Page 87 of Click of Fate

Not for networking. Not even for Squeaky Bum. No, if I’m being honest? It’s for something... orsomeoneelse.

I don’t even make it to the hors d'oeuvres before Ruth materializes at my elbow like a matchmaking ninja.

“Well, if it isn’t one of my favorite reluctant attendees,” Ruth says, slipping in beside me like she’s been planning her move all night.

I chuckle under my breath. “You sure know how to throw acasualevent.”

She waves that off with a flick of her fingers, already nudging me toward a quieter corner near a massive modern art piece that looks suspiciously like a bird exploded midair.

“Casual is in the eye of the beholder, darling. Besides, you’re not here to hide in the shadows.”

“I thought I was here to network,” I say, deadpan.

“You’re here to find something,” she counters with a knowing smile, one that makes me uneasy for reasons I can’t explain.

Before I can ask what exactly she expects me to find, Ruth presses something into my hand.

A small, square bingo card.

I blink down at it. It's handwritten—of course it is—and the first few squares are oddly specific:

Someone who loves thunderstorms.

Someone who sees adventure through a lens.

Someone who secretly loves romcoms.

Someone who’s scared of roots but still dreams anyway.

My stomach tightens without permission. Each one feels weirdly... familiar. Like whoever Ruth wants me to find, I already have. And I already lost her. There are a few random squares too, sprinkled in like bait:

Someone who can name all the Taylor Swift albums.

Someone banned from karaoke for "crimes against music."

Someone who rescues half-dead plants and insists they’re “just resting.”

I snort under my breath. Nothing like being volun-told to play matchmaker bingo at an event I didn’t even want to come to.

Still... I don't toss the card. I don't crumple it or pocket it like an obligation. I accept it, because hell, maybe fate’s a better planner than I am. And maybe, just maybe, I’m not ready to give up yet.

“I made it special for you,” Ruth says, sipping her wine like she didn’t just hand me a loaded weapon.

I glance at her. “This isn’t networking.”

“No,” she says, eyes sparkling. “It’s matchmaking.”

Then she pats my arm like a proud grandmother and adds, “Don’t be dense. The universe already did most of the heavy lifting.”

Before I can say anything else—before I can even think—she smiles sweetly and drifts off, leaving me holding a bingo card fullof Stella Young-shaped hints and a gnawing feeling deep in my chest.

I scan the room automatically, half hoping, half dreading what I’ll find.

But Stella?

She’s a ghost.

Here one second, gone the next. I catch flashes of someone who might be her, a dark ponytail, a soft laugh, but every time I turn my head, she’s disappeared into the crowd.

---