the hell the point was; yet I was compelled to at least walk past.
Unfortunately, even though I’d slowed to a snail’s pace a building before the restaurant, when I walked past Eve’s bistro, the only thing I’d accomplished was taking twelve more steps. No one happened to be coming in or out, and Eve was nowhere in sight. Deflated—though, not sure what I’d expected to happen—I kept walking. But by the time I made it to the corner, my mind had started to reel.
It’s Friday night. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for Val to have dinner at her friend’s restaurant.
She might be inside.
Maybe I could just look in the window and see.
Yeah, I’ll just go back and take one quick look.
Turning around, I started back toward the restaurant.
Fuck. What am I doing?
What if Val’s in there with a date?
What if they walk out the door laughing and smiling just as I pass by?
I think I’m losing it.
I grumbled to myself, yet slowed as I arrived back at the restaurant door. When I was almost all the way to the other end of the long windows, I attempted to look casual. Stopping, I took out my phone and played with it. My back was to the window, so I turned around to look inside. Only there was too much glare, and all I could see was a reflection of myself. I let out a sigh of frustration, shoved my phone in my pocket, and turned to walk away once again.
But I only made it three steps.
“Fuck this,” I groaned. I had to know. Backing up to the window once again, I cupped my hands to peer inside, my nose pressed to the glass. I could see inside now, but there wasn’t too much going on. A few tables were filled, but the restaurant was half empty—which I suppose made sense, since it was getting pretty late. I surveyed the room, scanning each table. At one point, I saw a flash of dark, curly hair, and for half a second I got excited…though, it turned out not to be her.
My shoulders slumped. I’d been looking into the room and not directly in front of me, so a knock on the glass startled me. I finally looked at the couple sitting literally right on the other side of where my face was pressed. The guy held up his hands in the universal what the fuck are you doing gesture. Shit.
I waved an apology and took off.
Perfect. Now I’m not just watching her Match account, Instagram, and Facebook. I’m turning into a full-fledged stalker. I needed to go the hell home.
***
At least one relationship from Match.com had worked out.
A few weeks later, I sat in the conference room with my marketing team going through the first two months of results from our advertising campaign. It turned out to be the best bang for our buck we’d ever had—more successful than billboards, newspaper ads, and advertising in commercial real estate mags.
The marketing team had come up with a few new advertisements to run—four video ads—each one targeting a different demographic. So far, we’d only used static graphics. Each twenty-second video featured a different couple who’d met on Match.com and also used shared office space. Apparently, people ate up those short vignettes where the happy couple tells their bullshit love story, so the click rates are through the roof.
Though today, I fucking hated them. Screw these happy people when I have to be miserable.
The spots were shot in our offices, and the couples mentioned why they loved using our shared workspace. They seemed more like Match.com success stories than advertising, but I guessed that was the point. I was able to stomach two, anxious to be done with the happy couples projected onto the whiteboard.
The third couple came on the screen, and a woman who was probably in her mid-thirties said, “My parents are divorced. I’m divorced. Ron was the first person I met on Match.com.”
Ron piped in, smiling at her. “We hit it off, but she didn’t want a relationship.”
The camera zoomed down to the man’s knee, where the woman laid her hand. “I went out with a bunch of men because it felt like I was supposed to.” She shrugged. “But I just kept thinking about Ron.”
The dude laughed. “She was in denial, but I knew right away.”
The camera moved in close to their faces, and they looked into each other’s eyes. Then it zoomed down to her belly—her pregnant belly—and her