Neither woman spoke. Instead, they just kind of glared at each other, their mouths tight.
Finally, Phoebe huffed, flopped the flyers down on the counter with a whap and said, “I guess I’ll warn you, since Molly will strike before you know what’s coming.”
“Warn me? Strike?” He grimaced. “What in the world are you talking about, since I doubt we’re on the subject of war games here?”
“Molly’s our resident matchmaker, and she’s quite good at it.” As she spoke, Phoebe unbuttoned her coat. “If you’re not careful, she’ll have you and me talking china patterns by the end of the week.”
Cold-edged surprise bounced like a rock through Grant. He turned to Molly, his jaw tight, his brow line raised so high he doubted he had eyebrows. “Is this true?”
She wouldn’t meet his gaze and remained suspiciously silent. Just tongue-tied? Or guilty as charged?
He was confident it was the latter.
Despite the store being kept at a very temperate seventy degrees, burning warmth flared in Molly’s cheeks as she tried to look anywhere but at Grant’s accusing stare.
Uneasiness poked her. Maybe her matchmaker idea hadn’t been a good one, after all. Or maybe she should have told him about her plan, even though that wasn’t usually the way she worked.
“Yes. Yes, it is true,” Molly answered honestly. Lying had never been her style. “I’m a matchmaker on the side.”
He looked at Phoebe, seemingly for confirmation.
“She thinks I should be dating,” Phoebe said matter-of-factly, a brow quirked.
His gaze came back to Molly, then narrowed. “When were you going to clue me in?” he asked, his voice edged in steel.
She squirmed. Oh, boy. Why did she feel so…guilty? She’d had only good intentions. But maybe a man who didn’t date wouldn’t see things her way. Hindsight was always twenty-twenty.
“Soon,” she said in a placating tone. She continued on, feeling the need to explain why she hadn’t told him about her plan. “But I’ve found I can make better matches if the people I’m matching don’t know exactly what I’m doing right away.”
Grant frowned, then looked at the floor, shaking his head.
Molly’s bravado faltered. She liked his smile and direct gaze better than his obvious disconcertion. A lot better.
Phoebe stepped forward and piped in. “Actually, that’s true. She gets what she calls ‘love hunches’ and usually finds ways to get people together pretty much out of nowhere.”
“Love hunches?” Grant’s brow knitted. “Care to explain?”
At least he was interested in her romantic intuition, rather than simply scoffing and writing her talent off as ridiculous right off the bat. “Certainly. Since I moved here, I’ve discovered that I have the ability to…know who would be a good love match for whom.”
He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “How do you know this?”
“It’s hard to explain.…”
“Try,” he said levelly.
His serious tone took her aback. She nodded, wanting to salvage what she could of her pride. “My love hunches are just a…feeling I get every so often.”
He paused, seemingly to mull over what she’d said. Finally, he said, “Someone besides me can’t possibly know what I’m feeling at any given time.” He looked away, then swung his gaze back to Molly. “Don’t you tell people when you’re working away behind their backs, figuring all of this out?”
Molly swallowed. “See, the thing is, I can get a better idea of a person’s personality if they’re—”
“Clueless?” Grant said, cocking that brow again.
“Well…yes.” Sounded worse than it was. “Once someone knows I’m trying to figure them out, they clam up and act funny. The other person will only see what I see if both act naturally. Like their true selves.”
He paused again, obviously digesting what she’d said.
Molly glanced at Phoebe, grimacing speculatively as if to ask whether he was going to twirl his finger next to his temple to show how loony he thought she was.
With a lift of her slim shoulders, Phoebe grimaced back as if to say she had no earthly idea what he was going to do.
Molly held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t dismiss her as a kook.
She didn’t want him to think badly of her; she needed his help with her computer problem. Yes. Exactly. Alienating him now would be a mistake.
Finally, he spoke. “Was my aunt in on this?”
“Kind of,” Molly replied. “She asked me to be sure you got out some while you were here. To me, that means fixing you up.” True enough. “And really, most young, unattached guys would jump at the chance to meet nice, eligible women.”
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