Ms. Match Meets a Millionaire

by Pamela DuMond

  “You’d look cute in this sweater,” he said, holding up a red knitted thing the size of my hand.

  I glanced around. “We’re in the designer pet department. That sweater’s an XXS and is meant for a Chihuahua. That wouldn’t even cover one of my boobs.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Try it on.”

  “No. You’re not me buying anything. That was our agreement. Put that back where you found it.”

  We spent the next hour collecting presents for Marte: a new bathrobe and a pretty lambs wool throw to keep her warm. We were surrounded by shopping bags and landed at Totally Hot Chocolate Cafe on State Street for sustenance. We both checked our phones.

  “Crap!” Just what I did not want to see. An email from Sean.

  “Bad news?”

  “Kind of. Not really. Just an ex-boyfriend.”

  Sean: Your mom won’t forward your new number, Harper. Said I should email you. It’s been a year. You coming home for Christmas?

  Ugh. No.

  I didn’t want to change my personal email. But I would if I had to. I deleted his message.

  “What do you want for Christmas, Harper?” Ethan asked.

  He was wearing a white whipped cream moustache and looked good enough to eat. I reached over the table and wiped it away with my hand, my index finger lingering against his full lips. “Nothing. I’m good.”

  “I don’t believe you. Everyone wants something for Christmas. Pretend I’m Santa. Sit on my lap. Tell me your list.”

  “I want sweetness and kindness to prevail in the world again. I want to see a pro hockey game in person before I die. I want litterers to just cut it out, man. Like seriously, what is their problem? I want mean people to stop being mean and bullies to hang it up and call it a day. Enough about me. What do you want for Christmas?”

  “I want Marte to live to 101. I agree with you on the damn litterers. And I want you to be happy.”

  “Really?”

  “Really, Cupcake.” He leaned over the table, took my hand in his, and kissed me.

  We had an early dinner with Marte, who for some reason didn’t find it odd that I was hanging out with her grandson. We watched a few episodes of The Golden Girls and then went back to my place. We fed Romeo, then sat on the couch and picked a spy movie to watch on Netflix. He stayed the night.

  I woke in the wee hours of the morning pretzled up against Ethan who lay in my bed, one foot hanging off the edge. I watched him sleeping. I stared at his beautiful thick hair, his eyelashes brushing against his etched cheekbones, the planes of his shoulders. He felt like home. He felt like family. It scared the crap out of me.

  *

  Late on Sunday afternoon, Ethan and I hit the dog park. There was a chill in the air as December marched on toward Christmas and year’s end. We parked on a bench outside the fenced-in area and watched the puppies play. “I love it here,” I said. “I wish I knew about this place a year ago. Thanks for sharing this with me.”

  “Absolutely,” he said. “Tell me about your ex-boyfriend.”

  “Why?”

  “You didn’t look all that thrilled when the email came in from him. Is there a problem?”

  “Not anymore,” I said. “What do you want to know?”

  “How did you meet? How long did you date? Why’d you break up? Who’s better in the sack? Me or him? You know, the usual. You know a lot about my life. I don’t know enough about yours.”

  “I met him by accident. He wandered into my last job. We dated close to seven months. We broke up because we had differences that could not be overcome. Obviously, you’re better in the sack.”

  “Good answer,” he said. “Why do you think he contacted you?”

  Fishing…

  “He reaches out, but for me, it’s done.”

  “How long?”

  “It’s been over a year.”

  “Good,” he said, looking relieved. “I have a confession. I broke our rule.”

  “Which rule was that?”

  “The no Christmas present rule.”

  “But I didn’t break the no Christmas present rule. Therefore if you give me a present you’re just going to make me look like an asshat.”

  “What’s with you and all the rules,” he said, reaching into his coat pocket. “I’m giving it to you.”

  “Don’t give it to me! I’ve got enough guilt to recover from wantonly shacking up with my client. I’ve broken enough rules to get me thrown in matchmaker jail.”

  “Lighten up, Cupcake. Break one more. The new week begins tomorrow and Korea beckons, yes?”

  “Her name is Sophia.”

  “Whatever. Close your eyes and hold out your hand.”

  I did and felt him place something light into it. I opened my eyes and stared at two paper stubs. “Chicago Blackhawks vs L.A. Kings? Tonight? You got me hockey tickets?” I leapt off the bench and jumped up and down. “Oh my God! Sweet Jesus, dream come true!” I fell to one knee, crossed myself, and kissed the sky. “Thank you! Does this mean I have to take you as my plus one?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Wait. You’re kidding.”

  “Yes, Hot Waiter! I’m kidding. Holy crap. Best. Gift. Ever!” I wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him so tightly, I feared I might break his neck. When I looked up at him I saw a side of him I’d never seen before. Open. Raw. Worry free. Happy.

  What the hell were we doing?

  Chapter 33

  Ethan

  *

  3 years ago

  *

  The game finished. My team, the Badgers, had won. I cheered, hollered, and high-fived the air in front of the TV.

  I peered up at the clock: a half hour had passed since Zoey had left for her run.

  I looked out our living room window. It was late November. The days were getting shorter and the sun was already descending toward the horizon. Back on the TV, the players and coaches were congratulating each other. A few hardcore fans waved signs, but the stands at Camp Randal Stadium were already emptying. The victory felt a bit hollow.

  I picked up the remote, clicked the ‘Off’ button, and stared down at my French paper finally taking shape on the laptop. I sighed. I grabbed my phone from the coffee table and texted:

  Ethan: The mountain is moving. I’ll meet you. Which trail?

  I knew Zoey. Once she got going, she’d put on her music and hit the running path until she worked out her stress, dissolved the spider webs, and erased the strain in her brain. I could still catch her if I moved it, just like she suggested.

  She texted back.

  Zoey: Green Marsh Trail. A few miles out. Turning around. Yay!

  I hopped in my Trailblazer and drove the few miles down the country road to the jogging trail. The rain drizzled. My windshield wipers swiped on low. I hit the intersection for the path, turned left, and pulled over onto the shoulder.

  I strode down the five feet wide dirt gravel mix path, surrounded by a yard or so of dried brush that dropped into the marsh on one side, woods leading to yellowed farm fields abutting it on the other.

  I picked up the pace and jogged. A minute in, my lungs began expanding and I started shedding the stress. The sun was descending and the temperatures took a dive, chilling everything quickly. I’d forgotten to bring gloves. I balled my hands in fists, and picked up my pace, jogging faster, pumping my arms harder.

  A red-tailed hawk circled in the cloudy sky above me. I rounded the trail’s bend and spotted Zoey jogging toward me.

  She looked refreshed. There were rain droplets on her hood and her face was glistening in the setting sun. “Yay,” she said. She slowed down and lifted her hands in the air like Rocky Balboa and smiled at me.

  I smiled back.

  A crack rang out, and her face morphed from happiness to confusion. “Tall Guy?” She staggered a few steps and stumbled, red blossoming in spurts on her chest.

  A second shot rang out. Zoey twisted and collapsed onto the pat. Her chin hitting the di
rt and her neck twisted.

  Ice water ran through my veins. “Zoey? Zoey? Are you okay?”

  Half in and off on the path, she lay crumpled, her feet in the weeds, her body twisted like a broken doll.

  I raced the remaining yards to her and dropped to my knees. I touched my shaky fingers to her face and took her hand with my other hand. Her eyes were fixed and staring into the marsh.

  My Zoey was dead. Her heart taken. Stolen in accidental moments, sealed with her hand clasped firmly in mine.

  Chapter 34

  Harper

  *

  I let him go.

  I kissed Ethan goodbye at 4 a.m. Monday morning while he was sleeping. I didn’t think I’d be able to make love with him one more time and then pass him along like yesterday’s clothes that were no longer wanted. I wrote a note and left it by the kitchen sink.

  You, Ethan Rosseaux are the best. Client. Ever. Your adoring matchmaker, Harper.

  It took all my willpower to walk out that door and I cried buckets on the way home. I was puffy-eyed by the time I made it to the office. I texted Ethan’s details to Sophia and copied him with hers. I emailed Jake Brewer and reminded him about the office party on Wednesday night.

  I hadn’t eaten since I downed some nachos at the hockey game the night before, and my stomach felt like it might revolt. I wandered into the coffee room and looked in the box of donuts open on the table.

  “Why didn’t we do a Secret Santa this year?” Giles asked. “It doesn’t really feel like the holidays without a Secret Santa. Don’t take the last glazed donut, Harper. I’ve got dibs.”

  “Got it.” I picked up a chocolate butter cream.

  “I still can’t believe you signed Abigail Vanderveld,” Sarah said.

  “She’s practically perfume royalty,” Giles said. “She might even show up at the party tonight.”

  “Congrats,” I said half-heartedly, munching on the pastry.

  “If it doesn’t work between Sophia and Ethan you could set him up with Abigail,” Giles said.

  “Not a bad idea,” Sarah said. “She’s gorgeous and fabulously wealthy. What do you think?”

  I pitched the donut across the room where it collided against the wall and plopped onto the sink. “I’m trying not to. Thinking’s over-rated.” I stalked out of the room.

  Over the next few days I divided my free moments between hanging out at the dog park and running on the path around Lake Shore Drive. I cut my runs short, turning around right before the Rosseaux Hotel came in sight. I knew it would only make me sad and I was depressed enough already.

  The dog park was a different story. I went there on my lunch break and returned after work. Watching dogs play seemed to calm me down more than a glass of wine, anti-depressants, or ice cream. I wondered if Sophia had met Ethan yet. They’d probably fallen in love immediately and would send me an invite to their wedding next year. I’d find a way to be out of town for that one.

  Wednesday arrived and along with it the big Mr. Cupid holiday party at Positano—an adorable five star trattoria in the Old Town neighborhood.

  “What are you wearing?” Sarah asked when she stopped by my cubicle. “Don’t throw a donut at me if you don’t like the question.”

  “Clothes,” I said. “I’ve got to find someone for Jake Brewer. I think I’m going to concentrate on him from here on out.”

  “Good call. If you change your mind I’ll take him.”

  I collapsed my chin into my hands on my desk. “Holidays suck.”

  “For everyone,” Mr. Brady said, standing in his winter coat. “Why so glum?”

  “No words.”

  “I hear you. So, some guy called here today looking for you.”

  “He did?” I perked up. “Ethan Rosseaux?”

  “No,” he said. “I overheard snippets of the conversation with Janet, that super relaxed receptionist from the temp agency.”

  “She just got her medical marijuana card,” I said. “She showed it to me. Maybe it was a new client. A referral.”

  “That would be good. Might I make a suggestion, Harper?”

  “Sure, boss.”

  “Don’t lock up late tonight. Have fun at the party. Just enjoy. You’re overdue.”

  *

  I almost didn’t go to the Mr. Cupid holiday bash. I changed outfits five times. I styled my hair three different ways and cracked open two cans of cat food for Romeo. Then I laid on the couch and watched an episode of The Golden Girls, before getting up and re-touching my makeup in the bathroom mirror.

  By the time I got to Positano Trattoria, the event was in full swing. The restaurant full of people, plates on the table, the smell of Italian spices wafting through the air.

  “Mr. Cupid holiday event?” a hostess asked.

  “Yes.”

  “All the way to the rear and through that door.”

  “Thanks.” I made my way through the trattoria and entered a banquet room in the back. It was bigger than the actual restaurant. There was a bar in the corner, a mixture of high top tables on the outskirts, and a dinner buffet manned with a few uniformed servers. A few waiters circulated amongst the guests while Christmas classics played through invisible speakers.

  I spotted Sophia, wearing a black velvet cocktail dress, at the far end of the room. Her long, shiny hair was held with a pretty rhinestone pin. She was even prettier when dressed up if that was possible. She chatted with a woman who could have been her twin.

  A firm male hand landed on my arm. “I’m here,” Jake Brewer said. “Can I leave yet?”

  “No. Give it an hour. We both need to socialize. You never know, you might get lucky and meet the love of your life at some stupid Christmas party.”

  “I’m only here for the free eats and booze. I’ve got a bootycall lined up later tonight.”

  “That’s nice. Come with me.” I dragged him through the crowd toward Sophia.

  “Harper!” Sophia kissed me on both cheeks. “I thought you were bailing.”

  “Me too.” I extended my hand to her look-alike. “Hi, I’m Harper. You are?”

  “Valentina Bardolino,” she said with a thick Italian accent. “Lo solo il suo cugino.”

  “She’s my cousin from Sicily. Just got in town for the holidays.” Sophia glanced up at Jake. “You are?”

  He stared slack-jawed at Valentina.

  “Apologies,” I said. “Jake Brewer, meet Sophia Bardolino.”

  “Right,” he said, and shook her hand.

  “Valentina’s only in town for a few weeks,” Sophia said. “She’s not fluent in English. Her parents thought I might show her around.”

  “I’ll show her around,” Jake said.

  “I thought you were busy tonight?” I said.

  He plucked his phone from his pocket and texted. “Nah. That’s off the table.”

  And just like that I saw a spark in Jake’s eyes that I’d never seen before. A tenderness. His breathing even changed. Dare I hope that he was interested in more than a blowjob? Would Harper Emily Schubert make another successful match? And what about Ethan and Sophia?

  Oh crap. Bad move. Do not think about Ethan and Sophia.

  “Great. Why don’t we grab a table?” I walked toward a four-top.

  Sophia took a seat at the table and pointed toward the bar. “Who’s that man over there? Tall. Brunette. Chiseled. Looks familiar.”

  I craned my neck. “My boss. Mr. Brady. You probably met him when you stopped by the agency.”

  “I’ve never stopped by the agency,” she said. “I would have remembered him.”

  “So, I take it you met Ethan?” I asked, half hoping she’d say no.

  “Yes,” Sophia said.

  Her dress was stunning in the candlelight. Ethan would have to be blind not to be attracted to her.

  “He’s funny,” Sophia said. “Smart too.”

  “And good God, he’s hot.”

  “Totally handsome,” she said. “If you like your men timeless in that ‘Kennedy’
kind of way.”

  “Sparks?” I asked nonchalantly.

  “Kind of,” Sophia said. “He’s meeting me here tonight. He’s got a board meeting for the Rosseaux Library and couldn’t make it until later.”

  “Great,” I said, trying to pretend I was good with this, even though it felt like a knife twisted into my stomach. “That’s excellent.”

  “Harper,” a man said.

  A chill swept through me. His was a voice that showed up in my nightmares. His was the voice I prayed to God every night for a solid six months that I’d never hear again. I turned around and saw Sean Kessler. Still good looking with the cowlick. Dressed in preppie clothes. The last person in the world I wanted to see.

  “Harper,” Sean said. “I need to talk to you in private.”

  A sick feeling permeated my body like a toxic mist. I pointed to the back of the room. “There’s an empty table over there. Go. I’ll meet you.”

  “Good,” he said, and walked away.

  “Who’s that guy?” Sophia asked.

  “My ex-boyfriend.”

  “You okay?”

  “Bent not broken.” I walked away.

  Chapter 35

  Ethan

  *

  I arrived late at the party and rendezvoused with Sophia for a second time. I met her cousin for a heartbeat before her attention turned back to the man who was chatting her up.

  “How’d the library meeting go?” Sophia asked.

  “Boring. Are you having a good time tonight?” I looked around the room for Harper.

  “Yes.” Sophia peered up at me. “You and I—we look good on paper, but I have this feeling you’re simply being polite with me. For some reason, I don’t think we’re clicking.”

  “You’re right.” I spotted Harper who was engaged in a heated discussion with a man whose back was toward me. “I just realized I’m off the market.”

  Sophia caught my gaze. “She’s a good one. I approve. Better go get her before her ex talks her into giving him a second chance.”