Page 128 of Matchmaking On The Menu

Deeply.

The room erupts behind us. Shelly actually screams. When I finally pull back, Dannica’s staring up at me, slightly breathless.

“What was that for?”

I smile before I can stop myself. “Do you want to be partners?”

Her brows lift. “We already are. We run a newspaper.”

A laugh slips out of me.

“No,” I say softly, brushing my thumb against her hip. “I mean really. Just us, no one else. Exclusive.”

Understanding flickers across her face so quickly it almost knocks the air out of me.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

Her smile breaks slowly, beautifully. “What about LA?”

“I just told Rick I was done.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“What about your contracts?”

I chuckle. “I’m trying to have a moment here.”

“Oh, right. Right. Yes,” she eventually says. “Obviously yes.”

I kiss her again before she can say anything else, and this time the cheering is even louder.

“Finally,” Quadri mutters from somewhere behind us.

And honestly?

Yeah.

Finally.

26

DANNICA

LOCAL WOMAN ACCIDENTALLY ACHIEVES DREAM

I stack the papers carefully in my arms, as if they might somehow know this is important and decide to behave accordingly. The corners are already threatening to bend, and the top copy keeps slipping, reminding me that I am, in fact, not in control of everything, which feels on theme for today. The town library comes into view, and my pulse kicks up a notch—not because I don’t know what I’m doing, but because I do, and that makes this worse somehow. This is real. This isn’t a draft or a maybe or a one-day thing. This is happening right now.

I push through the doors, nod at the librarian, who already knows exactly what I’m carrying, and make my way to the newspaper bin that hasn’t held an actual newspaper in over a decade. That thought hits me again as I start stacking them neatly, every edge aligned, front page visible, my grandmother’s face looking back at me with that steady, unshakable presence that somehow feels even stronger in print.

My throat constricts, but I push through it, adjusting the last stack like that somehow matters more than the fact that I’m standing here, putting my words out into the world for people to pick up, to read, to judge, to love, to ignore, or whatever they’re going to do with them.

I’ve barely stepped back before one of the librarians takes the first copy, moving quickly but carefully, like she doesn’t want to seem too eager, even though she absolutely is. Then another copy goes. Then a third, this time from a man who pretends to be looking at something else before casually grabbing a copy like it just happened to be there and he just happened to need it.

I swallow hard, my fingers curling slightly at my sides like I don’t quite know what to do with myself now that the thing is out there and no longer mine to control. More people drift closer, early morning regulars, and I suddenly feel like I’m standing in the middle of something I shouldn’t be watching too closely, like if I stay I’ll somehow ruin it.