The Matchmakers by Jennifer Colgan

temple. `I’m very quiet
most of the time. You won’t even know I’m there. And for breakfast I can make
garlic crepes. I learned how last night.´ `I like my eggs scrambled, hold the
garlic, thanks, but that’s beside the point. Here we are.´ The glowing neon
sign for the Minuteman Motel had a short in the L, which caused it to blink in
time to the hot pink letters of the word VACANCY. Callie’s spirits plummeted,
and she berated herself for thinking she’d gotten through to Nick so easily. `It’s
not a bad place. The rooms are cheap and fairly clean. I stayed here a couple
nights when I first got into town.´ He kept his gaze on the dashboard as though
he couldn’t even bear to look at her. She opened the passenger door and climbed
out, holding her head high. `Thanks for the ride.´ `Do you have some cash?´ He
looked embarrassed by the question, and Callie was glad of it. `I’m a Fae,
Nick. We’re all independently wealthy.´ He obviously didn’t believe that. She
shut the passenger door as he shifted in his seat and dug his wallet out of the
back of his jeans. `Come on. I’ll pay for your room. This place really isn’t
all that bad.´ `Who are you trying to convince?´ He ignored her pointed
question and held out some rumpled twenties. She glared at the bills but didn’t
take them. `I don’t need money, Nick.´ `Look, why don’t I come by tomorrow and
we’ll talk about this some more. We can come up with a better plan for«you
know, this matchmaking thing. No more flat tires, okay?´ `Sure.´ `Okay.´ He
dropped the bills on the passenger seat and tried to catch her eye, but she
wouldn’t meet his gaze. `How’s nine? I’ll buy breakfast.´ `Fine.Śhe turned
away from the truck and started toward the brightly lit motel office where a
balding man stood sipping from a can of root beer. `I’ll see you then,´ Nick
called. `Fine.´ `Good night.´ `Good night, Nick.´ Nick hated himself for not
waiting while Callie went into the motel office. He hated himself for not hanging
around and making sure she got a decent room. He despised himself for pulling
back into the motel parking lot after three fruitless trips around the block while
he called himself vile names and questioned his intelligence. He swore as the
truck careened into the first parking space, barely missing the neon yellow
buffer pole that protected the brick wall of the office from fender scrapes. The
engine sputtered and the flywheel screeched a little as he yanked the keys out
of the ignition. Inside the office, the night manager, Carl Rogers, looked up
from his chilidog and root beer dinner as Nick vaulted out of the truck. Carl
shoved his horn-rimmed glasses higher on his long nose and pushed his
half-finished dinner aside as Nick swung the office door open. `Hey, Nick.´ `Hey,
Carl.´ Nick wasn’t sure what to say next. Should he ask for Callie’s room
number? Demand it? Get back in the truck and go home? Second guessing himself
had never been one of his hobbies. From the day he’d packed his bags and walked
down the winding, oak-lined driveway of his father’s house in Lafayette, he’d
never questioned his own decisions. If he couldn’t please the old man with his
plans and dreams, he’d just please himself. He’d run on autopilot for the past
decade, letting the wind guide him wherever it wanted him to go, answering to
no higher authority than his own whims. Sure, he had regrets now and then. He’d
often wished he’d left Tijuana sooner rather than later, and he still
daydreamed about the red Mercedes coupe he could’ve picked up for a song at
that dealership in Tuskegee. If it hadn’t been for the bullet holes in the
driver’s side door, that car would’ve been his baby. He might have called his
mother more, but her questions were always the same. When are you coming   back
home to start a real life? When are you going to settle down? Live and
learn. Nick had lived, and he thought by now he’d have learned to trust