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The wireless printer sitting in the corner, along with some unemptied moving boxes, hums to life.
Annie trips her way over to the thing and holds up the white sheet of paper it just spat out. She beams like she’s holding up our nation’s flag, waving it for all to see. As if she’s on ice, she slips her way back to us, dangling the sheet in my face.
“I’ve got her, O.” She puffs, and you’d think she just got back from the gym. “Take a look.” She holds out the paper, face down, her bow-and-arrow tattoo pointing directly at me—which feels like a sign… but it’s not. How can it be when Annie is literally handing me another woman on a platter? A cheap, white, copy paper platter.
So, I take it. I agreed to this. Let’s see who I’ll be dating.
Annie sidles up to my left side, and orange blossoms fill my senses. The girl smells like a grove in the heart of Florida, ripe for the picking. “Look,” she says, simultaneously tapping the paper with her left hand while her right wraps around my waist, tugging my hip to hers.
Coco watches from the side like she’s got a front-row seat to the freak show.
I swallow. I breathe. I try to focus—but it’s hard with Annie’s arm around me, her hip flush to mine, and her orange blossom scent hypnotizing my head.
“She works for an animal shelter!” Annie says as if the fact makes this girl and me the perfect match. “She’s from Post Falls. She’s got three cats.”
“I’m allergic to cats.”
“Well, they won’t be on your date, silly.” She taps the paper again. “And she’s always wanted to learn to grow a garden!” She bellows the last part like she’s just struck gold.
“So?”
“So?Owen.” She swats my stomach, then parks her hand on her hip. “You love to garden.”
I scratch my jaw, my fingers meshing through the bristles of my beard. “I do.”
“And you’re a teacher.” She shakes her head. “You canteachthe girl to garden.”
“Sure. In like six months.”
“Hey, where’s your positivity?”
“I’m sorry,” I say, shoving down my reservations about dating another girl. Because this is also about Annie trusting herself. “Those are great connections. You aren’t wrong.”
“Of course I’m not wrong. When am I ever wrong? I see everything!”
“Maybe not everything,” Coco mutters.
Annie scoops a lock of auburn hair behind her ear. Her pink cheeks have been sun-kissed with freckles—ones I would gladly spend the day counting and studying. “I think she’s perfect. Isn’t she pretty? Ang, from Post Falls.”
Pretty? I hadn’t noticed. I hadn’t spent more than a millisecond on the photo at the top left of the page. I scan up now, with Annie guiding me along like a puppy.
The photo is in color, and I can see the woman’s blue eyes staring back at me. It sort of feels like she’s actually staring atme. Like her eyes are UFO saucers making me dizzy—not in a good way. Not in a, what Coco would call,swoonyway. But aI-might-vomitway.
AI-can-tell-you-right-now-this-isn’t-going-to-work-outway.
Nope. Ang from Post Falls and I were not meant to be.
12
Annie
Owen’s eyes are glued to Ang’s photo. He is already falling. I can see it in that stare—or is it a glare?—and in that sweet sort of grimace that’s slanting his mouth. Sweet, more than grimace. It isn’t agrimacegrimace. It’s athis-girl-looks-interestinggrimace.
That’s a thing. Right?
“Jude just texted,” Coco says. “Motherhood calls. I’ve got to get back to my girls, but let me know when you two set up the first date.” Her eyes scroll from me to Owen. “I’d like to be informed.”
“You bet,” I tell her. “We’re Owen’s crew.” I laugh, imagining the three of us, Coco, Meredith, and me, all getting Owen ready for his big date. After this experimental story is complete, the community will probably vote to make me their town matchmaker. Well, all except Grammy. She will petition against me.
