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Sighing, I shoveled the rest of the pasta into my mouth, swigged it down with diet cola, and heaved my tired body off the couch. “Quit moping,” I told myself out loud. I could do this—people could learn to do just about anything, and if fifteenth-century monks could figure out how to make stunning filigree with pencil lead made of soft silver, then I could oversee a damn speed dating session. Nothing to it. I totally had this.

I changed out of my work clothes and into something I hoped would make me approachable but still look like I was in charge of this shindig. Not that I looked unapproachable ordinarily. I had the weird, off-putting personality of a cat on shrooms, but my face didn’t match that vibe. I had a heart-shaped face and high, apple-round cheeks that sloped down to a “cute” chin that made me look younger than I was. I also had naturally curly hair, and I kept it shoulder-length, which only added to the Shirley Temple aura my look gave off. I was also embarrassingly short, and people were liable to step right on me if they weren’t looking.

I dressed my curvy, short frame in a long, gray and white floral skirt, and I tucked in the gauzy black shirt with a belt cinched around my waist. I thought it looked appropriately… romantic. Or geeky. Hard to say for sure. Then I hurried out of the back sliding door connected to my living room because my car was parked across the bright green lawn of the apartment complex. The hot air stole my breath as I hurried across the grass, andsweat gathered under my arms and breasts almost immediately. Summer could go straight to Hell where it belonged. I was a winter girl. Cozy, snowy days and warm coffee trumped sweltering heat and lemonade, or whatever summer people liked. My tits were too big for summer.

I hit the key fob and adjusting the strap of my eight-year-old laptop bag that doubled as a purse for me, I prepared myself to enter the oven-like conditions of a car in July. As I did, my phone buzzed. I pulled it out of the pocket of my skirt—I literally refused to own things that didn’t have pockets—and I saw Gemma’s face on the screen. “Hey, what’s up?” I asked as I slid into the seat.

“Ew, why are you answering?” she asked caustically. “Just text me back like a normal person.”

“Youcalled me,” I reminded her, pushing the ignition button on my white 2016 Sorento.

“Yeah, but that was to get your attention because you’re ignoring the twenty-three videos I sent you.” I could hear water running in the background, and I assumed she was making her dinner. Her giant Doberman, ironically named Mini, barked twice.

“I’m busy saving my job, remember?” I craned my neck, looking over my shoulder to make sure there were no cars coming before I backed out of the parking spot.

“Excuses. Watch the stupid TikToks I sent you or I’m going to dig a tunnel between our apartments, sneak into your house, duct tape your eyes open, and force you to laugh at my sterlinghumor,” she replied with deranged seriousness.

I pulled the phone away from my ear to stare at it for a second before I said, “The shelter really should have put you down when they had the chance.”

She cackled maniacally, and I hung up before she caused me to have an accident on the way to the stupid speed dating thing.I actually might rather have my eyes duct-taped open than do this thing.

I navigated downtown Eugene, rolling past verdant, mature trees that lined nearly every street, and as I turned into the historical district, I admired the lush greenery that the city had hung from pots and allowed to vine along shops and small businesses. The Northwest was known for being rainy and dreary, but Eugene defied that stereotype and bloomed full of color and life. It was what had drawn me to it initially—that, and Gemma. With nowhere else to go after my failure of a research assistant gig, I hadn’t had many choices.

I found a parking garage that was within walking distance of the pub we’d rented out for the event, and while I walked there, I turned over the risks and benefits of slamming back a couple of green tea shots before facing this thing. I was still undecided when I found the pub nestled between two brownstone buildings. When I opened the door and found a crowd of clients already gathered around the bar at the back, I made the only logical decision at that moment. I was definitely getting tipsy.

I met our employee, Scarlet, at the back of the pub where the floor had been raised and housed six small tables. She hadalready set place cards with numbers on each table, and she paused with her tablet in hand to wave brightly at me. “Hi, Dr. Coldwell!”

Scarlet had a sturdy bone structure and like six inches of height on me, but her voice sounded like she’d sucked on a helium balloon, and the dichotomy of that did fritzy things to my brain whenever I talked to her. She sounded like a princess and looked like she could bench press me for a light workout.

“Hey, Scarlet,” I smiled wanly. “Where should I set up? We’ll be inputting matches into our website, right?”

“Right,” she smiled brightly, and a piece of mint green gum peeked out from between her white molars. She had her short, blond hair straightened, and it followed the line of her jaw at a sharp angle. “I’ve already organized the ladies to sit at designated tables, and each man has their starting point so they can work their way around the room clockwise. All you need to do is welcome everyone, introduce yourself asDoctor Love,” she winked at that, “and get them going. And field any issues, obviously.”

Easy. No problem. I went to the bar, ordered a green tea shot, choked it back, and buzzed my way back to the tables. Scarlet had put my things over by a small table in the very back of the room where a pair of utilitarian double doors led to the employee area. I sat down for a few minutes, only to jump back up and head back to the bar. One more shot.

Easy. No problem.

Eventually, the clients all gathered and checked in, and I kept myself busy double-checking that they had paid to be here andwere already in our system as clients so we could correctly match them up when they “hit it off” with a prospective date. I realized that much of this really might be data-driven, and with that in mind, I felt myself relaxing a fraction. I opened my laptop and focused on the clerical aspect of managing the evening.

And I took a couple more shots. Or a few. I couldn’t remember.

The pub had been built like many of its kind with low lighting, dark, polished wood touches, and soft leather on the seats and booths. It wasn’t overly large, but for the twenty-four clients we had coming for the speed dating session, it was just the right size. Half of the girls would be seated on the lower level where a pool table and the bar were, and the other half would join me on the top level where a short set of stairs led up to a cozy dining area haloed by Edison bulbs and sports memorabilia.

I waited until all but two of the guests were checked in, and after swallowing a few mouthfuls of water—why was my mouth so dry?—I adjusted my glasses and headed over to the bar area.

Scarlet gestured for everyone to gather so we could start. When they were all around the bar, I came to stand at the top of the stairs where the higher level of the floor gave me a good vantage point to welcome them to the event. With two dozen eyes fastened on me, and some of them already whispering and joking with each other, I cleared my throat. “Hi everyone. We’re so glad you could… make it. To this thing you paid for.”

A nervous chuckle rippled through the guests, and I joined them. What had I been so worried about? This wasnice. These people were nice. My skin felt nice. “How many of you have never done this before?” I asked. More than half of them raised their hands, and I gave them a self-deprecating smile. “Same.” More laughter, and I felt my nerves unwinding a bit more. Or maybe that was the three shots I’d knocked back. Wait, four? “I’m sure you all know me as Dr. Love, as our website calls me.”

Lots of them nodded, and I could have honestly kicked myself for letting Kiss-Met make such a ridiculous claim on my behalf. These people looked sonice. How many times had I thought the word “nice?” “My real name is Ruth, and I…” I hesitated, my thoughts doing a noodle dance like those wacky inflatable men in front of car dealerships. The bell over the door tinkled, and two more guests entered a bit late. “Well, I’m here to help you. However I can,” I finished.

Some of the girls looked relieved beneath the layers of their makeup and nerves. I gestured to Scarlet, “And this is Scarlet. She handed out cards to each of you, and she’ll explain how this works.”

The bar swam a little, and I tried once more to remember exactly how many shots I had kicked back, but the details were getting increasingly fuzzy. Wait, wasn’t I here to save my job? Shit.

Shaking my head, and then righting my glasses again, I smiled at three girls who came up the stairs to find their tables, then figured it was probably better if I got out of the way. I stumbled back, smiling a little too gooey at each of them, and then I found my way back to my table behind them all. Everyone lookedso friendly. Why were all the girls so pretty? I wished I could look that pretty. I had no idea how they did it.

I fell heavily into my seat, and then with my chin leaning on my hand, I watched with dazed interest as the men took their seats across from the women and Scarlet rang a bell. One of the men, who was wearing a red flannel button-down, glanced over his date’s shoulder and gave me a friendly smile. I wiggled my fingers at him. He looked nice, too.