Page 1 of Her Age Gap Match

CHAPTER 1

Johnny

I was about to become Bloom Matchmaking Agency’s first failure.

When I’d first met with Sophie Bloom, she’d been very clear that I was pushing their age limit for clients; they were an agency that specialized in matchmaking plus fertility, I was approaching fifty, and most women just…didn’t want to have babies with men they’d outlive by decades. At that point, I’d told Sophie that was fine; I’d go.

But she’d seen something in me…said she wanted me to join her network.

Since then, she’d matched me up with four different women of various ages. There was Cassandra, the tattoo artist who’d decided I was “too good.” Leah, the high school teacher who’d thought I was “too bad.” Then Miriam, the architect who’d been perfect on paper and had told me so, repeatedly, through a dinner I’d spent counting the minutes on…then Dana.

That last one had been the worst.

It was so, so obvious we weren’t going anywhere.

And for this meeting…I was pretty sure I was going to get fired from the damn matchmaking agency. Which felt both hilarious and painful, and very much like something my best friend Elle was never going to let me live down.

Bloom Agency was housed in an old greystone in Lincoln Park, half a block off the main drag. From the outside, it looked more like a yoga studio than anything else: hand painted sign, a little sitting area on the covered porch, a welcome mat at the door. Parking was always rough, so I typically took my bike. I tucked my helmet under my arm, braced myself…then I went in.

I didn't want to be this self-conscious about the damn matchmaker. I’d spent a decade in prison, for fuck’s sake. I'd been through worse.

But being outside had made me soft, I guess, because I was a little daunted by the whole thing.

Inside, the hippie aesthetic just intensified. Original artwork hung on the walls. A bulletin board with various holiday cards on it was placed by the door: happy families, success stories for the agency. The front desk was empty, an empty vase in the middle.

“Oh! Mr. Lawson…you're early!”

I looked up to find the receptionist and assistant extraordinaire, Poppy Hayes, walking toward me. Her red hair was a mess, as usual; her white button-up had been buttoned one off so it was crooked. She carried a bouquet of fresh flowers in her arms, still dripping with water.

“I'm so sorry about that,” she apologized. “I was just re-upping the flowers.”

“The flowers were more important anyway,” I said, smiling. She always brightened my day, no matter how hopeless I was feeling. “But…yeah. I have a meeting with Sophie at noon…?”

Poppy put the flowers in the vase, then went around the desk to lean over and look at the computer. She furrowed her brow in concentration, staring…

…as I stared right at her breasts, which were more than a little exposed with the pose and the fact that her shirt wasn’t buttoned right.

I cleared my throat and looked away.

Not the time or place.

She had to be half my age.

“Okay…” she said. “John Lawson, 12:00 with Sophie. I have you checked in. She’ll be down in just a moment.”

“Thanks,” I said.

I looked up at the clock, finding that I was, in fact, early. I put my hands in my pockets and took a long inhale, then exhale.

“Can I get you anything?” Poppy asked. “Coffee? Tea? We also have these like—I don’t know if you’re a kombucha guy, but Jasper insisted on bringing it in and now he doesn’t want to drink it⁠—”

“Enticing,” I laughed. “But I’m okay, thanks.”

Poppy smiled at me—a slightly crooked smile that had her lips quirk higher at the left corner—and settled back into her chair. She pulled her keyboard and typed for a moment, the sound soothing. I took a seat in one of the comfy chairs in the lobby.

“So,” Poppy said, looking up from her screen. “Fifth meeting with Sophie.”

“That obvious?”