The Matchmaker: Omega Dating Agency Prequel

Chapter 4 - Leo

Chapter 4 – Leo

It seemed strange and fitting all at once that I would end up asking an older man on a coffee date so soon after I'd debated getting together with Dexter. Did I have a type I wasn't aware of? Regardless of the reason, there was something about Malcolm Carlyle that attracted me, and I was determined to find out what it was.

In the days after meeting him in the street, I'd spent a lot of spare time trying to figure out what that something was, because it wouldn't be fair to him to go into this blindly. At some point, he was definitely going to ask why I was interested in him, and I wanted to have at least some semblance of an answer. He struck me as the kind of guy who could have his feelings hurt very easily, while at the same time pretending everything was okay.

He was definitely handsome. Underneath his muscles and clean-living exterior, Dexter had a sort of frailty about him, but Malcolm's mature good looks gave him a solidity that was alluring. He was muscular, but not unpleasant or hard, like some guys could be, and he didn't seem to be obsessed with showing it off. The loose t-shirt and jeans he'd worn when I'd first seen him were comfortable, not vain.

His hair was dark, and he seemed to wear it styled up and wavy, intentionally messy. The gray at his temples and in his beard was dark, streaked here and there with silver. A strong nose, strong jaw, sculpted cheekbones and trimmed, tidy eyebrows—so many guys neglected their eyebrows, it was ridiculous.

What was not to like about all that?

Aside from his looks, I couldn't figure much out, but I wanted to try, because I didn't want to seem completely shallow. The way he acted when I talked to him, it was like he wasn't quite sure how to behave. His bumbling and stuttering were endearing, yet I also felt like there was more to him under the surface, that I would only find if I spent more time with him.

What if I'd made him uncomfortable? Had I been too forward? Or was it my age that was throwing him off?

On Wednesday, I sent Malcolm a text to ask about coffee. After a few exchanges, we worked out that Friday or the weekend would work best. I was too eager to wait any longer than I had to, so I suggested Friday.

Before long, we had our date and time set. Coffee, in a neutral and public setting, to chat and play some games. I didn't mention that I was planning on luring him out for a bite to eat afterward. If he'd already had dinner, maybe ice cream...

I couldn't pretend otherwise. I was excited. Okay, and nervous.

But maybe they were good nerves.

At six, I headed out to Screamin' Beans, and was just passing over the threshold when my phone buzzed twice in my pocket, the pattern I'd assigned to Malcolm's number. I grabbed for the phone and yanked it out, not knowing what to expect, but hoping that it was something positive. An expression of excitement, or even a simple, "I'm on my way."

Even telling me he'd be a little late would be okay, as long as he came.

My hopes shattered as I read his text. He said he couldn't come because he was working overtime, and that he was sorry for the inconvenience.

I stared at the words on the screen, a storm of emotion brewing inside me. I could read just fine, but this still didn't make any sense. Overtime? He'd told me he was a programmer. Why would a programmer work overtime? Was he being forced to?

But if he got off at five, usually, why had he waited a whole hour to tell me? Swamped with work, or something else?

I dragged myself over to the same window table I'd been working at the last time I was here and collapsed into the chair. Even though there were other customers at the tables around me, I couldn't hear what they were doing or saying over the pounding of my heart.