She had given notice to the landlord. But instead of feeling relieved, Krissy felt oddly deflated as it hit her she would never come to this office again.
Match Made in Heaven was no more. Her aunt’s life mission—to bring lasting happiness through the discovery of love—was no more.
Krissy slipped into the small washroom. Hanging on the back of the door was the perfect little black dress.
She shucked her dusty work clothes and slid the dress over her head, and added a hint of makeup, and finally a simple pair of black pumps and a strand of pearls.
She could feel her eyes misting with tears as she snapped on the pearls her aunt had also given her. She remembered the particular excursion where she had gotten this dress. When Krissy had put it on, they had both known it was special, a kind of a once-in-a-lifetime dress that was so “go anywhere” flattering and so feminine—and breathtakingly expensive.
Aunt Jane, who loved shopping, and loved clothes, had insisted on buying it. She had bought the strand of pearls the same day.
No more Match Made in Heaven, no more shopping with her aunt. So many endings. Krissy burst into tears just as a knock came at the back door. Her eyes flew to her watch. She hadn’t even done anything with her hair, yet. Not that it mattered. Her makeup was now a mess.
She dabbed at her eyes, and the piece of tissue came away black. The knock came again.
Obviously, everything had changed. She went and opened the back door a crack.
“I came to the back,” Jonas said. “I didn’t want to set off the alarm.”
“I think we should postpone,” she said. “I’m not feeling up to it.
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t go. I’m sorry. I just—”
He gently shoved the door open and came inside. He gazed down at her. “Krissy?”
“It’s over,” she wailed. “Match Made in Heaven. Shopping with my aunt.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Aunt Jane bought me this dress. I said it was silly. I taught kindergarten. I needed wash-and-wear. I need comfortable, durable clothes that can go in the laundry. I might have even mentioned the forbidden polyester word.
“When I tried on this dress, she told me I looked like Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. She said it didn’t matter if I taught kindergarten. I needed to know what the perfect dress felt like.”
He took her shoulders and looked at her gravely. “You do,” he said. “You look like Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”
“You probably don’t even know who Audrey Hepburn is,” she sniffed.
“My mom was a huge fan.”
“We just loved each other so much,” Krissy said. “I didn’t like shopping, but with her, I just basked in her enjoyment of it. Anyway, now I’m a mess. I can’t wear this dress without feeling heartbroken, so our date is off.”
“Okay,” he said soothingly.
“Besides, I look like a raccoon.”
“I’ll call the restaurant and cancel our reservation.”
“I do look like a raccoon, don’t I?”
Jonas stepped in close to her. He took his thumb and gently wiped mascara from beneath her eye. It was a useless effort, because the tears began to slide again.
He sighed, and his arms wrapped around her. His scent, so rich, so masculine, somehow so familiar, wrapped around her. It felt like a homecoming.
But that’s what she had to remember. Home was the biggest illusion of all. The only thing she’d ever had that was even close to it was the love of her aunt, and now that was gone, too.
Krissy pushed away from him reluctantly. “You should cancel that reservation.”
He nodded and took his phone from his pocket. He scrolled through and touched a button. She could hear the phone ringing on the other end.
“Why don’t we get takeout?” he said. “We’ll take it to the park. Oh, hi. I had a reservation. I have to—”
He looked at her. He smiled, that kind of hopeful smile that he had used when he wanted ice cream.
Note to self: Jonas Boyden, pretty much irresistible at any time, but when he gave you the charming smile? Hopeless.
She nodded.
“—change it to a takeout order. Surprise me. Dinner for two. Allergies?”
He looked over at her. She shook her head.
“No allergies. I need plates and cutlery, too. Pull out all stops,” he said. “I’m trying to impress a girl who looks exactly like Audrey Hepburn.” He paused. “That’s no object.”
He disconnected and looked at the phone, pleased. “There’s an item off my list already.”
“List?”
“The get-to-know-each-other list? Allergies. None.”
“Well, penicillin, but they hardly ever add that to food.”
Despite her deliberate effort to keep her tone light, his mentioning the list was a reminder what this was really about. Getting to know each other for fake mate purposes. She hadn’t expected it to be so much like a doctor’s appointment. She had thought it might be more personal.
“I’ll just go change,” she said. It wasn’t 100 percent social. She should have remembered that when she put on this dress in the first place. It was like a job interview, only in reverse, since she already had the job.
This was a dress a woman wore when she wanted to get to know someone in a different way. A way that had nothing to do with allergies!
“Don’t you dare.”
She was going to tell him it was no more practical to wear this dress on a picnic than it would be to teach kindergarten.
But somehow the words never came out of her mouth. It wasn’t just the look on his face, either, though his look made it clear this wasn’t 100 percent like an interview for him, either, even if that was what he wanted it to be.
It was as if her aunt was giving her yet another gift: not just the dress, but an ability to be open
