Page 7 of Dashing for Love

“You said that twenty years ago after Levi got caught kissing your granddaughter behind the football stands,” Tom grumbles. “That doesn’t count.”

Jerry sips his coffee contentedly. “Does, too.”

I leave the old-timers to their bickering, my phone practically burning a hole in my back pocket. The timing of Ox’s story feels almost like fate. If grumpy Levi Hall can find love in a twenty-four-hour television show, of all things, then what’s stopping me from seeing who I matched with on Blinding Love?

Willa and I finish up at the same time, and I show her the notification as we’re walking to our cars.

She doesn’t hesitate. “Open it.”

I bite my lip. I don’t know why this feels different, but it does. “You think so?”

She shrugs, pulling her hair out of its ponytail and scratching her scalp with a satisfied groan. “You’ve already been set up on some doozies by Agatha.”

“Not because I asked her to.”

“No—you’ve just been too nice to tell her to stop.”

“Until now,” I point out.

“This can’t possibly be any worse, right?”

I laugh sadly. “I want to be mad at you for saying that, but you’re right. I’ll do it.”

Willa straightens and studies me. “Hey. This is probably gonna be great. You’re Goldie. Beautiful, sunshine incarnate Goldie.” She grins wickedly. “Whoever’s on the other end won’t know what hit ‘em.”

This time, my laugh is sincere. “You’re right about that.”

Agatha’s waiting on me when I get home, calling out that she’s got another nice boy for me if I’m interested.

And ifthatdoesn’t convince me to open the damn app, nothing will.

Chapter 4

Matty

IT’S BEEN FORTY-eight hours since I created a profile on Blinding Love and about twenty-four since I matched with someone named Dawn. She seemed interesting, so I went for it. Problem was, the only thing the app would do is let me send a hello. Literally: Hello. I had one choice, and it was…Hello.

Cue the Lionel Ritchie soundtrack.

I’m not sure this thing is going to work. Especially since it’s been a full day, and nothing has happened. I’m having serious regrets about the whole thing, and I’mespeciallyhaving regrets about my decision to be less boring. I’m a small-town vet. Outside of emergency calls to farms or an unexpected litter of puppies getting dumped on the clinic’s doorstep, how exciting can my life possibly get?

Bessie, the cow I’m inspecting at Farmer John’s right now, doesn’t seem to care one way or another that my match hasn’t responded. She blinks her big brown eyes at me as I settle my stethoscope around my neck and look at the old man. “She’s fine, John.”

He peers at me, uncertain. “You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Cause she was mooin’ like she done been shot.” He pulls his dirty red ball cap off and wrings it. “She’s my best milker, Matty.”

I thump her on the side and she blinks again. “Not a thing wrong with her.”

“All right then. Might as well look at the rest of ‘em while you’re here.” He turns and I follow, futilely attempting to avoid squishing my boots in the patties that Bessie and her compatriots have dropped.

My phone chirps and I pull it out, my eyes landing on the giant letters practically yelling at me on the screen.

YOUR MATCH RESPONDED

“Holy shit,” I whisper, my heart doing a wild twisty thing as it leaps into my throat. Naturally, I trip over a rock, sending the phone flying out of my hand and landing perilously close to a pile of fresh poo.That was close.

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