Sandcastle Beach (Matchmaker Bay #3) - Jenny Holiday Page 0,28

to the TV and started feeling around for actual, physical buttons. TVs still had those, right?

She kept knocking.

“Hold your horses!” His fingers slid over a patch of the casing that was differently textured from the rest, and he pressed frantically, like he was trying to defuse a bomb.

Success! He raised his arms like he was some kind of tent preacher at a revival. But then he got control of himself and went to answer the door.

She handed him a bottle of sparkling water. “This is a fake hospitality gesture since I sort of sprang this on you. I hope you have some of my Riesling.”

He did. “Her” Riesling was a limited edition from a Niagara winery. He’d had it on the menu at the bar briefly three years ago. When Maya had gone bananas over it, he’d pulled it from the list and served it only to her because he only had a case of it left. He’d gone on to order as much more as was out there, and the next year the vineyard had produced a remarkably similar vintage, but a smaller one. He would eventually run out, so he was rationing it.

He waved away the “fake hospitality” water and turned for the kitchen, where he pulled the wine from the fridge. As he poured, he studied her face. She still looked…not sparkly. He kind of wanted to know what was wrong, but the thing about truces was that they didn’t involve talking. There might be some logistical discussion regarding the menus in the app. But that was it. After that, they watched in silence. It was an interesting contrast to their usual, public mode of constant bickering. All in all, they probably spoke less than a hundred words to each other during truces. Maya might talk to the TV, of course, to her beloved Crystal Palace, but to him? No.

He carried a couple glasses of wine over to the coffee table, realizing that when he turned the TV on, Much Ado about Nothing would still be on. “Do me a favor and grab me a glass of that sparkling water while I futz with this? My Apple TV has been acting up.”

Miraculously, she got up and went to the kitchen. He found the remote and did some speedy ninja moves to dispose of the Much Ado about Nothing evidence.

By the time she was back—she’d gotten the water, but she set the glass down on the coffee table with a much louder thump than was necessary, as if it pained her to wait on him—he had their menu up. “We can watch old matches or highlights reels.” He scrolled back. “What’s your pleasure?”

“Whatever,” she said in a monotone. “You pick.”

This was the part where if they were friends—or if he were the bartender and she were a generic customer—he would ask what was wrong. But neither of those things was the case, so he selected a match. “Versus Man United last March. That was a good one.” Manchester United was one of the only Premier League clubs he’d heard of before Maya and her Crystal Palace obsession came into his life. They’d been favored in this match, but in the end Crystal Palace had eked out a win. Maybe revisiting it would help with whatever stick Maya had up her butt. “Okay?”

“Sure,” she said with that same unnerving flatness.

He cued it up and sat next to her on the sofa, but as always, he left a couple feet between them.

She heaved a huge sigh as it started, which wasn’t unusual, but normally it would be a happier sigh. Like she’d had a long day, was unwinding from a show, and was settling in to watch her team. This was more resigned sounding. Defeated, even? And here he’d begun to think, by the end of last season, that she considered his apartment a haven of sorts. Clearly he was delusional.

She was jumpy, too, which also wasn’t normal. It wasn’t that she couldn’t be excitable. God help you if Maya had an idea and you stood in the path of it. The woman had willed her theater company into being. But excitable wasn’t the same as jumpy. Normally she had good control of herself—he supposed that was the acting training—which was why it was so satisfying to watch her lose it when she got mad at him. He had seen her leading the theater camp kids she taught in the summer in meditation outside on the town green, and he