I unlocked my car—a new sleek black Stingray that I bought for no reason other than I could, and far from a family transport. It had confirmed bachelor written all over it.
The black leather creaked as I slid in. I let my head fall back against the headrest and stared at the dim reflection of myself in the rearview mirror.
“Look at you. Thirty-something. Successful. A jawline rumored to make models envious. And all alone.” I huffed out a laugh.
My phone vibrated against my thigh. I took it out and swiped through. The Bellamy family thread lit up with Wren’s first official photo as a big sister, and Everett’s various sleeping grumpy baby faces. There was one of Maisy with Brooks’ arms around her. And one of the four of them together, probably taken by Lila.
That one looked like home.
I typed a string of heart and dinosaur emojis, based on Wren’s current obsession with archeology. I liked to think I had a hand in it, having taken her to the natural history museum last week, which gave her parents a night off together. Because I was The Greatest Uncle.
Nothing wrong with being an uncle instead of a father—the lie I told myself.
I expelled all the air in my lungs. Who was I kidding? I’d trade my life with Brooks to have what he had.
In lieu of that, in the middle of my longest dry spell ever, I should call one of my buddies to meet me somewhere and be mywingman while I attempted to pick up any woman who would talk to me.
Oh yeah. Most of my friends were married now.
I could go home and watch something where people baked bread over an open fire and camped by the ocean in RVs. My latest obsession when doomscrolling.
Either option ended the same: me, alone, in a city with eight million people and not one of them mine.
“Fine,” I muttered, irritated, digging my phone out of my pocket and doing what Maisy suggested. I tapped open Minted & Matched. Dax rebuilt this millionaire matching service and had been after me to give it another try after the latest round of updates.
The sleek and golden Art Deco letters interlocked like a promise on the opening screen. The branding was good. I’d helped pay for that brand as one of his investors.
I quickly updated my profile. In my moody state, I couldn’t care less about the details. Dax had already fed the algorithm everything about me anyway, so let’s see what magic it would produce.
Women slid past my cynical view, each a glossy square of their curated life.
Mia, an art director, loved design and pasta. Swipe left. I loved pasta, too, but not a woman with red hair.
Candace, entrepreneur, showed three photos of her posing in front of jets. Probably a travel writer. Swipe left, nothing against a vagabond lifestyle, but my life was firmly here in the city, chained to my architecture firm.
My thumb found a rhythm, left, left, the occasional curious right, like my heart kept tempo and the app was a song I didn’t know the words to. None of the profiles were worthy of a click.
Until a photo hit me that wasn’t fake or calculated.
Penelope Fair.
Brianne’s little stepsister.
“What the hell?”
I noticed all the details at once. She sat on the steps of a New York brownstone I’d visited many times in my distant past. With adoring eyes, a golden retriever’s head rested on her knee. I couldn’t blame the animal because she was always a sweetheart.
Complete opposite of my ex.
My hands itched to pull out the pencil she’d stuck through a bun to keep her chestnut hair in place. Her eyes crinkled on a laugh. She always smiled brightly with her entire face—that I remembered well.
“Penny?” I stared at her and reread her profile too many times.
My thumb hovered above theMatch Usbutton. Did I dare?
Of course… only casually, so I could say hello and see how she was doing for old times’ sake. Nothing more. Not really.
I clicked, momentarily forgetting myself. A hopeful kick in my stomach said maybe her, maybe this time. Only a second later, my breath caught in my throat, and everything that Brianne did to me came flooding back like the heartbreak was just yesterday.
