Matched to the Mountain Man: Seeking Curves

I look around my empty cabin. It may be beautiful, but it is lonely.

I'm hungry. Lonely and hungry.

I shake my head, setting down my cup of coffee.

Where the hell do I find a date in these woods?

2

Story

"Really?" I say into my phone. The matchmaking service I hired finally called with good news,

I'm pacing my apartment. Well, more accurately, jumping up and down. It's hard to stay still and contain my excitement. I have been waiting for a match for weeks, ever since I bit the bullet and forked over the majority of my life savings, which I know may not be the most typical investment for a 23-year-old woman in Los Angeles, which is yes, a very expensive city.

But I am not a typical 23-year-old. I am an entrepreneur. I am a go-getter. I am recklessly, ridiculously, hopelessly ready for the next chapter of my life to start.

I know, I know. There's no reason to rush my way to the altar. And there is no guarantee of a happily-ever-after with a white picket fence and 2.5 children.

But I want to try.

That might be in part because I had a not-so-perfect childhood. A broken family is the nice way of saying it. And it also might be because I watched way too many romantic comedies growing up.

I want a chance at that sort of happiness, the kind of happiness that comes from a stable family. I want to be a mom.

That's why I became a baker in the first place.

Sure, that might be a little ridiculous – to choose a career based on wanting to make your unborn child birthday cakes. But that is exactly what I did.

I thought, "When I grow up, I am going to be a mom who makes birthday cakes," because that was not the kind of mom I had.

The mom I had didn't even remember my birthday.

So I thought, "When I'm grown up and have children, I'm going to make birthday cakes that they remember." Then I thought, "Well, maybe I could go to college and I could learn how to make really, really good birthday cakes." And so that's what I did.

I put myself through pastry school with scholarships that I got from Rotary clubs and the local offerings that my high school guidance counselor pushed me toward. And thankfully, because I didn't exactly have much in the way of financial aid, I took advantage of each and every opportunity that came my way.

So with my pastry chef degree in hand, I have now prepared myself for the next phase of life.

I can make a really, really good cake, the best birthday cake you've ever seen.

It's pretty much my specialty.

Problem is, I don't have those children yet, to make them for, so I am making them for TikTok.

Yes, my fanbase is small, but it's growing. And, oops...

"Sorry?" Helena says through speakerphone. "Are you still there?"

"Right! I'm here, I'm here," I say. "Yes, I'm here. I'm sorry. I was just kind of lost in my own imagination."

"Right. I remember that from your intake, that you tend to get swept away sometimes."

"I do. I was just excited. So you found me matches?"

"Yep, three. As you might remember from the intake, we make three different matches. If you want to come into the office, we can do it that way, or we can just do this over the phone right now. What works best for you?"

"Well, considering the time of day, it'd probably be better to just do it over the phone, so I don't have to deal with traffic and the bus schedule or Uber. Man, have you been in an Uber lately? Because the prices are just surging."

Helena laughs. "Actually, I haven't been in an Uber in a while."

I groan. "Right, of course. You probably have like a private driver or something?"

"Something like that," Helena says. I hear her nails click-clacking over a keyboard.

I pour myself a cold brew from my refrigerator, topping it off with half-and-half and a pump of vanilla syrup. I add in some ice cubes and a pink straw and swirl it around before forcing myself to sit down on a chair at my kitchen table. With a notepad and a pen in hand, I'm ready.

"So, my matches?" I say.

"Right," Helena says. "I’m sure you remember filling out a very detailed form, asking you all sorts of questions?"

I laugh, remembering the embarrassing ones. "Right, I remember the questions."

"And so we've matched you with three people, rating them from most compatible to least. Would you like to hear all three?"

"Honestly?" I say. "I mean, sure, but I really only need the most compatible because I'm really interested in this for a true, forever match. Like the match-match."

"A match-match, right," Helena says.

It's hard to know if she's being condescending or completely genuine, but in this moment, I don't care. I'm going for genuine, because I just need this to happen. I am ready for my true love, happily-ever-after, the man-of-my-dreams match. I am ready for the next chapter of my life to start.