PROLOGUE
“Dating apps are a scam,” Diane announced, stabbing at her phone with the energy of someone committing a small murder. “A scam designed by people who hate women and want us to die alone surrounded by cats.”
“I resent that,” Luna said from her perch on the back of the couch. “Dying surrounded by cats sounds ideal.”
“Not helpful.”
Cassie poured more wine into Diane’s glass—the third refill of the evening—and settled back into the armchair that had become her favorite spot since the house stopped rearranging furniture without permission. Sunday dinner had wound down an hour ago. Margaret had gone home with promises to return Tuesday for Cassie’s lesson on weather-reading. Liam was in the kitchen doing dishes because he was the kind of man who did dishes without being asked, which still felt like a miracle.
Sophia had driven back to campus that morning, leaving behind a trail of borrowed sweaters and a note that said“Don’t be weird. Be happy. Call me if the gnomes do anything new.”
Now it was just Cassie and Diane and wine and Diane’s ongoing war with modern romance.
“Look at this.” Diane thrust her phone at Cassie. “Brad, forty-seven, loves hiking and craft beer. His photo is him holding a fish. Why do they always hold fish? Is that supposed to be attractive? ‘Look at me, I killed something slimy, want to mate?’”
“Maybe he really likes fishing.”
“Nobody likes fishing that much. It’s performative masculinity disguised as a hobby.” She swiped left with violent satisfaction. “Next. Oh, this one’s bio just says ‘ask me anything.’ That’s not a personality, that’s an interrogation invitation. Left. And this guy—fifty-two, ‘young at heart’—his photo is from 1997. I can tell by the frosted tips.Left.”
Cassie laughed, reaching for her own wine. As she did, her elbow knocked against the small dish on the side table—the one where she’d been keeping the spelled quartz Margaret had given her for grounding practice.
The quartz rolled.
Landed against Diane’s phone.
And pulsed, once, with a soft golden light that Cassie really hoped Diane hadn’t noticed.
“Did your rock just?—”
“No.”
“It definitely?—”
“It didn’t. More wine?”
Diane squinted at her suspiciously but accepted the refill. Crisis averted. Probably. Cassie quietly moved the quartz to the other side of the room while Diane returned to her swiping.
“The problem,” Diane continued, “is that all the good ones are taken. Or gay. Or takenandgay. Or they’re perfectly nice but there’s no spark. Remember sparks? I miss sparks. The last time I felt sparks was?—”
Her phone buzzed.
“Match,” she said, surprised. “Huh. I don’t remember swiping right on?—”
It buzzed again.
And again.
And then it didn’t stop buzzing.
“What the—” Diane stared at her screen as notification after notification cascaded down. “I have twelve new matches. Thirteen. Seventeen. Cassie, why do I haveseventeen new matches?”
“That seems like a lot.”
“Itisa lot! I’ve been on this app for six months and gotten maybe twenty matches total, and now—” She refreshed the screen. Her face went pale. “Twenty-three. Twenty-eight. Why are so many men suddenly interested in me?”
Luna’s ears perked up. “Oh dear.”
“What do you mean, ‘oh dear’?” Diane demanded. “What does the cat know that I don’t?”
