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“Match?”
She bites her lower lip. “Yeah. So. I’m a matchmaker.”
“Like …”
“Like exactly what you’re probably thinking, yes. I hate the term and really wish we could come up with something a little less cheesy. Like, Destinymaker or Couple Counselor. I don’t know, I’m still mulling it over, but the point is that I cut through the crap and find what people want in a partner.”
“I think you found your new job title—crap cutter.”
Harlow rolls her eyes with a grin. “I’ll be sure to float it to management. It’s super romantic.”
“I’m a romantic guy.”
She tilts her head. “Are you? Interes
ting.”
I groan, seeing the wheels start to turn in her matchmaker brain. The last thing I need is another woman in my life trying to set me up. My mother and sister are bad enough. “Actually, no. I’m not romantic at all. I hate romance.”
“You and me both, buddy.”
“Wait a minute. You make your living as a matchmaker, and you hate romance? Isn’t that sort of a detriment to your career?”
She sighs and blows the stray pieces of hair out of her face. I notice she’s put on lipstick. Her cheeks look a little brighter too, and she’s put cover-up or something on her nose, but it’s still pink. “I suppose it is. I haven’t always hated romance. It’s more of a recent occurrence.”
“I see. That boyfriend you mentioned …”
“Ex-boyfriend,” she says sharply.
“Right. Ex-boyfriend. Is he responsible for your hatred of romance?”
“Probably.” She crosses her arms over her chest, not easy to do since she’s still wearing her puffy winter jacket, and her lower lip juts out. It’s angry and adorable all at once. “I thought he was going to propose on Christmas Eve, but he dumped me right after Thanksgiving. After everything I did for him, he dumped me!”
“What did you do for him?” I ask, curious.
“Oh, God.” She shakes her head. “I was so dumb. I loaned him money to get out of debt, because I thought he was going to buy a ring. Instead, he bought two tickets to Maui and took his little side dish on Christmas vacation! Mele fucking Kalikimaka!”
“Ouch. How long were you together?”
“Six years.”
“Six years!” The thought of a six-year relationship—seventy-two months, over two thousand days and nights of unrealistic expectations—nearly makes my knees buckle. “Damn.”
“I was an idiot. But I kept thinking he loved me and eventually he’d want to marry me.”
“Why’d you want to marry him?”
She thinks for a second. “He was cute enough. And he had a steady job. However, he also had a gambling habit I didn’t know about.”
“Got it.” I look around. “So if I open drawers in here, will I find a little voodoo doll with a Hawaiian shirt on?”
Her brown eyes light up. “That is a great idea.”
I laughed. “Why don’t we stick to the tree stand for now, huh? I’ll run out to the store. Where do you want your tree to go?”
She drops her arms and turns in a slow circle. “Maybe over there by the window?”
“Good choice.” I check my watch. If I hurry, I can go buy her a tree stand, set it up by the window, and make it to my sister’s party by nine, ten at the latest. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”
