Page 2 of Blazing Reactions

“But Asher’s illness...” Evadne’s voice caught. “The progression is accelerating. She barely takes time to eat or sleep, let alone?—”

“Let alone notice anyone who might have more than a professional interest in her research?” Gerri’s eyes twinkled.

Nellie straightened so quickly, she almost knocked over her own glass. “Gerri, are you suggesting...”

“I’m not suggesting anything.” Gerri’s innocent look fooled no one. “I’m simply saying that your son, Nellie dear, might find Dr. Andrews’s genetic research particularly relevant to certain... draconian interests.”

Both mothers stared at her. Around them, the other women’s voices created a cheerful backdrop of matchmaking schemes gone wrong – someone was now describing an attempt to matchmake at a supernatural peace summit that had nearly started a war.

“But Talon’s so...” Nellie gestured vaguely.

“Stubborn? Set in his ways? Convinced he’s got the next few centuries perfectly planned out?” Gerri supplied helpfully. “Amazing how eight hundred years of careful planning can get derailed by one brilliant scientist with a revolutionary theory.”

“And Asher’s so focused on her work...” Evadne bit her lip.

“Maybe it’s time for her to expand her research parameters.” Gerri’s smile held secrets. “Sometimes the cure we’re looking for comes packaged in unexpected ways. Ways that might include corporate funding, cutting-edge labs, and a CEO with a very personal interest in genetic mysteries.”

“Gerri.” Nellie’s voice sharpened with maternal insight. “What exactly do you know?”

“Let’s just say the universe has a way of bringing the right people together at the right time.” Gerri rose gracefully, gathering her small clutch. “Even if those people happen to be a brilliant scientist with a genetic illness and a dragon shifter CEO with centuries of secrets.”

“But—” both mothers began simultaneously.

“Trust the process, darlings.” Gerri winked. “And maybe encourage Asher to take a few calculated risks with her research. The results might surprise everyone.”

She glided away toward the dessert table, leaving them to exchange bewildered glances. Behind her, she could heartheir urgent whispers mixing with the ongoing chorus of matchmaking misadventures – something about a flash mob proposal gone terribly wrong.

Later, as the celebration wound down, Gerri stood by the window overlooking Manhattan’s glittering skyline. The mothers gathered their belongings, still sharing stories of their children’s romantic obliviousness. She smiled, raising her glass in a private toast.

“To brilliant minds about to learn that love doesn’t follow scientific protocols,” she murmured. “And to mothers who never stop trying to help them figure it out – no matter how many fake charity galas it takes.”

She had other matches to orchestrate, other lives to guide toward their destiny. But something told her this particular story would be one of her favorites to watch unfold. After all, what could be more entertaining than watching love triumph over science – especially when science itself would end up proving love’s existence?

With that amusing thought, Gerri rejoined the departing group, already looking forward to the next Matchmaker’s Book Club dinner. She had a feeling they’d be planning another celebration soon – preferably one without PowerPoint presentations about dating statistics.

ONE

Asher Andrews stared at the rack of samples on her desk, double-checking the labels for the third time. The new batch from the Eastern European archaeological dig had arrived mixed in with her regular testing materials, and something about the paperwork felt off. She shrugged it off - paperwork wasn’t exactly a priority when you were racing against your own genetic expiration date.

“Note to self,” she dictated into her recorder, “begin analysis on Sample 247B. Apparently dying is great motivation for organization. Should add that to my next research paper.”

Her watch – a custom model courtesy of Lori’s cybersecurity company – buzzed with a morning check-in text.

Lori: Your vitals say you haven’t eaten breakfast. Again.

Asher: Some of us have actual work to do.

Lori: Don’t make me call your mother.

Asher: That’s fighting dirty.

She grabbed a protein bar from her desk drawer, taking an exaggerated bite as she snapped a photo and sent it to Lori. The sticky notes cluttering her workspace seemed to mock her morning rebellion: “Run cellular analysis” competed for space with “EAT SOMETHING (YES, THIS MEANS YOU)” and“CALL YOUR FRIENDS BACK BEFORE THEY SEND A SWAT TEAM!!!”

Dr. Garrison Bennett passed by her lab, pausing at the door. His usual composed demeanor seemed oddly strained.

“Careful with those new samples,” he said, adjusting his glasses nervously. “They might not be what you expect.”

“Just standard ancient DNA, right? The paperwork says-”

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