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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