Seven from Spellbound.
My stomach flips.
The first email is professional. Receipt confirmed. Terms and conditions. NDA longer than my lease.
The second one:
Your request has been matched. Profile attached. Please review and confirm interest within 24 hours.
I open the attachment.
The photo loads slowly.
“Oh my...” I bite my lower lip—he’s not what I expected.
Dark hair. Sharp jaw. Eyes that look black, but might be deep brown or hazel. He’s wearing a suit that fits like it was made for him—probably because it was. There’s something old-fashioned about the way he holds himself. Something that makes me think of old movies.
The profile is sparse. No name, just “J.”
Name: J
Age: 32
Height: 6’2”
Education: Private
Occupation: Private
Languages: English, German, French, Czech.
Special skills: Extensive experience with high-profile events. Comfortable with media presence. Excellent conversational skills. Ballroom dancing. Classical music knowledge. Wine pairing.
Who lists wine pairing as a skill?
A note at the bottom:
J. has reviewed your request and is interested. His rate exceeds your stated budget. Adjusted quote attached.
I open the quote.
The number has gained a zero.
I should close the app. Delete my account. Pretend this never happened. I mean, I can show up alone, right? There’s no reason why I can’t smile through Preston’s pity and Serenity’s condescension, or even Mom’s comments about my biological clock.
I’ve been fine for eight months.
My thumb hovers over decline.
Then I think about standing in an emerald green bridesmaid dress, watching Preston slow dance with someone else, explaining to relatives that I’m not seeing anyone right now.
I think about my notes app, and stare at what I wrote:dignity intact.
I hit confirm.
The response comes in under a minute.
Excellent. J. will contact you within the hour. Please sign and return the NDA. Welcome to Spellbound Dates.
