Holiday Bridal Wave - Gwyn McNamee Page 0,30

to perch directly on my boob.

Archie tries to hold in his laugh, but he fails miserably.

I uncross my arms, and the partridge returns to its normal resting place, but my irritation hasn’t budged. “I can get a date, you know.”

His eyes widen, and he holds up his hands. “I never said that you couldn’t. I’m just not comfortable with you being on a date with someone you don’t know.”

What? Hypocrite much? Why would he be worried? More importantly, why would he care?

“I’ll be okay. We have a mutual friend who set this up.” My comment comes off a little bit more defensive than I intend. After all, he’s just concerned with my well-being, right?

But the mutual friend happens to be Matthew’s mother, who also happens to be my neighbor. After months of her pestering me to meet her son, I finally relented—partially to get her to stop, and partially because it’s been so long since I’ve been on a date, I was starting to feel like a nun.

Archie doesn’t need to know any of that, though. It makes me seem desperate or pathetic or both.

I thought the party tonight would be the perfect date. If things don’t work out, at least we aren’t trapped awkwardly, alone together at a restaurant.

Archie drops his hands and shrugs. “I just want you to be safe. Dating is hard these days. But at least you get to date, right?”

I bite back the words that hang on the tip of my tongue.

You can date. You do have a choice. You’re choosing the wrong path.

How can he not see that?

He could walk away from all of this. He has a great education and work experience. Connections. People start from scratch every day and break away from overbearing families and their expectations.

But I hold those thoughts back because, at the end of the day, Archie is my boss. He’s not my friend or anything else, no matter what I may daydream about. His love life, or lack thereof, isn’t my business. Not really. Sure, I’ve been helping him with Operation Find a Wife, but now that he may have potentially identified her and I have the wedding plans well in-hand, my part in his quest has ended.

Eager to get the attention off me and my flop of a personal life, I turn it on him. “Speaking of dates, did your second date with Jessica go well last weekend?”

Even though I ditched out on work early last Friday so I wouldn’t have to hear about what I presumed was a wonderful lunch date with Jessica, the office was positively buzzing this entire week about the fact that they went out again last weekend.

Two dates mean something considering how the others went.

I’ve tactfully avoided bringing it up all week, but the curiosity is starting to eat away at me, plus anything to get the focus off me is welcome.

His hand scrubs at the back of his neck. “It was good. I, uh, I think that she is the one.”

My chest tightens, and the air escapes my lungs. He’s done it, then. He’s found her.

Why does that make me want to curl into a ball and cry?

“Really? That’s great!” I hope my fake smile makes up for the waver in my voice.

I shouldn’t care. I know it’s silly, but deep down, a part of me wanted to believe Brandy. That maybe the snow globe could have been more than a kind gesture from an apologetic boss.

“Yeah. I think I will propose, to ah, Jessica, this weekend. Let’s hope she says yes.” His brow furrows in what I can only describe as confusion before he continues. “Thank you for your help, Blaire. I honestly couldn’t have done this so swiftly without you.”

“That’s great.” It’s not. “I’m so happy to hear that it worked out.” No, I’m not.

Strangely, the hurt doesn’t dissipate.

Why?

It’s not like I had a snowball’s chance in hell of us becoming anything at all.

So why does this feel like I somehow lost?

He seems to pick up on my mood swing as he slowly turns toward his office, keeping an eye on me, like his psycho Christmas-sweater-wearing assistant may attack him with a snow globe at any moment. “Well, um, thanks again.”

“Yep.”

He hurries into his office.

Thank God.

Hearing those words…that she is The Chosen One, bothers me more than it should. And having Archie hovering around my desk while I prepare for my date is about as awkward as it can get.

Archimedes

“Blaire, would you get the Ferguson file from legal for