Page 59 of Matchmaking On The Menu

Luke whistles. “Yeah… town’s been talking about that.”

Naturally.

“I think they’d work,” I say. “She just needs a push.”

“You don’t even know who he is. How do you know they’d work?”

He chooses today to be perceptive. Inconvenient.

“Woman’s intuition,” I say.

He watches me, still weighing it. “Shouldn’t Dannica be the one looking for him?”

Also inconvenient.

“Tell me where Beverly’s mystery hero helped her out,” I say, “and I’ll personally deliver your coffee for the next week. No queue. No Ashley trying to convince you to invent another denture detector.”

That’s got him. I see it immediately.

He exhales. “She said he was on foot, so probably local. Said it was out past Miller’s farm.” He gestures vaguely. “There’s a turnoff. Leads to a small apartment complex, kind of tucked away. She figured he lived there. Mentioned Peyton should head out there for her walks.”

Apartment complex. Could be it.

“Quiet?” I ask.

“Very.”

Good. That’s enough.

“Your caramel latte will be delivered to your door tomorrow,” I say.

He scratches the back of his neck, looking like he’s not entirely sure how he got pulled into this.

Understandable. I’m not entirely sure either.

The turnoff is easy to miss—a gravel road, narrow enough to pass if you weren’t looking for it. The farther in I go, the quieter it gets, the main road fading behind me until there’s nothing left but the low hum of the engine and gravel under the tires.

Then it opens to an apartment building. I slow down, scanning the parking spaces.

Empty. All of them.

Inconvenient. I was hoping for a rental car, something unfamiliar. There’s nothing for it. I pull over to the edge of the road and settle in. It’s not inconspicuous, but if someone questions me, I’ll invent something about waiting for a landlord.

Minutes pass. Then more. Then hours.

The front door doesn’t open. No footsteps. No sign that anyone is here at all. The silence stretches, heavy and unbroken.

Ugh. How do cops manage stakeouts?

I could watch some behind-the-scenes footage of Supernatural. Nothing like a Jensen Ackles fix to keep the boredom at bay.

Battery low.

Goddamn it. I don’t have my car charger because Shelly borrowed it yesterday and didn’t return it. Typical. I should know better than to rely on her for anything that involves follow-through. I’m going to strangle her with the cord.

I lock my phone. No unnecessary risks.

Nothing happens in this town—except when it does. Somehow, I’m always there for that part, but not today. I scan the building one more time, then start the car.