“Like sea cucumbers.”
“Yes.”
“Right.” I rub my forehead. “After the sea cucumbers, what happened?”
“She went to the bathroom, and when she came back, I asked her how the bathroom was. And then talked about how much I appreciate clean bathrooms.”
I internally scream. I’m genuinely shocked this woman didn’t crawl out a window and peace out from the date. At the first sign of sea cucumbers, I would have left. “And how did the night end?”
“I walked her to her car. She said the date was nice, and maybe we could go out again.”
Nice. The word lands with a thud. I’ve been on the receiving end of a few nices and then I never talked to the guy again. “How many dates have you been on before Maggie?”
He tilts his head back, scanning the ceiling like the answer might be written in the wood grain. Several seconds tick by. Finally, he looks at me. “Five.”
“Oh.” I blink. “You hesitated. I was expecting… more.”
“Yeah.” He exhales. “Me too.”
I study him for a long beat. “Okay. Good news.”
He straightens. “There’s good news?”
“Yes. You’re polite. You walked her to her car. You didn’t insult her. These are solid foundations.”
“And the bad news?”
“This is going to be more work than I thought.”
I fold my arms, considering him. My own dating life is nonexistent. I might as well channel that energy into fixing his.
When I arrive home at three in the morning, I’m anything but tired. My body wants sleep, but my brain absolutely refuses. The app has been rattling around my head all night—every unfinished thought looping right alongside Miles joining OneDate. I kick off my shoes, drop my keys in the bowl by the door, and grab my phone before I change my mind. I generate a download code and text it to Miles.
Nora
You’re officially in. Don’t make me regret this.
I stare at the message after it sends, half expecting lightning to strike my apartment for tempting fate. Maybe this is a terrible idea. Or maybe—maybe—Miles will surprise me. He’s logical. Thoughtful. The kind of guy who reads instructions all the way through. Twice. Does he know Python? I shove the thought aside and collapse into my desk chair. My computer hums awake, the screen glaring too bright in the quiet studio apartment. OneDate loads. And there it is.
Match Queue Temporarily Unavailable.
The same error that’s been haunting me for days. It’s not catastrophic. That’s the worst part. It’s small. Annoying. And buried inside a conditional loop that only fails when the app has to make a decision. I’ve rewritten this section three times. On paper, every version works. In reality, it breaks.
I lean back and rub my temples. The function is waiting for perfect input. Every variable clean. Every outcome predictable. It refuses to move forward without certainty. But real people aren’t predictable. Neither are matches.
My mind drifts back to Miles standing at the bar two days ago—glasses sliding down his nose, hands braced on the bar like the dating app is his only choice.
I don’t want to keep waiting for something to happen.
I stare at the code until the characters blur together and—oh my god! That’s it! My fingers fly over the keyboard, adrenaline kicking in as I rewrite the code. The problem isn’t the scoring. It’s the rigidity. I’ve been forcing the system to wait for perfect alignment when it should be allowing overlap. The match queue needs to push through even when the data isn’t pristine. I find the rule that rejects anything less than ideal and turn it off. For the first time, the system isn’t looking for perfection. It’s looking for connection.
I hesitate before hitting save. This will either fix all my problems or create a whole slew of new ones. But if I don’t chance it, the app might as well be dead in the water. My finger hovers over the mouse. This is the part where everything could fall apart. Or where everything finally works. I hold my breath as I hit save and the app refreshes.
No error message.
The match queue spins once, then populates. I launch out of my chair so fast it flips backward and slams onto the floor, but I don’t even care. I’m laughing, jumping, and pumping my fist in the air.
A few minutes later, I collapse onto the couch, the adrenaline finally draining out of me. “It worked.” The words barely make it past my lips. “It actually worked.” Finally, the app can continue to move forward. Even if I have no idea what happens next.
