Page 92 of The Anatomy of Matchmaking

As I lie here in the hot water, trailing my fingertips over mountains of tiny bubbles, all I can think about is the knot of worry in my stomach.

I saw Nick get home from work.

I spotted him talking to Fredricka.

Then I waited for him to come over to talk. But he didn’t.

What’s going to happen between us?

My phone beeps, and I glance over to the side table and see it’s a text from my sister.

I left the diner before filling Roxie in on my conversation with Sylvester, and she’s been bugging me about it ever since.

She wants to know what we talked about.

I promised to meet her tonight when she’s done with her shift, to give her the details. She wants to help. I understandthat. But at the same time, I’m dreading the advice she’s going to pile up on me.

The person I really need to talk to is Nick.

I feel that in my bones.

I soak for a half hour, then towel off and pull on clean clothes.

Downstairs, I fill up Outlaw’s bowl with nuggets and then peek through the window over the sink. What’s Nick doing for dinner?

Over at his place, the kitchen light is on.

I have an hour before Roxie will be done with work.

Maybe Nick will keep me company. It would help, I think, to talk to him about Sylvester’s unexpected visit.

I slip on a pair of sandals and head for the front room. Near the door, I glance out the window again. Hope fills me when I spot him out on his front porch steps, running sandpaper over the banister.

Yes, talking to him will definitely help.

I step out into the evening air, already feeling more positive.

But that uplifted energy takes a nosedive when a black BMW appears at the end of the block. With a sinking heart I watch Hana Chen park and get out of her car.

Did Nick invite her over?

I hesitate on Pansy’s front porch. Hanging plants dangle down from the rafters. I peek around a leafy cascade of green and catch sight of Hana, gracefully walking up Nick’s walkway with a white box in one hand, bottle of wine in the other.

She’s in a red dress, no jacket this time even though the air’s turning cool with the fading light.

Her pale arms are as slender as a ballerina’s. A smile flickers on her red-tinted lips as she waves up at Nick. “Hi!” I hear her say.

Nick stands.

I can’t see his face.

My gut aches as I watch him accept her gifts and set them aside. The box has a red pattern across the top, steam wafting from the edges.

Pizza.

She brought him a pizza. I’d bet a thousand bucks that she doesn’t even like pizza. This is her, taking matters into her own hands.

A little competition got her over that shy streak she talked about in her office, apparently. She’s no longer hesitating to make a move.

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