Connor goes quiet.Grayson clears his throat.
“I didn’t realize you were driving past there tonight,” Connor says, voice gentler now.
“Yeah.Didn’t realize I still avoid it.”
A moment of silence passes before Grayson exhales.
“Okay, back to the part where someone’s digitally stalking you.Who’s the woman?”
“Sage Winters.Forty-one.Owns a B&B.Claims she’s into cybersecurity, family values, and pumpkin spice capitalism.”
“And she keeps showing up on SecureMatch?”Connor asks.
“Every time I swipe left, she shows back up.Like a glitch.Or a ghost with a Wi-Fi signal.”
“Sounds romantic,” Connor mutters.
“Sounds like malware,” Grayson counters.“So let me get this straight—you’re driving into a fog-drenched town to confront a woman you think is… what?Stalking you via profile manipulation?”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“And you bailed on Dr.Amanda Chen for this?”
“She wanted to meet each other’s families,” I say.“I wasn’t ready for that.”
A pause.
“YoulikedAmanda,” Connor says, like I’ve just admitted to abandoning a puppy on the freeway.
“I did.She was great.Smart.Articulate.Good listener.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“She was… compatible.”
Grayson groans.“Jesus.You talk about dating like it’s a software integration.”
“Takes one to know one.And anyway, compatibility matters.It’s measurable.Predictable.Low emotional volatility.”
“So is a toaster,” Connor mutters.“You bringingthatto Callum’s wedding too?”
My phone pings with another SecureMatch notification.I glance at the screen.
“It’s her.Again.”
“Sage?”Connor asks.
“Yup.”I send them a screenshot.
The profile fills the screen: Auburn hair.Green eyes.A smile like sunshine in a tea commercial.
“She’s cute,” Grayson says.
“Super cute,” Connor echoes.“No wonder you think she’s a Russian bot.”
“Her profile reads like a perfectly calibrated pitch.It’stoocurated.Some nose-picking basement-dweller reverse-engineered my preferences.I know it.”
“Or maybe you just found a woman who’s just into anxious nerds who wear emotionally repressed knitwear,” Connor says.
