Page 99 of Pity Parade

“I should be back by eight,” he says. Then he kisses me goodbye.

I walk Heath outside and wave as he pulls out of the driveway, then I hurry inside to grab my purse. I need gas, so I figure by the time I’m on the road I’ll be about ten minutes behind him.

There isn’t much traffic this time of day, so I make it to the city limits in a record two hours. I haven’t been back to Chicago in almost six weeks, and it feels weird. It’s so crowded and busy. It’s nothing like Elk Lake, which is a good thing.

Pulling over to the side of the road, I check my phone and find that Heath has not gone to his condo as expected. Instead, he’s at some restaurant a couple of miles south of here called Pickle Pete’s. I keep going straight until I hit Michigan Avenue and then I turn right.

I’ve always loved this part of the city. If you add up all the hours I’ve spent at the Art Institute, it probably comes out to multiple months of my life. I was there for my Color Theory class when I made my first match as a matchmaker.

My classmates Farrah and Josh had been eyeing each other all semester so I figured a field trip was the perfect opportunity to get them together. I did this by making sure they were both in my group and then I asked them questions I already knew the answer to so they could see how right they were for each other.

It worked, too. They dated for two years before getting married and having four kids. I know this because I’m on their Christmas card list.

I’m able to find street parking about a block from the restaurant so I take it. According to the app, Heath kept going, so he’s probably parked with the valet. After getting out of my car, I feed the meter before slowly walking down the street. I don’t want to run into him.

I don’t see Heath walking into the building, but imagine my surprise when I do see my old producer, Tom. What are the chances Tom and Heath are both eating here today and at the same time? My BS alert starts to go off like crazy.

I suddenly rethink my wardrobe choice today. A bright yellow dress isn’t exactly going to keep me under the radar. From a distance, I watch Tom give his name to the hostess. She looks at her book before leading him into the dining room. Once he’s several paces ahead of me, I lean around the corner to see where he’s going.

The whole room is full of high-back booths, so I can’t tell who he’s meeting. Looking up, I notice there’s seating on the second floor as well. The way I see it, I have two choices. I can either walk by Tom’s table and risk being seen by him—or worse, Heath, if that’s who he’s meeting—or I can ask for a table upstairs near the railing so I can spy on him from above.

When the hostess comes back, I ask to sit upstairs, but she tells me, “I’m sorry, we’re fully booked until two.”

That’s when I pull a move I never use. I feel horrible doing it, but as they say, desperate times call for desperate measures. “That’s too bad,” I announce. “I was hoping to eat here today. I’m looking for restaurants in the area to film my new television show.”

She’s suddenly way more interested in me. “Your television show?” Looking at me closely, she says, “You look kind of familiar. Who are you?”

Smiling, I tell her, “Trina Rockwell from Midwestern Matchmaker.”

Her posture straightens as she throws her hands in the air and practically yells, “I love that show! I was so bummed when it got canceled.” Leaning toward me, she confides, “I’ve thought about auditioning for it more than once.”

“Did you ever apply?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No. I was afraid I might make a fool out of myself. Once you do that on reality television, it follows you forever.”

“That’s true.” Which is the big reason I wouldn’t let Tom make a spectacle of Paige and Tim last season. I hurry to ask, “Are you sure there isn’t anywhere for me to sit upstairs?”

The hostess quickly checks her book. She grabs a menu and then tells me, “It’s not a great table, but I can seat you.”

“Thank you,” I gush. “What’s your name? I really appreciate your help.”

“Hallie,” she says excitedly. “If you film here, will you ask for me so I can be on the show?”

“Absolutely,” I tell her, once again feeling bad to be getting her hopes up for something that’s not going to happen.

Sitting down, I realize I have a pretty decent view of Tom’s table and Tom, but I can’t quite make out the person he’s eating with. Standing up, I switch seats so I’m facing the other direction and that’s when I know for sure Heath has been keeping secrets.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

HEATH

Given Trina’s opinion of Tom Meranda, I didn’t expect to like him, so I’m not surprised that I don’t.

“Leave the wine list,” he tells the hostess dismissively before turning to me. “Heath.” He has all the charm of a reptile. “I was delighted to hear from you. We’ve gotten a lot of interest since the bachelors found out we’re matching Trina.”

“Miss Rockwell is quite lovely,” I tell him.

Tom sits down and scoots across the booth so he’s right by the window. He probably wants everyone outside to know he’s secured a prime seat at one of the city’s most popular new restaurants. As cocky as it sounds, that’s a perk you get when eating with me.

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