Page 26 of The Match Faker

He sighs, and I take the bottle to the kitchen to avoid any further foot in mouth situations.

“Do you want to open it now?” I don’t usually drink wine on a work night.

Nick follows me down the hall. I try not to look over my shoulder. He’s not calculating my net worth based on the thrifted and IKEA furniture or the water damage on the ceiling the landlord ignores. Normal people don’t do that.Nicepeople don’t do that. Just the guys I’ve dated in the past.

Perhaps that’s even more of a reason to trust this process. Clearly, an algorithm can pick a better man than I ever could.

“Only if you feel like it,” he says, sliding into the seat of our teeny two-person dining table in the kitchen corner. “But don’t open it on my account. It’s probably too fancy for my palate.”

That might be a dig at me but I’m choosing to ignore it. “I usually like to have warm water with lemon slices in the evening.” Why I say that is beyond me. It feels strangely vulnerable and intimate, telling him what I like to drink as I wind down.

“Sure.”

He plucks a lemon from our overflowing fruit bowl and joins me at the counter as I fill the kettle with water. He cuts large wedges and I drop them into mugs. We wait for the water to boil in a silence that stretches louder as each second ticks away. The longer we wait, the more crowded my head gets, filling with onepotential comment after another. All things he could say about my behavior, which has ranged from weird to rude for no reason.

“I’d still really like to come to Muskoka with you,” I blurt as the switch on the kettle pops.

He props himself up against the counter and crosses his arms. “Still?”

I blow on the hot water and drop my attention to the stained Formica countertop. “I think I’ve been unfair to you. I’m sorry. I want to make it up to you.”

“Jasmine,” he says, his tone so serious I can’t help but turn to him. His dark eyes are sincere. “It’s very nice of you to say that, but you have nothing to make up for.”

“No. I do. You helped me when you didn’t even know me, and I know how I come across.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He picks up a mug and gulps the hot liquid. He winces, like he ate an entire lemon wedge. “I don’t know what I was expecting. Lemon water really is justlemon water.”

I take my own sip. It tastes fine to me. “I was being a snob, Nick.”

He chokes, laughs, coughs up lemon water. I pat his back, but he waves me away.

He replaces his mug with my hands, turning to face me fully. “I promise I have never thought that about you.”

“It’s fine. I was. I am.”

“You’re not.”

“Whatever, I don’t want to argue with you about it. I feel like I was being snobby. And also sending a lot of mixed signals after…” My face heats. The thought of that kiss still makes me disproportionately aroused. “What are they like? Your family?” I ask, because if discussing his family can’t calm my overactive libido, nothing will.

He leans against the kitchen counter with the same ease as when we met, comfortable, assured. I imagine Nick is comfortable just about anywhere.

“As you know, my dad is… We have trouble communicating.” He puts his words in air quotes. “Mom did the whole stay-at-home thing.” From there, he ticks his siblings off his fingers. “My brother Alex is my father’s golden child. He works for my dad’s company, and he’ll try to sell you office furniture within five minutes of meeting you. Miranda is my eldest sister, she’s like a second mother to me. We used to be really close but…” He gives a defeated shrug. “Claire is cool. Way too competitive, but she likes to argue with my dad so she’s a good ally. I’m two years younger than her. And then there’s Charlie. He’s the baby.”

I smile. “Say no more.”

“You have one, too?”

“My little sister. Raised her myself,” I say proudly.

“Charlie works for my dad, too,” he says with the kind of fatigue that makes me think there have been a lot of conversations about the family business in his past.

“And you don’t.”

He takes another sip of his lemon water, this time fighting back a wince. “I do not.”

I want to ask why he and Miranda aren’t close anymore and how much Charlie gets away with and why it’s so important that his siblings—maybe just the boys?—work for the family business. But those questions seem too probing, especially when I haven’t shared very much about myself.

“My dad thinks I’m a disappointment,” I say, then clamp my mouth shut. That was stupid.

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