Page 68 of Her Age Gap Match

Sophie looked at us both for a moment.

"I've been doing this a long time," she finally said. "And I want you to know that this—" she gestured between us, "—is exactly why I do it. Not the algorithm. Not the intake forms." She clicked her pen. "This."

Poppy smiled over at me.

"Okay," Sophie said, all business again, the warmth tucked back under the professionalism. "You're both healthy. You're both clear on what you want. So let's talk about how we get you there."

“Lots of sex, I assume,” Poppy said.

A blush painted her cheeks at the ensuing silence.

“I mean…god, I know there’s more to it⁠—”

“Well, not really,” Sophie laughed. “You’re off the pill?”

“As of this morning.”

“Good,” Sophie nodded. “Alright. Well—there are tools you can use to try and make it happen faster. You know the⁠—”

“—the Bloom app, right.” Poppy nodded. “I’ve shown enough people how to use it at this point that I think I could recite the instructions by heart.”

Sophie smiled. "Then you know what you're doing." She made a note. "How are you feeling about the timeline? You said you wanted to start now—is that still where you both are?"

"Yes," Poppy and I said at the same time.

Sophie looked up.

"Okay," she said. "Good." She looked at me specifically then—direct, assessing, the midwife underneath the matchmaker. "Johnny. Any concerns on your end? Questions?"

"None," I said.

"You're aware that at your age⁠—"

"I'm aware," I said. "We've talked about it. Whatever it takes, however long it takes."

Sophie nodded, satisfied, and made another note. "I'll want to do a full workup on both of you. Standard protocol." She set her pen down. "And I want you to know that whatever comes next—whether it happens quickly or takes some time—you're not doing it alone. That's what this place is for."

Poppy's hand tightened in mine.

"I know," she said softly. "I've always known that. I just didn't think I'd be on this side of it."

"Neither did I," Sophie said. And something in her voice made me look at her more carefully—something that wasn't quite professional distance, something that had been there the whole time underneath it.

She wanted this for us. Had probably wanted it for longer than either of us knew.

"Alright," she said, clicking her pen closed. "Go home. Start trying." She looked at Poppy over the desk. "And Poppy—I'll see you at your desk in an hour."

Poppy gaped at her. “Are you—are you telling me to⁠—”

“Go home and start trying, like I said,” she laughed. “Unless…you already feel like you’ve tried enough for the day?”

“She’ll see you in an hour,” I said, taking her hand and standing up.

Sophie laughed louder.

Minutes later, we stepped out into the May morning, the door chiming behind us. Poppy stood at the top of the steps for a second, looking out at the street—the trees in full leaf, the light coming through them, a Saturday morning in Lincoln Park.

"She told me to go home and have sex," she said.