Page 103 of Matchmaking On The Menu

“To make art,” he continues, quieter now, “you have to live. And you are. So write that.”

I huff out another small laugh, shaking my head. “What I just lived through was the weirdest sitcom episode to ever exist.”

His mouth curves. “Okay.”

I raise a brow. “Okay?”

“Then write that.”

I blink at him. Because that’s actually not a bad idea.

LOCAL WOMAN CONSIDERS TURNING CHAOTIC LOVE LIFE INTO CONTENT. PUBLIC UNPREPARED.

I look down at my phone again, the closed application still staring back at me, and for the first time since I saw it, it doesn’t feel quite as final.

Maybe I missed that door. But maybe… there are others. Or maybe I just build my own.

I glance back at him. He’s still watching me like he already knows where this is going.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I mutter.

“Like what?”

“Like you just fixed my entire life in five minutes.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh. “Did I?”

“Debatable.”

His hand finds mine, squeezing lightly. “You’ll figure it out.”

For once, I think I might. And that’s new.

As I stare back at the screen, the weight of disappointment starts to lift, replaced by a flicker of determination. There’s something invigorating about the idea of taking control, of not waiting for permission to pursue my dreams. I need to embrace the chaos, mold it into something beautiful, something that reflects who I am.

“Okay,” I say, a newfound energy coursing through me. “I’m going to write. Right now.”

His brow raises in surprise, but there’s also encouragement in his gaze. “That’s the spirit.”

I need to get my laptop from my car. I throw on his shirt, which smells exactly like he did as he was hovering over my body, and look back to the bed. Maybe I should write later… after…

Wait, no, I’m doing it again. Stalling.

When I get back, Teddy has made a space for me at the dining room table.

“Coffee?” he asks from the kitchen.

“Please.” The word comes out like I’m begging.

Teddy laughs. “Okay, you write, I’ll make us coffee and something to eat. Something you’ll only need one hand for.”

My heart races with excitement and nerves. I can feel the adrenaline pumping through me like a shot of espresso, electrifying every nerve ending. I open a blank document, the cursor blinking expectantly, as if it’s just as eager for me to begin.

“So, you’re going to write about this?” he asks, as he takes the eggs out of the fridge, humor sparkling in his eyes.

I pause, considering. “No. Yes. Maybe. Maybe everything. This moment, how I feel, what just happened… and all the chaos that led me here.”

“Sounds perfect,” he says, his gaze holding mine as his voice lowers.