Page 92 of Matchmaking On The Menu

He winces. “I hate that phrase.”

“Well, I love it. It’s accurate.” I gesture vaguely at my phone. “You’re on billboards and in galleries, Teddy. I can barely keep leftovers alive in my fridge.”

He huffs out a breath. “That’s exactly the problem.”

Just like that, the shine shifts, and I see it. The doubt. A weird, unexpected feeling settles in my chest. And I think I get it. He’s as famous as fame can get him and yet he is just as lost as I am.

“You know how I feel,” he says. “You feel it too.”

My chest swells because he sees me. Somehow, he sees me more clearly than people who’ve known me my entire life. I stare down at the ground, watching my boot scuff loose gravel.

“I always thought I’d be a journalist.”

The words come out softer than I mean them to.

He’s quiet for a beat. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I shrug, suddenly hyper-aware of how vulnerable that sounds out loud. “My brain just works that way. Everything turns into a story. Every little detail turns into an angle.” I glance up at him. “Even when I don’t want it to.”

“That’s where the headlines come from.”

“Exactly.” I huff out a laugh. “Which is great when you’re writing. Less great when you’re lying awake at two in the morning mentally narrating your own breakdown.”

His mouth twitches. “What made you want to do it?”

The question catches me a little off guard. Nobody’s ever asked it like it matters. I look out through the trees, trying to find the right words.

“I think…” I exhale slowly. “I liked that stories made people feel seen. Like maybe the world’s a little less lonely when somebody notices things.”

His expression changes slightly at that.

“And I liked chasing something,” I admit. “Meeting people, learning things, feeling like my life was moving somewhere instead of…” I gesture vaguely behind me. “Looping.”

“What changed?”

“There it is,” I say quietly.

“The question?”

I nod and look down at the trail for a second. “A few weeks ago, my grandmother offered me the diner.”

He doesn’t interrupt.

“I think that’s when everything got complicated. Before that, journalism was this thing I wanted. A dream I could always get around to later. Now, suddenly there’s an actual choice in front of me.”

“You don’t sound very excited about it.”

“I am excited about it.” I huff out a laugh. “That’s the problem. I love the diner. I love my family. I love this town, most days. But now, whenever I think about journalism, I feel guilty. And every time I think about staying, I wonder if I’m giving up on something I wanted for a long time.”

The gravel crunches beneath our boots as we continue up the trail.

“I’m scared I’ll make the wrong choice,” I admit. “Or worse, that I won’t make a choice at all. That I’ll just keep putting it off until one day I wake up and realize the decision got made without me.”

For a moment, neither of us says anything, then Teddy lets out a quiet breath.

“Yeah,” he says. “I know exactly what that feels like.”

“Really?”