Page 57 of Matchmaking On The Menu

“It requires romance.”

“It requires liability insurance.”

Shelly laughs outright.

I let the options arrange themselves, looking for the overlap.

“We’re never going to agree,” Shelly says.

“Why don’t we try all of them?”

Shelly’s grin comes back slow and dangerous. “Now that I like.”

Mary leans forward. “All of them?”

“Yes. We let the outcome determine which one works.”

“We should bet,” Shelly says immediately.

Mary gasps. “Oh, I love this.”

“Winner gets their shifts covered,” Shelly says, pointing between us. “Any shift they want.”

“Deal,” Mary agrees, without a second’s hesitation.

They both look at me. Betting ensures participation and accountability. Removes the option of disengaging midway through.

“Fine.”

We’re just about to seal it when⁠—

“You three cannot be serious.”

I don’t turn immediately. There’s only one person who delivers judgment with that particular brand of unfiltered, unwavering brashness. Beverly lowers her magazine—she’s been sitting at the next table this entire time—her expression arranged in open disdain, like she’s come across something that offends her.

Which, knowing Beverly, she has.

“This plan,” she says, “is the most juvenile thing I’ve heard all week.”

“Noted,” I say.

Shelly waves a hand. “We weren’t asking.”

Mary pointedly ignores her.

“It doesn’t matter,” Beverly continues. “You’re wasting your time.” She pauses, letting the satisfaction settle across her face. “Because I already have a connection with him.”

I go still for a fraction of a second before I turn to her. “Explain.”

“He helped me change a tire.” She smiles, thin and satisfied. “And I intend to make sure he ends up with Peyton.”

I run it through quickly. Motive. Proximity. Intent. A complication, but manageable.

“Not gonna happen,” I say.

“I say it is.”

“Over my dead body.”