My mom used to enjoy her days doing craft projects and quilting. If you had come home in the middle of the day, the kitchen table would be covered in whatever she was working on. Now that Dad is home, he sits at the table and plays online racing games on his tablet. I don’t see the harm in it. He could do a lot worse things, but Mom says the fake engine noise gets on her nerves. I guess I can understand that.
Back to Home Hardware, I’m terrified of anything sharp and can’t lift a thing over thirty pounds, but it turns out it has another product I need. The store is loaded with hunks. Dad knows how headstrong I am. He has long since given up arguing with me, instead insisting he come with me. Nobody can say my dad doesn’t support me.
While Dad spends an hour talking about the weather to the guy in the paint aisle, I push the cart up the light bulb aisle and scout each guy I pass. Wedding ring. Wedding ring. No Wedding ring. Also no teeth. Oh, no wedding ring and a full set of teeth! I nonchalantly cut in front of him, reach for something on the shelf above my head, and wiggle my fingers, signaling I can’t get it.
“Let me help you with that.” He falls for my plan, rushing to my aid. “I got it.” His fingers brush against the LED light bulbs, a pack of eight. “Is this the right one?”
Since I only have two fixtures in my entire studio, I have no clue what I will do with all these lightbulbs. The branding on the side of the box says, “Each bulb lasts twenty years.” I quickly compute the math. If I live in my two-fixture studio forever, that pack of bulbs will last me for the next hundred and twenty years! I couldn’t back down on my plan now. “Yes, that’s exactly the one I need. Thank you.” I take the box from him and place it neatly in the corner of the cart. Then I raise my lashes back to him and sweetly say, “I bet your girlfriend appreciates how tall you are?”
He adopts a flirty smile, picking up on my banter. “No girlfriend. I actually just got back from a military deployment.”
“That’s amazing. Thank you so much for your service.” Batting my lashes again, I slide a QR code card out of my purse. “You know, I don’t normally do this, but I have a match-making business. It’s very exclusive. I have a waiting list, but I’m overcome with such an appreciation for your kindness. I would love to offer you a free match. Will you accept this code?” I smile, hoping he can’t tell I’m lying through my teeth. Not only do I not have a waiting list, I also only have four available female matches currently.
His gaze slides to my card, and he smiles a little suspiciously. “Matchmaking?”
“Yeah, it's called, Your Last First Date. It differs from other dating sites because it focuses on personality matches. There are no profile photos until you unlock that feature. You don’t get a name until after you chat with someone. It’s a lot of fun.” I pull my lips into the tightest grin I can. “It’s the least I could do to thank you for your service.” I cross my toes. I’m not a contortionist, it’s clearly a saying meaning I cinch my toes together. Waiting.
“How do you match people without letting people select?"
“I love that question.” I run a hand through my long hair, tucking it behind my ears. “I have a series of required personal questions. If you want, you can go into further personality quizzes, things that take your Myers-Briggs category into consideration. Then the algorithm does the rest. It’s a lot of fun.”
He takes the card from me. “My name is Liam, by the way.”
Of course, his name is Liam! Every hot, single guy on this side of the Brooklyn bridge is always Liam. He’s so perfect for my site. I can’t wait for him to meet his dream girl. “I'm Portia. Nice to meet you, Liam.” I hold my grin, backing away with my one hundred-and-twenty-year-light supply and steer my cart back toward my dad while I wave. "Well, I better let you continue your day. Thanks again." Now, to find some more women for my site. With Liam as bait, it shouldn’t be a problem. I need to leave Home Hardware for the ladies, though.
I round the corner, nearly crashing into Dad. His gaze slides to my one-hundred-and-twenty-year supply of lights, and a proud dad smile lands on his lips. “Ah, you caught one, huh?” The first time I recruited with him, I thought it would be cringe. It turns out he viewed it like fishing, and kept score for me, too.
“Military, and very polite.”
“That’s not too bad.” He sneaks a look at his drugstore wristwatch. The leather strap has long been worn out, but somehow, he keeps it together by punching new holes in it eachtime it snaps. I swear he’s had that watch since I was five. Being an all-around handyman, he doesn’t believe in throwing anything out that can be fixed. “It's not even one o'clock yet. You have time to get another one. Do you want to cruise the car lot?”
A smile glues to my lips because Dad’s the kind of dad who’ll do anything for me, and clearlydoesdo most things for me. “I don’t know if I can handle the car lot with you today.” That’s the one place I have to keep an eye on him, as he might come home with something he’s not supposed to. He’s always had a passion for cars—hence the name Portia. “Nah, I’m not a fan of the car lot men. I might see if I can borrow Mrs. Nelson’s dog again later, and pretend to lose him at the park. She’s been letting me walk him since the elevator broke. It worked well last time. The guys at the park tend to be fit and outgoing, matching the fastest.”
“You know, Portia.” Dad places a hand on the cart handle, slowing it down as I turn and catch his gaze. His blue eyes match mine. They haven’t clouded even a spec over the years, still holding that same mischievous spark that used to take me on all the adventures when I was a kid. “One of these days, you might catch a hunk for you to keep.”
“You know what I always say, Dad. Always a matchmaker, never a match.” I sigh, wistfully. I’m not embarrassed to talk about my dating life. Mostly because there isn’t anything to talk about. Plus, my dad is the easiest person to talk to about anything. Although I would never admit it, I would love to meet my own match. I force a smile, hoping he can’t see the worry cloud my eyes.
One of my greatest fears in life is living my whole life in auto mode, working a job I don’t have a passion for, doing the same routine without feeling anything and without finding my true love. I want to find love, but I’m also building a dream. It’s ahard balance to juggle. At least for right now, I’m fine pouring my heart into this app while I wait for my last first date.
Besides, if I have a boyfriend, he won’t be okay with my cruising for dudes with my dad, and this seriously is the most fun I’ve had. I know my dad would miss it as much as I would. Then we’d have to find a new hobby together. Something like real fishing, and fish are stinky.
five
Christian
“What happened to my French press?” Portia stands on her toes, peering into the top cupboard. “I always leave it on the counter next to the espresso machine, and it’s gone.”
“I threw it away.” I loiter in front of the microwave, nuking my left-over takeout pasta from last night. The same takeout pasta I’ve hadeverynight for the last week since I arrived here. I don’t love pasta. In fact, I’m getting sick of it. The mere smell of the cheese makes my stomach curdle, but it comes in a box from the neighboring grocery store for super cheap. Anything I can do to save a dollar is worth it. I don’t doubt I’ll be on a noodles and air diet for weeks—if not months—at the rate business is going.
Slowly she pivots and locks her gaze on me. “Why would you do that?”
“Coffee Loft doesn’t sell French press coffee. We sell gourmet espresso at top shelf prices.”
“I wasn’t going to make one to sell. That’s what I prefer to drink.” She shuts the cupboard, and parks one hand on her hip. “You could have asked before you threw it away. That wasmypersonal French press.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t realize you left personal belongings laying around.” I shrug, knowing this transition is going to be hard for her. “I thought it belonged to the previous owner, and since I bought this place, it would be mine.”
Her eyes pace to the pantry, and back to the ingredient canisters on the counter. “Did you also throw all the Oreos away because I can’t find those anywhere?”
