Page 38 of Return to You

Keaton leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he read the text again. “I have no idea. Mrs. D cornered me yesterday and asked me about an email I never got then told me to be here at seven for a budgeting meeting. She said ‘look spiffy.’” He made air quotes to emphasize her last direction.

“Same here. Except instead of spiffy she said to wear my Sunday best.” She glanced down at the peach maxi dress she’d chosen. It was looser on her than it used to be so instead of hugging her curves it just kind of flowed over them, but it was the nicest thing in her wardrobe.

“Well, you look really nice.”

Ali noticed Keaton blinked slowly when he said really. It was a small, nearly imperceptible motion, but it was kind of sexy.

“Thanks.” Ali felt her own eyes twinkling. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d flirted with anyone. Unless she counted the night before in the hallway with Kade, which she didn’t since he’d jumped away from her like he’d just touched the stove. “You clean up real nice yourself.”

Ali had only seen Keaton in his gi and jeans and a T-shirt. But tonight he was wearing black slacks and a crisp white button up. She almost did a double take when she first saw him earlier.

“Well, I guess we should order and then start with the budget from last year.” He turned in his chair and raised his arm to get Stacy’s attention. His shirt was rolled up and Ali couldn’t help but notice how strong his forearm looked.

The sight caused a small army of butterflies to flutter in her belly and a lightning bolt realization struck her. It was an Oprah “aha” moment on steroids.

“I know what this is!” She slapped her hands on the table.

He looked back at her. “What, what is?”

“This.” She waved her hand between them as a satisfied grin lifted on her face. “This is a set up.”

“Are you guys ready to order?” Stacy approached the table with an eager lilt in her voice.

“I’m…,” Keaton glanced between the two women, “…not sure.”

“We need another minute, Stace.” Ali held up her pointer finger and when she saw that Stacey was getting justifiably irritated, she added, “Sorry.”

Once again, Stacey walked away and Ali leaned closer to Keaton. “Okay, you know Mrs. D and her friends—”

“—The Needlepoint Mafia.” He interrupted, nodding.

“Right. Well, they fancy themselves matchmakers. Every few months they like to choose an unsuspecting victim that they’ve decided should no longer be single and designate themselves, without knowledge or consent from the mark, as said individual’s personal cupid. And I think their bow and arrow is pointed at you.”

“Me?” His brows rose. “Why do you think they’re pointed at me and not you?”

“I’m twenty-eight.”

“Okay…,” he responded, confused.

“They never choose anyone under thirty.”

“Are you…,” he hesitated before continuing, “are you being serious?”

“I am,” Ali answered.

“So there’s no meeting?”

“Nope. And I’m actually a little embarrassed that I didn’t figure it out sooner.” Ali motioned around the room. “I mean look at this place. Dim lighting. Floating candle centerpieces. Linen tablecloths. Live music.” Ali pointed to where Mason Hathaway was sitting at a grand piano playing and singing classic love songs softly adding to the romantic ambiance. “This has date written all over it.”

Keaton scanned the restaurant, taking it all in before turning back to Ali and nodding slowly. “You’re right.”

“I’d love to tell you that this is going to be an isolated incident, but you’re basically about to star in your own season of The Bachelor.”

“For how long?” he asked apprehensively.

Ali nodded. “Until you give out your final rose.”

“My what?”

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