Page 50 of Matchmaking On The Menu

“I have responsibilities.”

“You had a man,” she says, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “A mysterious one.”

I press my lips together a little harder than necessary, like I can physically hold the memory in place if I don’t let it slip out. “It was just a dance.” If I keep it small, maybe it’ll stay that way.

“And a kiss,” Shelly adds helpfully.

Traitor.

“Technically, it was a mask⁠—”

“A kiss,” Shelly repeats.

My mouth still remembers the pressure of it. The heat. The fact that he hadn’t pulled away right away. I immediately reach for another mug. Then another. I needed to keep busy. Be normal.

“It doesn’t count,” I say a little too quickly.

Imani clutches her chest. “In public? At the festival? With a masked stranger?” She shakes her head like she’s overwhelmed. “The drama. The romance. The mystery. I love it. How can it not count?”

“You all need to get lives,” I tell them, even as my mouth twitches dangerously close to a smile.

“We have. This is the hottest thing to happen in Boudica Springs in months,” Shelly sings.

“Years, if you ask me,” Imani adds.

“Your belly suggests otherwise,” I grumble.

“Oh yeah, can’t forget that.” Imani rubs her stomach and gets that faraway look people develop the second a baby enters the equation.

Something stirs inside me. I quickly shove it back into whatever emotional cupboard it escaped from.

“DANNICA!”

I don’t even need to turn around. I know those voices. My shoulders tense automatically, a split second before impact. I brace myself as two small bodies barrel toward the counter like sugar-fueled missiles—fast, loud, and entirely too pleased with whatever information they’re about to weaponize.

“Is it true?” Royal demands, climbing onto a stool with crayons and a piece of paper clutched in one hand. He’s our resident artist. The kitchen fridge currently hosts enough of his drawings to qualify as a gallery.

“Did you find your prince?” Naveah asks, her eyes wide with delight.

I blink at them, my brain lagging a full second behind the question. “I’m sorry, what?”

“The one from the ball!” Royal says.

“But then he ran away,” Naveah adds.

“Like Cinderella!”

I just stare at them, trying to figure out how we got from one slow dance to a full-blown fairy-tale retelling. Slowly, I turn my head toward Imani, who is suddenly fascinated with her fingernails.

“I didn’t tell them any of this.”

“Then who did?” I ask, planting my hands on my hips.

“They hear everything that goes on in the shop. It’s been busy.”

“That’s because the entire town goes running to you with their gossip.”

She shrugs. “I can’t help it if people treat me like their therapist.”