racing up the steps to rocket down the yellow plastic slide
again. “Just slightly frazzled from this morning.” I click my
pen again, third time’s a charm, and lift my notepad. “So. I
don’t want this to sound like a massive questionnaire.”
“That’s fine. I understand. You need to know me in
order to find a match.” Something about that word, match,
sounds off, but Steph rearranges her legs, crossing them neatly,
and smiles at me and whatever it was is gone.
“Yes. Uh, so, I guess we’ll just start, then.” If I sound
any more like a dummy, she’s going to get up and leave and
that will be it for me. I might as well submit an application for
the serving wench position. Medieval life probably isn’t so
bad.
“Okay. Do you have a water by any chance?”
“Yes!” I dig in my bag and produce a bottle. I pass it
over. “I brought it just in case. Sorry, it’s not chilled. I thought
that if it condensed all over my laptop or Tildy’s tablet, I’d
have some major issues.”
“That’s fine.” Steph unscrews the bottle and drinks
deeply. I watch her throat, her mouth, the back of her hand
when she dabs daintily at her naturally pink lips.
My throat is bone dry. I gulp at my coffee with
absolutely no grace at all and set it aside. Try to start again. I
have no idea what’s wrong with me. Yes you do. Whatever. I
have to ignore the fact that my client is stunning and I wish
that I could match her with myself. Which is crazy, because
she’s interested in finding a male match. Also, it’s crazy. She
wouldn’t be into me anyway. I’m not anywhere close to her
league.
Tildy rushes down the slide, then decides to tackle the