I looked up, surprised that it was Tori, instead of her receptionist who was greeting me in such a formal way, but I guess we weren’t exactly friends— or friendly, really. I hoped to change that, but Des had made it very clear that Tori was doing this as a favor. It wasn’t shocking that I wasn’t her favorite person in the world, but it had been nearly six weeks since the… uh… incident at the wedding. Surely, we could put it past us.
I’d been remembering Tori the way she was that night at the beach, in a sundress, wild hair, barefoot with her toes in the water, and the last light of the sun reflecting across her skin, moaning, unable to stay still against my fingers. That Tori had appeared unreserved, natural, and free, but that’s not the woman that stood in front of me. She wore slim black pants, a blazer, and a pristine white t-shirt with the Matched logo emblazoned across the front. Glasses with thick black rims covered her pretty eyes, and somehow, she had tamed her hair into the neatest bun in existence. And she was still fine as hell.
When I realized she had extended her hand towards me, I quickly returned the gesture, not expecting the surge of electricity the contact sent pulsing through my veins. My heart felt like it was pumping in slow motion as we finished shaking hands, and she immediately pulled hers away.
“Thank you, for your punctuality, Mr. Anderson. That’s a quality I like to encourage in my clients— potential or otherwise.”
There she was with that ‘Mr.’ crap again.
“Do we have to be so formal? Just call me Avery.”
An emotion I couldn’t pinpoint flashed in her eyes before she turned away to gesture toward her office door. “Whatever makes you most comfortable, Avery. Let’s get started, shall we?”
Front desk cutie interjected. “Actually, can I speak to you for a moment, Tori? I’m sure Avery won’t mind if I take up a few seconds of your time.” Tori and I both turned toward her and she had those dimples on full blast as she stood between us and the door.
I smiled at her, an action I immediately regretted when I saw Tori’s jaw clench as her eyes shot between us. Was that… jealousy? “Take your time, ladies,” I said, stepping past the receptionist into Tori’s picture-lined office. When the door closed behind me, I ambled over to the wall, studying the images in front of me. I assumed the smiling couples were people she had matched.
Hey, maybe she’s the real deal.
I counted at least thirty portraits, some of them from weddings, some of them featuring kids, but it was the framed pictures on her desk that caught my eye. I immediately recognized Tori and the receptionist, with an older couple I assumed to be her father and stepmother made frequent appearances. My eyes fell on one of a young Tori, maybe eight or nine years old, standing on the beach with a woman who didn’t look anything like the older one in the pictures. She looked just like the Tori I knew now. I picked it up to study closer, remembering she’d told me about her memories of her mother and the beach. I was wondering whether the house in the distance on the picture was theirs when I heard her voice behind me.
“What are you doing?”
I nearly dropped the frame, startled by her sudden appearance. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude, I …” I turned the picture around for her to see. “This one, it made me think of—”
“Yes, I know,” she interrupted. “We’ll be over here for our meeting.” She indicated a small sitting area in front of the large window that made up one wall of her office.
Nodding, I returned the picture to its place and followed her, taking a seat across from her. “Uh, Tori… before we start, I have something I probably need to say.”
She remained silent, which I took as permission to continue. “That morning, at breakfast… I lost it. I know that’s not an excuse, and I’m not trying to make it one, I want to tell you again that I’m sorry for what I said to you.”
There was a second of awkward silence before she spoke, with a distinct edge of anger lacing her response. “Again?”
“Yeah,” I said, confused. “The flowers… the note.”
She gave a derisive snort of laughter. “Oh, you mean the note that doesn’t acknowledge that we slept together?”