Page 12 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas
“Matt,” said Kate. “I’m a big girl. I’ve been around the block a few times. You don’t need to be signed up at a dating agency to meet not-very-nice men.”
Matt huffed. “I don’t know why you feel the need to join a dating agency anyway.”
“I didn’t feel the need.Laurafelt that I felt I should feel the need.” Kate frowned as she mentally considered the sense of her sentence. “And anyway,” she continued. “It’s good to meet new people. And I would like to... you know... settle down maybe.”
“I don’t want to cast aspersions on your character, Kate,” said Matt. “But you’ve never exactly been short of men.”
“Yeah, but I can’t seem to make any of them stick!”
“You mean they don’t make the grade.”
“I see nothing wrong with being choosy,” said Kate.
“What about that James bloke? I liked him.”
“Yes, Matt, but it’s not really about whetheryoulike them or not that matters, is it?”
“Or Harry!” said Matt. “Harry was great.”
“Maybe you should have gone out with him then,” said Kate. “I don’t know.” She sighed and began applying berry-red lipstick in the mirror above the fireplace. “Since Dan there hasn’t really been anyone that’s...”
“Rocked your world?” Matt finished for her.
“Exactly.”
“You’re always saying you don’t need a man.”
“I don’t,” said Kate. “I just think it would be nice to meet someone I could share my life with. Laura’s got Ben. You’ve got Sarah...”
“Well, it’s only been a couple of months,” said Matt hastily. “We’re not exactly ready for marriage.”
“But you’ve got someone to kiss under the mistletoe,” said Kate wistfully.
“If that’s all it takes to make you happy, I’m sure I could rustle up one or two customers to give you a snog under the old love branches.”
“That’s exactly my point! I’m tired ofrustling upmen. I’ve had my fill of sprinters, I’m looking for someone who can go the distance.”
“You’re looking for a marathon runner?”
“Metaphorically speaking, yes.”
“Come on, then, show me tonight’s date.”
Kate brought the picture up on her phone. Matt looked at it and frowned.
“Private school mummy’s boy,” he announced dryly. “I don’t think he’ll make the cut.”
Kate let out an exasperated breath.
“I knew you’d say that,” she said. “You took one look at his hair and made a judgment. It just so happens he works in an art gallery.”
“Did he go to private school?”
Kate scrolled down Michael’s profile. He had. Damn. “Yes,” she admitted.
“I rest my case.”
•••••
