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Evie is an old soul and her love of historical movies is fun for me. Kenzie isn’t a fan though.

“I think we can manage that,” she says. Evie scrolls through one of our streaming apps, the cost of which we all share.

More footsteps approach and another roommate, Millie appears.

“Whoa, you look like you got attacked by a bear,” Kenzie says.

Millie’s hair is matted at one side, and it looks like orange goo is in some sections on the other. A large brown stain along the front makes me hope it’s just spilled chocolate. Although as a nanny to three small kids, I doubt that’s the case.

“No bears, just toddlers.” She tries to smile but falls onto the couch next to Evie.

“I take it the nannying is going well,” I say, trying to add in the sarcasm. But Millie still hasn’t caught on to my kind of humor. She’s the sweetest girl I’ve ever met, coming from a small town in the south. Boston is a big city and there are times when I wonder if she’ll stick around through the end of her year-long contract.

She gives me a tiny smile, more like a grimace, and says, “It’s going okay. It’s hard when I’m with the kids all day and try to establish rules and then their parents come home and break every single one of them. So now they’re all kinds of crazy because their mother doesn’t think they should have a bedtime and loads them with sugar by the truckload.”

I lean over and use my foot to slowly drag one of the ice cream tubs we’d forgotten to throw away out of Millie’s view.

“Dani, I’m not against sugar,” she says, letting out a small chuckle. “I’m just tired and want to blame my troubles on it at the moment. Do you have any left?”

Her comment causes an uproar of laughter throughout the room. In true Kenzie fashion, she walks over to where the few DVDs are stored and pulls out a giant-sized Hershey’s chocolate bar.

“Whoa, Kenzie, you splurged for the chocolate with almonds kind, huh?” I tease.

“This was all they had left at the store when I went. I just throw away the almonds.” Kenzie hands Millie the large bar and sinks into the cushion next to her.

My phone pings and I reach out to grab it from the coffee table.

A notification for the Love, Austen app is there.

You have 1 new match.

I’m still not exactly sure how it works. Rachelle’s cousin, Tiffany, explained it all once, but I haven’t seen her in a while because she’s been on bedrest for her first pregnancy. I make a mental note to go see her.

There might be some questions as to why I’m on a matchmaking app when I keep striking out in my dating life. To be honest, I don’t think dating apps work. But I’m a sucker for a chance to win anything, especially another trip, and signed up for the app while on the cruise with my brother, Landon.

Was luck on my side to win said trip? No, not at all.

I click through to the app, nearly forgetting the small party we’ve created. I’d had a fair amount of men messaging, but their line of conversation usually started out with a cheesy pickup line and then baseless conversation after.

Things had died down over the past few weeks because I got too busy to answer. At the time I’d been semi-dating Cameron, graduating, and trying to find a job. Not much time to spend messaging potential suitors.

The profile pops up of my messenger, a picture of a gorgeous sunset at the top of the page with several interests below. It never states the full name of the match, allowing anonymity until both parties agree to meet or continue the relationship.

Before I make it through several of the interests, a notification appears near the chat button.

Guy: Hi.

Well, this one is already doing better than the last fifteen. Some had been a match, while others had just gone through messaging anyone they thought might respond. I would rather become a hermit than date some of the guys I’ve managed to “meet” through here.

I stare at the screen for several moments until another message comes in. Does it show someone else that I’m active? Because I hate that. Where is the full anonymity in these matchmaker apps? I’m not good at ghosting people.

Guy: I just joined Love, Austen. It looks like we matched and I figured I’d message and get to know you a little better.

Points for getting to the heart of things. And at least he didn’t say, “Hey hot stuff. Want to hook up later?”

Me: Welcome.

Not my most brilliant moment but I’m probably dealing with some guy sitting in his underwear in his parents’ basement. How would I guess that? Experience, ladies. Not with apps, but with people in general.