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As soon as she sent the text, her face flushed with heat and her eyes were forced closed by the crush of

embarrassment. It sounded far filthier than she intended.

Reagan: I’ve got an idea or two. ;)

Frozen with indecision, Libby had no idea how to respond.

Was she flirting? Was there any other way to read the text?

She’d innocently used a winky face only minutes before, but her heart skipped a beat anyway. Flustered, she gulped and hoped to convey casual confidence.

Libby: What do you propose?

Relieved at having found a way to volley the ball back into Reagan’s court without risk of misreading her intention, she relaxed and dropped into her chair.

Reagan: Most people do often start to get to know each other with drinks or maybe dinner?

Without her consent, Libby’s lips parted in a lopsided smile. She wanted to see her again more than she realized. It had been a long time since she hit it o with someone so e ortlessly.

Libby: As a matchmaker, I usually discourage early dates in restaurants.

Reagan: Why’s that?

Libby: They’re noisy for one and prone to continuous interruption. Not conducive to meaningful conversation. For two, it’s easy to drink a little too much. Never a good idea.

Reagan: All very reasonable points. Where do you propose we get together? This is what . . . our third date? Fourth?

Libby laughed, spinning around in her chair to give her back to the computer. She didn’t want to watch notifications popping up on her screen.

Libby: Is it that many?

Reagan: Ugh . . . you wound me! Have you forgotten?? I’ve been called many things but mediocre isn’t usually one of them.

Biting her bottom lip, Libby stifled a grin. She knew she shouldn’t play coy. There was no point. It’s not like they had to convince onlookers.

Libby: I must have a bad memory I guess. . .

Reagan: Guess that leaves me with the thankless task of reminding you. First, we had that lovely French breakfast. Then flying kites at the park. What did we do next? Oh, the beach! Four was the Gala and five was the expo at my studio.

Libby: What about our trip to Mary’s shop for your fitting? If you count that . . . it makes six.

Reagan: Very true! So then what does the Cassanova Cupid suggest for date number seven?

Feeling emboldened and the rush of Cuban co ee thumping in her chest, she replied.

Libby: I guess it would be a bit suspicious if we don’t have any pictures in my house or yours.

Reagan: An increased level of intimacy, huh? Bold move. I like it. We’ll have plenty of time to learn everything we need to know to convince Grandmother Cassanova.

The reminder of reality pulled at her stomach, but she ignored the discomfort and indulged in the frivolity of the text exchange.

Reagan: What should I bring? I know you like champagne, but do you drink anything else? Red wine? White Wine? Whiskey?

Tequila? Rum? Vodka???

Libby: Hard pass on the tequila. Long story that I’m sure I’ll tell you soon. You really don’t have to bring anythi

ng.