Page 60 of Failure to Match

I’d barely made it to the toilet in time.

Now why would that, of all experiences, create an all-consuming obsession with that particular season of a TV show I couldn’t have cared less about until that one defining moment?

Because ofhim.

Daniel Omori.

Seconds before my very life was being violently yanked out of my empty stomach, I’d caught a glimpse of the sexiest dimple to have ever bracketed anyone’s chin, tucked just underneath the most endearing, boyish smile to have ever been smiled.

I didn’t stand a chance. My inner hopeless romantic immediately took over and, as soon as I could stomach it, I’d binged the whole season.

Three times. In the span of four weeks.

He was the youngest competitor that year, a complete underdog in terms of schooling and experience, yet he’d still managed to win. Oh, and his best friend and the love of his life was Maple, his blind, three-legged golden retriever.

I mean… how could Inothave fallen into immediate infatuation with him?

To this day, the viral photo of him celebrating his win with Maple in his arms was my desktop background, which… if that was how Jackson figured it out, I also needed to add “impressively observant” to his profile, because it was impressively observant.

I grinned up at Jackson, well beyond the point of controlling my emotional expressions. “How... just...how?”

We were quite literally on the set of the show. Or more plausibly, an insanely accurate recreation of it. Everything was here—the cooking stations, the judge’s table, the signature branding. The only real difference was the massive Teppanyaki grill set up in the back, complete with two place settings and a very tall, very real Daniel Omori dicing something behind the bar.

He was here.

Not in Tokyo, running his world-famous restaurant.

He washere. In Toronto.

Breathing the same air as me.

My heart was pounding inside my throat.

Jackson’s shoulders ticked up with cocky pride as he took in my reaction. He stood a little straighter. “You see? Much better as a surprise, is it not?”

Yes. Yeah. Absolutely. This was hands down the coolest thing that had ever happened to me.

“Is it just us here?” I asked quietly, my gaze sliding back to Daniel’s tattooed forearms. He’d gotten so many new ones since the show. I couldn’t wait to ask about them.

“Yes. We have him for the full night. Or, in your case, another thirty-eight minutes since you insist on ending our date right on the hour.”

I was aware that he was teasing me, I just didn’t care. I was seconds away from meeting my celebrity crush and, as luck would have it, I was wearing a dress that made me look like a literal princess. It couldn’t be more perfect.

Ignoring Jackson’s quip, I ran my hands over the front of my dress and adjusted its straps, casting nervous little glances toward the Teppanyaki grill. I was tempted to run to the bathroom, wanting to check my makeup and make sure I didn’t have anything stuck in my teeth.

But when I looked up at Jackson again, I found him watching me with less arrogance and more uncertainty clouding his expression.

“What?” I asked.

He hesitated for a beat. “You’re a fan of the show, correct?”

“Yes. Sure.” The show. Daniel’s generously tattooed biceps and chin dimple. Same dif. “Shall we go?”

His fingers curled around my arm, making me pause midstep. “And you have a picture of that guy on your laptop... because he won. And he’s a famous sushi chef... and you like sushi. That’s all.”

I blinked, confused by his tone. Why did he sound like he was trying to convince himself of the reasoning behind my choice of desktop backgrounds?

“Uh, sure. Yup. Can we go now?” I threw another longing look toward Daniel, rapidly running out of what little chill I still possessed.

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