“Ugh. Make sure she’s not trying to audition forMatchmaking the Rich.”
He gives me a look. “You know Judith won’t let us exchange that sort of information.”
He’s probably right.Matchmaking the Richis my grandmother’s big reality dating show coup. Our family company, which she was always so hot about defending and maintaining, has become a carcass, torn in two. Bryn and I have our app, and Nana used Rory’s fame and his relationship with my sister as scaffolding to get a deal for her new dating show. It’ll be filmed in town—next month, or so the posters and town gossip mill have told me—so Judithwouldavoid letting Mikey and his match swap details about it.
Lucky them.
While I’m fortunate enough that my grandmother has accepted my decision to disown her with very little drama—actually, I’m not entirely sure she’s noticed—I have eyes and ears, and I’ve seen and heard enough about the show to make me sick of it before it has even started.
“Does this young lady have other positive attributes?” I ask, sounding like someone’s Boomer father.
Mikey frowns as the sound of pounding feet reaches our ears. “She doesn’t want children.”
“Can I marry her?” I quip.
The door opens, and the teacher sponsoring the club, Mrs. Applebaum, comes in, followed by a boy and three little girls. Four. That’s not so bad. That’s two each for Mikey and me. I give him awe can do thislook, but his expression has soured like milk left out too long. Mrs. Applebaum takes care of getting the kids into the room, which is its own brand of chaos, and then she claps her hands, her expression changing from frazzled to upbeat, and says, “There. Now I’ll leave them in your capable hands.”
“Wait,” Mikey says with alarm, rocking on his feet, “you’re not staying?”
“Oh, I’m sure you’re quite capable of holding down the fort. I’ll check in with you toward the end.”
“Are you sure—” I start, but I’m cut off by the closing of the door.
“Hi, I’m Eloise,” one of the kids says. She’s a little girl in a button-up shirt with pearl buttons that go up so high I’m surprised it’s not choking her.
Oh, yeah. Introductions. “I’m Holly,” I say, gesturing broadly to Mikey, “and this is Mikey. Why don’t you all pick computer stations?”
“Aren’t we supposed to call you Miss Holly and Mr. Mikey? Or by your last names?” Eloise asks as the kids get seated.
“Sure, let’s go with that,” I say. “Now, let’s get to who you are.”
They introduce themselves, and I feel kind of like a genius when I figure out an acronym to help me remember their names. Unfortunately, it’s the name of my nemesis/former crush: C (CeeCee) O (Ollie) L (Lydia) E (Eloise).
“Now, do you know why you’re here, girls?”
“I’m a boy,” Ollie says.
Oh yeah. “So I see,” I tell him. “Do you know why you’re here, boy and girls?”
Eloise, bless her know-it-all heart, raises her hand.
I nod for her to speak, and she says, “Because my mother made me.”
“Never let anyone make you do anything, Eloise.” There, that’s a good lesson, isn’t it? Bryn used to let our grandmother make her do things, and it brought her nothing but unhappiness.
“Wait,” one of the other girls says, “does that mean I don’t have to listen to you?”
Mikey shoots me murder eyes.
I begin “Well—”
I’m really not sure where I would have gone with that, so it’s a lucky thing when the door bursts open. It’s less lucky when it reveals a newly harried looking Mrs. Applebaum, followed by none other than Cole Garrison himself and his small, dark-haired daughter, Jane.
“No,” I say reflexively.
“No, what?” Jane asks. “Hey, Dad, that’s the woman you always argue with.”
It’s my turn for murder eyes, only I make them at Cole. Cole, who only got better with age, damn him. His wavy dark hair has been joined by a short, trimmed dark beard that perfectly frames his lips, as if saying, “please kiss here.” Those eyes are as puppy doggish as ever, and now he’s both tall and broad, the kind of man any woman would welcome in her bed. To her detriment. Because he’s still an asshole.
