Page 11 of Silver Fake

Awful is more like.

Traffic, road work, and a few detours added hours to what should have been a straightforward drive. By the time I finally pulled up to Denise's house, my eyelids were heavy and my body was crying out for rest.

As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out like a light. And fortunately, after a deep sleep that was more refreshing than I could have predicted, I'm ready to face the day.

Sheila sets her things down and sits down next to me, her voice dripping with mischief.

”So, have you met the infamous matchmaker yet?" She folds her arms and tilts her head, shooting me a playful smirk. "Denise has been talking about it for weeks. Seems she's quite excited to play cupid for you."

Denise tosses a blueberry at Sheila. “It hasn’t been weeks. You make it sound like I’ve been hounding her.” She puts a hand on my shoulder and smiles. “I just want my friend to find someone to care about her.”

“That’s why I’ve got you.” I smile back at her then look at Sheila. “But I did decide to set up an appointment. I’m actually meeting with them later today.”

Sheila raises an eyebrow, curious. "So, how does this matchmaker thing work?"

I shrug, taking a sip of my coffee. "Well, there was an application I filled out. I had to talk about myself, submit a photo and list what I'm looking for in a man."

Denise turns to look at me, intrigued. "And what did you say?"

I take a moment, then reply. "I said I'm looking for someone kind, loving, and understands the importance of family. Someone who loves to laugh and doesn't take themselves too seriously. Oh, and a love for the great outdoors wouldn't hurt either." I smile, looking out at the sea.

Denise furrows her brow, a flicker of concern crossing her face. "Did you have to tell them that you're divorced? I remember when I tried those dating apps before Brett. I alwayshatedtalking about my divorce."

It's not a comfortable question, but it's Denise, so I knew it would come up eventually. I hesitate, look at the swirling cream in my coffee, then nod quietly. "Yeah, I did. I also wrote that I'm looking for someone who thinks I'm enough as is. Someone who accepts me the way that I am."

A tear rolls down my cheek as soon as I say the words.

It's been more than five years. But for some reason, my divorce is still really hard to talk about.

When my ex-husband Tanner and I got married, we promised it would be for better or worse. But it turns out, Tanner wasn't prepared for the worst. He always wanted a family, kids running around, the whole package. We tried hard, but the kids never came. At first, Tanner tried to be understanding and supportive, but eventually, it wore away at him.

He started to resent me for not being able to give him what he wanted. And in the end, we just couldn't make it work.

Looking back, I can see that we were probably never meant to be. We were too different in the things that mattered most. But it still hurt like hell. I know I need to move on. I need to find someone who will love me for me and thinks I'm enough just the way I am. Someone who doesn't view me as a failure but as a woman who went through a lot and came out stronger on the other side.

"Sorry," I sniff, annoyed with myself, as I wipe the tear away with the back of my hand. "I don't know why I'm crying."

Denise wraps her arms around me, squeezing me tight. "Don't worry," she whispers, patting my back comfortingly. "You are enough, and you will find someone who sees that."

Sheila reaches out, giving my hand a gentle squeeze.

"You're an amazing, strong woman. Any guy would be lucky to have you in their life." She flashes a reassuring smile, her eyes twinkling with warmth. "And remember, 'Mr. Perfect' is out there somewhere, waiting to be hit by the Lisa love-train!"

She then playfully nudges me, her tone lightening up, "Speaking of love trains and matchmaking games, have you talked to Mr. Grizzly about your little venture into the realm of professional matchmakers?"

Sheila's question leaves a ripple of laughter in the air, effectively diffusing the heavy mood.

I snort as I dab at my eyes with a tissue. “No way. John Barton is the last person who would care about something like this."

Both of them go strangely silent.

They lock eyes with each other, and I swear their jaws nearly land on the deck.

I laugh nervously. “Are you two okay?”

Denise speaks first. “Mr. Grizzly's real name is John Barton?”

“Like, the John Barton?” Sheila echoes.

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