's head as she allows me to help her into the passenger seat of my car and close the door behind her, but all I can think of is what a lucky son a bitch I am to have a woman like Mrs. Henries-Rowe on my arm.

  "So n
o messages from our keepers, eh?" The air in the cab of the car is thick and I wonder if I'm the only one feeling the tension as I choke out some lame small talk on the way to drop her off at her hotel.

  Her hotel is not where I want to take her. If I were still a younger man, I wouldn't even bother asking, I'd have acted on impulse and taken a chance on bringing her back to where I'm staying for the night.

  The man in me wants to do it anyway. The man who has two daughters of his own remembers to be a gentleman. While the man who knows this amazing woman could fly home tomorrow and decide she can do better is scared to death of pushing his luck and simultaneously scared to death he'll regret it every day of his life if he doesn't.

  Tiffany smiles as she shakes her head and answers me for the third time. No. Neither Raven nor Helen have sent either of us any messages. No one's keeping tabs on us. No one's scolding us for being out so late.

  It makes it all the harder to politely walk Tiffany through the lobby of her hotel, past the desk clerk who's not paying any attention to us, into the alcove in the hallway to the elevators.

  "Tonight was fun," she tells me even though she's rifling through her purse for her room key without looking at me.

  "Yeah," I say, waiting for her to look up, wondering why she's avoiding looking at me. "I had a good time."

  I shift my weight from one foot to the other, praying the elevator is stuck on another floor, hoping for time to screw my courage up, waiting for a sign that that's what she wants too.

  The bell dings and the call button light goes off.

  I can't go up to her room with her, she's sharing a room with Raven.

  The coach doors slide open and Tiffany looks up at me. Her dark eyes smile and I watch those luscious lips of hers part slightly.

  Maybe she was about to say something. It could have been a "thank you" or a "when will I see you again" or a "fuck off, loser," I'll never know. Because the words never get a chance to form before I have my mouth on hers.