Page 11 of Romancing the Rude Guy

Silence hums between us. Then I finally manage to croak out, “What do you mean you never met him?” Blinking rapidly, I resume pacing. “You sent me on a date with some random man?! What if he was a serial killer or something?” I rage.

Grammy laughs. “Of course he’s not Alice. Don’t be silly. He’s the grandson of my friend Deborah here at Honeysuckle Senior Center. Even better, he’s your match.”

“My match? According to whom?” I demand.

“Why us, of course. The matchmakers.”

Shaking my head, I blow out a long, slow breath. Leave it to grammy to be in a matchmaker’s groups!

Undaunted by my snappish attitude, grammy asks, “Other than the wheelchair, how did you two get along?”

“Surprisingly well,” I admit.

“Splendid! When are you seeing him again?”

The unanswered message sitting in my voice mailbox immediately pops into my head. “We haven’t sorted the details of that out yet,” I hedge.

Her sweet laughter fills my ear again. “Ahhh… blooming romance, so sweet. I remember when your Grandpa William and I were first dating.”

Grammy launches into a story that she’s told me over a dozen times already, and I listen with only half an ear. The other half of my mind is working over the subject of Marcus.

I do want to see him again.

There’s just something about him that makes me feel warm and gooey inside. He’s not the handsomest man I’ve ever been out with. My jerk ex-fiancé Richard was tall and handsome with the type of blond, good looks that had women turning their heads when he came into a room.

Sad thing is, he did more than turn their heads. He also had no problems hopping into their beds as well.

Marcus isn’t Richard. Thankfully.

“He is your match.” Grammy’s words echo in my brain.

I shake my head. If he’s my match, what does that say about me?

“Oh, here I am going on and on,” Grammy’s voice cuts into my thoughts. “You’re always so busy. Let me let you go. Have fun with Mark.”

“Marcus,” I correct automatically as a riot of butterflies takes flight in my stomach at saying his name out loud.

There’s no denying or hiding the fact that I’m attracted to him. Perhaps there is something to this match stuff.

And far be it for me to mess with Grammy Brooke and her friends’ matchmaking attempts.

Ending the call with grammy, I call Marcus. Getting his answering service, I leave a message asking him to have lunch with me on Thursday at a local park close to my work.

The rest of the evening, I anxiously check my phone to see if he responded via text or called and I missed it. When he finally texts me, it’s almost ten and I do nothing to stop the excited yes that slips from me.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve been so worked up about a man and a date. I need to calm myself down and not build up anymore unfair expectations. It’s only going to lead to disappointment.

I can tell myself that all I want, that doesn’t stop me counting down the hours when Thursday finally rolls around.

When I’m sitting on a bench at Lynnwood Park, my lunch bag placed by my side and mindlessly scrolling through my phone, anticipation sings sweetly throughout me. My feet tap, my legs bounce slightly to an unknown rhythm, and I simply cannot keep still.

It doesn’t help that he’s late.

Again.

Maybe I should message him? Perhaps he couldn’t get a ride here and doesn’t know how to get public transportant.

Clenching my hands around my phone, I let out a huff. Am I only thinking he might be helpless about things due to his disability? Why do I keep doing that?

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