My hands fall away from my face, and I take in Cynthia's knowing look, almost scowling at her as I say, “Are you some sort of demonic psychic?”
Cynthia laughs and begins to make her way back to her desk.
“I'm just someone who's lived in this moment, who's swarm in the feelings you currently do.”
When she straps her bag on her arm, she turns to me and gives me a little fond smile.
“From the things you have said about this faceless fuck buddy of yours, I can assure you he's nothing like the jerk I dated. Maybe he's having a hard time coming to terms with whatever he's feeling for you. Give him time, alright?”
I shake my head at her.
“Remind me to write you a glowing recommendation when you want to take up therapy professionally.”
My statement tears a laugh out of Cynthia, which was exactly what I wanted and I use the opportunity to push the conversation toward lighter grounds.
“Leaving now?”
“Yes,” she answers, that giddy smile lighting up her features. “It's this guy my mom introduced me to. You'd think our parents are old-fashioned and have zero knowledge about the kind of men who do it for us.”
“You mean, your mom played matchmaker, and it clicked?”
Cynthia nods, positively beaming.
“He's such a great guy, Beth. I really wanna have his kids.”
That at least tears a laugh out of me, the first one this week.
“Good, let that beautiful smile stay on,” Cynthia says as she makes her way toward the door.
“Thank you, Cynthia,” I tell her genuinely.
“What are work colleagues for?” she chirps, smirking when I throw my pen cap at her, which lands miserably at her feet, target untouched.
“Are you still gonna run the playground version of All4One like we discussed earlier today?”
I nod at her because it's pretty much what I'm currently setting up to do. All4One is on its last tweaking days, about to be launched anytime now. Everything turned out well, and I am not even biased when I say the dating app has the smoothest interface I'd ever seen. Mitch has put a lot of work into it, hired the best, and ensured no glitch or porthole could make users on the app feel unsafe or experience any sort of negative feelings. I have to hand it to him, albeit begrudgingly so, Mitch knows what the hell he is doing.
When Cynthia wags two fingers at me and walks through the door, I get to work, running the database of all the staff through the app as well as those of their friends and family who'd happily volunteered for the test run. And as I watch the number continue to run, an insane thought crosses my mind, a thought I cannot shake until I am running my data through the app, setting up my profile, and beginning a matching search.
As I wait for a match, my heart thuds at the possibility that it could be anyone. If it turns out to be the janitor who'd eagerly submitted his profile first, I’m going to pee my pants while having a really good laugh. But the laughter that had half bubbled in my throat dies when ten minutes later, Mitch's profile matches with mine with a definite ping that causes something in my stomach to drop.
Oh, God... Mitch and I, are we that similar?
As far as I can tell, we are both different worlds apart. It was obvious in the way his brothers talked about me and the way they'd gazed at me as if I were some sort of adorable toy to be played with and then discarded. I desperately want to believe that Mitch is nothing like them, but seeing as he's actively avoided me since that night, I don't know what to think anymore. And I'll be damned if I allow him to see how much his inaction hurt that night.
Deciding that this match is never going to be known by another, I shut off the system and begin to pack up for the night, ignoring the nagging voice in my head that maybe just maybe, Mitch and I are meant to reach for the stars together.
CHAPTER16
MITCHELL
The slap of feet against the pavement feels great and so does the music that filters in through the speakers of my earphones. But when I look up and find Mrs. Potter across the lawn, a hose in one hand, the other lifted in a wave, I pause to wave back. As she motions me over, I push the earphones out and move towards the picket fence that separates their land from mine.
“Mitch!” she greets enthusiastically. “We haven't been having a lot of run-ins with you lately. How are you settling in?”
“I'm settling in just fine, Mrs. Potter.”
“Oh no,” she says with a careless flick of her hand. “Enough of those formalities, call me Jenny.”