by TWCS Authors
“Online dater?” Heather offered, referring to clients who joined only for their limited service, with no one-on-one counseling involved.
“Yes, but then there shouldn’t have been enough information for an in-depth match like Jessica’s.”
Heather shrugged. “Regardless, it looks like they’re hitting it off.” She nodded toward the couple across the room.
Emily knew enough about body language to recognize the signs of attraction—the leaning toward each other, the eye contact, the smiles, the way Jessica twirled a finger in her hair.
It hadn’t changed much since high school, actually.
Again, Sam’s gaze lifted to catch hers and Emily turned away quickly, cheeks hot. She needed to get a handle on the rather annoying infatuation she seemed to have developed. Especially since—if Jessica’s giggling was any indication—Sam Cavanaugh would soon be spoken for.
Two hours later, Emily sighed in relief as the waiter set a glass of white wine on the table before her. She’d pulled Jessica aside, gotten her input on the three prospects she’d like to see again, and the evening was finally complete. Emily took the opportunity to retire to the restaurant’s patio. It had an amazing view of Puget Sound, and the sun was just slipping beyond the horizon, filling the nearly-clear sky with oranges and reds. She took a sip of her wine and examined the three profiles laid out before her.
Mark Jacobs. Yes, like the designer, but no relation. Age thirty-four. Entrepreneur who enjoys golf, tennis, travel, and—Emily had to keep from rolling her eyes at the cliché—polo. He and Jessica shared a love of animals and both contributed time and money to support local non-kill animal shelters. Jessica said he had dreamy eyes and a nice smile.
Adam Keller. Age forty-eight. Owned a chain of convenience stores. A little old for Jessica, but she said he seemed young for his age. He was in great shape—a black belt in both Tae Kwon Do and Jujitsu—and enjoyed sailing. In fact, he’d once sailed around the world, something Jessica said she found romantic.
And then, of course, there was Sam Cavanaugh. Emily stacked the pages with Sam’s profile on top, examining his photograph with a frown. In the picture, he had a little more scruff—he’d been clean-shaven at the party—and his hair was a little longer, almost brushing his shoulders. His eyes were the same, though, blue and intense, as if they were looking right into—
“Checking up on me?”
Emily started, looking up to find Sam standing next to her table, a slight grin on his face. She blushed, fumbling with her file and tucking the papers inside. “Of course not . . . I’m just . . . doing my job.”
“I was only kidding.” He pulled up a chair and sat next to her. “I don’t usually do this, you know.”
“Sit down uninvited?” She smiled to let him know she wasn’t serious.
He laughed. “Computer dating. A friend signed me up for Perfect Match. I didn’t even know until your office called.”
“We get that a lot,” she said, taking a sip of her wine. “But it worked out, right? You and Jessica seemed to have a connection.”
He shrugged. “I suppose.” Sam waved down a waiter and ordered a beer.
“What do you mean?” Emily pressed, not wanting to waste Jessica’s time if Sam truly wasn’t interested. It had nothing to do with maybe, possibly, being interested in him herself. Really. Not at all.
He sat back in his chair, legs extended and fingers laced over his stomach. “She’s a nice woman,” he said. “Sweet, fun to talk to. She’d be fun to date, I guess.” He glanced at her sideways.
“And the problem with that is . . .”
“I’m not looking for a date. I’m looking for a mate.”
Emily smirked. “Nice. I should hire you to write my catch phrases.”
“That one’s on the house.” He looked up, tapping his lips with the tip of his finger and Emily tried not to stare at his mouth.
She really tried.
He grinned. “Here’s another one. Looking for love in all the right places.”
“Meh.” She shrugged, feigning indifference.
“No?” He looked surprised, but not offended. “Strike up a match?”
“Now you’re getting desperate.”
“So are your clients.”
“Hey!” She mock-glared. “Do I need to remind you that you are one of my clients?”
“Not by choice.”
Emily laughed and then caught herself. She’d almost forgotten that she was talking—flirting, if she were to be perfectly honest, which she really chose not to be—with a client. A client she’d matched with another client.
Her smile fell and she cleared her throat, toying with the stem of her wine glass as she straightened in her seat, reinforcing her business façade. “Seriously, though. If you’re not interested in seeing Jessica again, I need to know now. It’s important that I only match her with serious prospects.”
“Serious prospects?” He snorted slightly. “You make it sound like a job interview.”
“It is, pretty much.”
“Not very romantic.”
“Romance has very little to do with it, actually,” Emily said without thinking. Her perspective might have been effective in her job, but the clients rarely wanted to hear it. They liked to think she was out to find their soul mate—their true love. The science of it usually faded to the background and they looked at the whole process with stars in their eyes.
She encouraged it, of course. It was good for business. And if everyone ended up happy in the end, she figured the end justified the means.
“How so?” he asked, sitting up and leaning toward her over the table. “You’d think a matchmaker would be all about the romance.”
Emily tried not to notice the glint in his eyes from the reflected candlelight on the dimly lit patio or the light scent of his cologne, spicy and masculine. She cleared her throat again, unsure how he put her so off her game, so unsettled her that she let her professionalism slide, even for a moment. She could tell, however, that he really wanted an answer, so she took a deep breath and swallowed the last of her wine.
“A true match, a lasting match, is dependent upon compatibility,” she said. “Things like romance and attraction can actually muddy the waters. People often mistake lust for love and jump into a relationship, when in fact, they have very little in common.”
“So you make sure they don’t do that?”
“My system is based on a complex set of algorithms developed over years of research by myself and others in the field. Perfect Match isn’t just a catchy name. Based on my system, we really do find the client’s ideal mate.”
He sat back as the waiter set a frosted glass of beer before him and frowned at it for a moment before glancing at her sideways. “And love has nothing to do with it?”
Emily shifted in her seat. “Of course it has something to do with it.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “I don’t believe you.”
“Excuse me?”
“You don’t think it has anything to do with it at all, do you?” His head tilted curiously as he observed her, and she tried not to squirm under his steady gaze. “I can’t believe it.” His eyes widened, twinkling with a touch of amusement. “A matchmaker who doesn’t believe in love!”
She huffed. “Of course I believe in love.”
“You just don’t believe it conquers all.”
“Well, it doesn’t, does it?” she all but snapped. “Otherwise, why would more than half of all marriages end in divorce? People look at love through rose-colored glasses, thinking it’s the be-all and end-all, but the fact of the matter is, it’s not enough. A couple must have common interests and beliefs, personality traits that are compatible, common goals—”
“What about chemistry?”
She blinked, realizing they were closer than she thought, both leaning forward over the table. Sam’s hand lay flat on the wooden surface, the tip of his finger almost touching hers. She sat back abruptly.
“Che
mistry is irrelevant, really,” she said, quickly dumping the file into her bag and reaching for her jacket. “It’s all just remnants left behind by evolution, chemicals released by the brain when one encounters a potential mate. Hardly necessary in this day and age.” She stood up abruptly. “I really should be going.”
He reached out, snagging her by the wrist, and she fought back the knowing, stronger than usual for reasons she chose not to explore. “What happened to you?” he asked, voice soft and almost sad.
She pulled her hand free with a gasp.
“I’m sorry—” He stood, sliding his hand into his pocket.
“No, no, it’s fine. This is just . . .” She floundered for a moment. It seemed like she was always floundering around him, actually. “This is inappropriate. I shouldn’t be discussing this with you at all—”
“Emily—”
“It’s very unprofessional, and I apologize.”
“There’s no need—”
“My office will be in contact after your date with Jessica . . . that is, if you still intend to go out with her?” She waited for him to say yes, ignoring the pang of hope that he’d say no.
“I said I would,” he said quietly.
“All right then.” She slid an arm into her jacket and he stepped up to hold it for her. She stiffened, bracing herself, but he didn’t touch her skin.
He helped her into her coat and stepped back, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “Goodbye, Mr. Cavanaugh.”
“It’s Sam.”
She just nodded once before she turned and left, forcing herself to walk slowly, although her feet yearned to break into a run.
“So, how did it go?” Emily propped her elbows on her desk, tenting her fingers as she watched Jessica in the seat across from her.
She’d gone out on all three first dates and it was time for the debrief to decide if any of them warranted a second date. Usually, at least one of the first date choices was a winner, but it wasn’t uncommon for a client to find he or she didn’t really click with any of the matches and needed to start the process over again. In this case, Emily was relatively certain it wouldn’t be necessary.
Jessica blushed slightly, toying with her earring. “Really well,” she said. “Adam was amazing. So sweet and attentive, and he took me to this fantastic restaurant with a view of the Sound.”
Emily smiled, picking up her pen to take some notes. “And he was a gentleman?”
“Oh, yes. He even asked before he kissed me at the end of the evening.”
Emily covered her frown. She thought that was a bit wimpy, personally, but if it was what Jessica liked, then more power to her. “Are you going to see him again?”
She nodded. “He’s taking me sailing this weekend.”
“Great!” Emily turned a page. “What about Mark?”
Jessica wrinkled her nose. “Not so much.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing bad,” she said quickly, holding up a hand. “I mean, he was nice enough. But all he talked about was polo.” She rolled her eyes. “Play by plays of his big matches . . . the trophies he’s won. It got a little boring, to be honest.”
Emily raised an eyebrow, jotting some notes on Mark’s profile. “I can imagine. Well, believe me, I’ll be having a little chat with Mark.” She ignored the little flutter in her stomach when she asked, “And Sam? Where did you two go?”
Jessica’s frown lifted into a wide smile. “Mini golf. And pizza.”
“Really?” Apparently, Sam needed some dating advice from Emily as well.
“Oh, yeah, it was so much fun. I won, although I think Sam might have let me. I couldn’t be sure.” She leaned forward. “We went for pizza afterwards and I found out he actually likes anchovies. I love anchovies, but I’ve never found anybody who will let me order them!”
Emily felt a bit nauseous. Probably due to the mention of anchovies. “And how did the date end?”
“We had coffee at a little place down the street from my house and he walked me home.” She shrugged. “It was nice.”
“No kiss?”
She shook her head, and Emily definitely did not feel a little thrill at the response.
“I don’t know,” Jessica said. “I like Sam. I really do. But there was no special connection, you know? Not like with Adam.”
At that moment, Emily experienced what is commonly referred to as an ethical dilemma. She would have been lying to say she wasn’t the tiniest bit happy at the news, but at the same time, the software picked Sam as an ideal match for Jessica, and she wouldn’t be doing her job if she didn’t do her best to convince her client to at least give him a chance.
She swallowed. “But you said you had a great time.”
“We did. But I think he’s more of a friend, not a boyfriend.”
Emily pushed her glasses up her nose and considered the spreadsheet before her, mapping out the compatibility of Jessica with each candidate. There was no denying it—Sam’s numbers were better than Adam’s. According to the computer, he was the better match.
“What do you think?” Jessica asked, biting her lip nervously as Emily surveyed the data.
That settled it. This woman was depending on her to be a professional, to do her job. She couldn’t give her anything less than the best service, despite her personal feelings.
Not that she was having personal feelings. Not at all. Much.
She set the papers down and took off her glasses, looking at Jessica steadily. “I think you need to give Sam another chance,” she said. “Go out with Adam. I think he’s a good option for you. But don’t write off Sam. According to the compatibility algorithms, he’s an excellent match. I’d hate for you to give up on him based on only one date when he could be the one.”
“You really think so?”
“I do.” Emily ignored the little voice screaming inside her head. “I do,” she said again, unsure if she was trying to convince Jessica or herself.
It wasn’t unheard of. She’d done it before. Okay, so it had only been twice, and only because the clients couldn’t get the time off work to come to her office, but Emily chose not to dwell on that as she stood outside Cavanaugh’s Cakery, taking a few deep breaths to calm her racing heart before going inside. She’d met with Adam Keller already—in her office—but when she’d called to arrange a similar meeting with Sam and gotten his voice mail, she’d found herself saying she’d stop by his bakery after she left the office.
Again, it wasn’t unheard of. It was perfectly professional. Just a chance to debrief him about his date with Jessica and give him some suggestions for the next one. Maybe trying to be less brother-like and more boyfriend-like.
Right.
Perfectly professional.
She almost had herself convinced of that when the door swung open and a woman and young boy came out, holding the door open for her expectantly.
“Thank you,” she muttered, unable to delay going inside any longer, despite the fact that all her deep breathing had apparently been for naught.
Emily stepped into the brightly lit shop, painted in shades of blue and pale yellow. Framed photographs of elaborate wedding cakes hung on the walls over several small café-style tables, apparently for tastings. A glass case along the far wall housed a half-dozen birthday cakes of various themes. On a raised ceramic stand atop the case stood a gorgeous eight-tier wedding cake in shades of white and cream, with sugar flowers and sparkling crystals twinkling under the overhead lights.
Emily wondered at how such a big, masculine man could create something so beautiful and delicate.
“Be right out!” a voice called through a doorway behind the case, which Emily assumed led to the kitchen.
She could smell the sweet scent of baking and her mouth watered, reminding her she hadn’t yet had dinner. Idly, she walked by the case, examining
the cakes within and smiling at a three-tiered one in pink and black with little high-heeled shoes parading around the edge. A surprisingly realistic Coach purse made out of fondant took up a good portion of the top, a pair of sugar pearl earrings and a bracelet scattered next to it.
Jessica would have loved that one.
“Want a bite?”
Emily jumped at the sound of Sam’s voice, relaxing a bit when she saw him holding out a cupcake in the palm of his hand.
He rolled his eyes at her suspicious look. “It’s just a cupcake,” he said, lifting it slightly to emphasize his words. “Well, I shouldn’t say just. It’s double-chocolate with salted caramel frosting, and it’s incredible, if I do say so myself.”
Emily smirked. “Mighty sure of yourself.”
“Definitely. At least when it comes to salted caramel frosting.” He grinned at her. “Go on, take it. I’m relatively certain one cupcake isn’t going to jeopardize your professional objectivity.”
“I don’t know. It’s hard to be impartial about chocolate.”
Was she flirting?
“Double chocolate.”
Was he?
“Even more so.” She looked away from his crinkling eyes, and stepped back to put some distance between them.
He set the cupcake on top of the case, his smile falling slightly.
With a mental eye roll, she reached for the cupcake, feeling more than a little ridiculous about making such a big deal over an innocent conversation.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, peeling back the paper.
He watched her carefully as she took a small bite and licked a dab of frosting off her lips.
She froze. “Holy crap,” she mumbled through the cupcake.
Sam’s face broke into a smile. “Good?”
Instead of answering, she took a bigger bite.
The cake itself was dark and rich, moist and not too sweet, a perfect counterpoint to the sinfully rich ganache filling and the smooth, velvety frosting. A drizzle of caramel boosted the flavor to eleven on a one-to-ten scale, and Emily closed her eyes as she swallowed, barely stifling a moan of appreciation.