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Emma sips her drink. “You’re awfully judgmental for someone who’s never met him.”

“I’m just saying,” I reply, moving to the register, “some people set out to create chaos and call it charisma.”

“Okay, but you gotta admit—he’s charming.”

“He’s exhausting,” I say. “With a great jawline. And amazing gray eyes. And great bone structure, but that’s it.”

Emma grins. “Aha. So you do see him.”

“Even tornadoes can be photogenic.” I roll my eyes.

She laughs and reaches for her phone. “Well, it might just be the end for him. No one can help him now; he needs a miracle. People are angry. Producers are talking. Investors are pulling out. He’s managed to make the biggest mess of his career.”

“Boo-hoo.”

“Not nice, Mia. Not nice at all.”

“Whatever. He literally doesn’t know you. For all we know, he might only exist on the internet. I don’t care.”

Emma sets down her phone. “So, Sam forgot our anniversary last night,” she says, switching topics as easily as only she knows how.

I gasp. “No!”

“Oh, yeah. Dead to rights. Came home with a plunger from the hardware store.”

I blink. “Was it romantic at least?”

“It was a deluxe model. With an ergonomic grip. I forgave him.”

“What?” I snort. “Well, clearly he’s a keeper.”

Emma laughs. “He was so proud. Said it was for our home maintenance needs.”

“Sam has always been like that,” I chuckle. “He’s very bad with dates.”

Emma scoffs. “It’s been what? About two years? You’d think he remembers by now.”

“Right? But he loves you.”

“I know that, duh.” Emma huffs like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “That man may love me more than he loves himself.”

“Well, he needs not worry; you love him more than enough.” I wiggle my eyebrows. “You probably fell first.”

“You should never let him hear that,” Emma commands playfully.

“My mouth is sealed.”

“Like your dating life.”

“Oh, wow,” I gasp. “Emma!”

“What? I’m not lying.”

“Yeah.” I sigh dramatically, pulling my phone from my apron. “No wonder people keep asking me to find love for them. I’m better at matchmaking than I am at dating.”

I open Instagram and groan as my inbox floods with DMs.

“Speaking of matchmaking…” I tilt my phone toward Emma. “That’s fifteen requests since this morning. One wants me to match her daughter, another says she’s praying for divine intervention and thinks I’m it, and—oh, look—someone sent me their resume like I’m running a dating agency.”