1. Sterling

As I scanthe spreadsheet on my computer screen, the numbers start to blur together—a mind-numbing mixture of costs and projections.

I glance up from the monitor as Sullivan lays the blueprint for his new haunted ride on my desk. I squint down at the plans, realizing my youngest brother outdid himself with this one.

My eyes are drawn repeatedly to a sketch of an ominous clock tower that Sullivan insists will be the centerpiece, its face frozen just minutes before midnight.

"Think of it," Sullivan says, leaning back in his chair with that gleam in his eye, the one that always says he's on the brink of another wild idea. "At the stroke of midnight, everything changes. The ride, the scenery, the scares all turn completely normal for a few seconds, and then we lower the boom and scare the shit out of them."

It's ambitious, and I can't help but be caught up in his enthusiasm, nodding along as I imagine our guests' thrilled faces.

Sullivan pulls out his laptop to make a note of his ideas.

We both look up when the door swings open and Adam, my assistant, stops in the doorway with his cellphone in hand and a question already on his lips.

"Hey, Sullivan, want to meet us at the Midnight Brew tonight to watch the playoffs?" Adam strides in with that contagious grin of his, mischief flashing through his eyes. Fucking hell. I forgot about the stupid wager I made.

Sullivan glances back and forth between us. "I'm not sure I have the time."

Adam leans against the doorframe, folding his arms with dramatic

flair, and I roll my eyes as he goes in for the kill. "Well," he says, drawing

out the suspense, "I made a bet with Sterling. If the Knicks lose tonight, he has to let me set him up on a blind date."

I still can't fucking believe I lost my mind and agreed to this stupid goddamn bet.

"Really now?" Sullivan chuckles, closing his laptop with a snap

before turning to look at me with a raised eyebrow. "You really agreed to this wager?"

"I'm claiming temporary insanity." What can I say? We've been working around the clock trying to make sure Sullivan's new ride is ready for the early September Midnight Scares Grand Opening, and I let my guard down. "He caught me in a moment of weakness."

Adam's grin widens as he practically vibrates with excitement. Today, he's wearing gray trousers and a bright pink button-up shirt. As usual, he's clean-shaven, and his jet-black hair is slicked back. His round, black-framed glasses finish off the millennial nerdy look he strives for.

"Hey, all's fair in love and basketball."

There's a mischievous glint in his eyes that I know all too well. Adam, pain-in-the-ass that he is, has apparently decided to play matchmaker, and nothing will dissuade him once he gets an idea in his head.

I rub the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache brewing but also a ripple of intrigue. A blind date couldn't be that disastrous, could it? Plus, what are the odds he'll be able to pull it off? I mean, there isn't exactly an abundance of single women in Midnight Falls, Texas, population seven hundred and forty-three.

"Don't forget, there's a fifty-fifty chance the Knicks will win,"

I remind my assistant before glancing at my brother. "Adam has to test the new Razor's Edge ride wearing a pink tutu when I win the bet."

"You do realize all the oddsmakers are predicting an ass-kicking

tonight?" Sullivan barks out a laugh, clapping his hands with delight. "And the odds aren't in the Knicks' favor?"

"Fuck me," I mutter under my breath. I should've investigated the odds before I agreed to this goddamn bet. That's the last time I ever make any decisions before I've had at least two cups of coffee.

Sullivan shakes his head, his eyes twinkling with mirth as he

gathers his things. "Well, this game just got a lot more interesting. You can count me in."

"I'm going to take one for the team and leave work a little

early to grab us the best table to watch the action," Adam insists, pushing his luck. "The game starts at seven. Don't be late," he calls over his shoulder as he slips out the door.

Once we're alone, Sullivan turns to me. "I can't believe you agreed to this."

I exhale, wanting to get back to our earlier discussion about cables and costs and haunted clock towers. "Don't remind me."

"I won't have to." Sullivan glances down at his computer. "If you lose this bet, Adam is never going to let you forget it."

At seven-fifteen,I park my truck in the Midnight Brew parking lot. Here goes nothing.

The bar is bustling with cheers and groans mingling with the thump of music and the clink of glasses. As I push through the crowd, the scent of hot wings and beer fills the air. Fucking hell. Did everyone in town show up tonight for this goddamn game?

I spot Adam waving from a corner booth where he and Sullivan have already snagged a view of the large screen broadcasting the Knicks game.

"Sterling! Over here!" Adam shouts over the din, his hands cupped around his mouth. As I weave through the tables, I catch snippets of the game commentary amidst the buzz of conversations. The game just started, and the score is tight, neck and neck, and every basket is met with a surge of collective response from the patrons.

I slide into the booth beside Sullivan, who offers a quick nod and a tense smile. "It looks like it isn't going to be the blowout we expected," he says, nodding toward the screen.

"I hope you know where to buy a pink tutu." I glance over to smirk at my assistant.

"Who says I don't already own one?" he lobbies back, and my brother snorts next to me.

"That is TMI," he tells Adam before turning to me with an evil smile. "TMI stands for too much information. I know old people like you have a hard time grasping stuff like that."

"I already fucking know what it means." My little brother needles me every chance he gets. At twenty-eight, he's ten years younger than me and loves to make sure I feel my age every day.

"Just making sure, old man. I didn't want to leave you out of the conversation." Sullivan shrugs innocently, and I rub my middle finger along the side of my head for his eyes only.

A harried waitress comes by and sets a frosty mug of beer in front of me, and I look up at her questionably. "Your friend ordered it earlier." She nods toward Adam.

"Thank you," I turn to tell her, but she's already rushing off to take orders at another table.

The game is a goddamn nail-biter, and the scores are too close for comfort. My stomach drops with every dribble and free throw the Pacers make. The stakes are high tonight, not just for the Knicks but for me as well. If the Pacers win, the Knicks' season comes to an end and I'll have to go on the first goddamn date I've had since college.

As the final quarter ticks down, the air in the bar thickens with anticipation. We"re on the edge of our seats, Sullivan sitting back smirking and Adam bouncing his knee rapidly under the table. I try to muster optimism, but every missed shot knots my stomach tighter.

As the buzzer sounds, the screen flashes the end score with the Knicks down by two. I'd say the bar's patrons are divided also, based on the evenly split cheers and groans.

Adam lets out a dramatic whoop, throwing his arms up before turning to me with a devilish grin. "Well, Sterling, looks like you"re going out on a blind date," he teases, the twinkle in his eye mischievously pleased.

Sullivan chuckles, giving me a consolatory pat on the back. "Better start practicing your charming small talk," he advises with a smirk.

I let out a resigned laugh, my anxiety about the bet mixing with a reluctant curiosity about what Adam has planned. "Alright, Adam, you win. But remember, this better be a good date. No setting me up with a disaster."

"Trust me," Adam replies with a wink. "This was too important to go in blind. I got professional help on this one."

Oh, hell no. What the fuck is he thinking? "I'm not going on a goddamn date with a hooker."

"Not that kind of professional." Adam rolls his eyes dramatically before starting to ramble. "I'm not sure if you keep up with the local gossip, but there's a new matchmaker in Silver Spoon Falls. She's very exclusive and extremely picky about her clients. In fact, she insists all her clients live in town so it's a good thing you spend most of the time at your Silver Spoon Falls penthouse. I sent her your information, and voilà, she's already found your perfect match."

"You are so fucked," Sullivan mutters under his breath. "Remind me to never wager with Adam."

I"m staringdown at the glowing cell phone screen, the directions app insisting that I"ve arrived at my destination.

I look up and scrutinize the quaint building in front of me with a large picture window glowing warmly against the dusk sky. The sign above reads "Palette and Vino," and through the glass, I can see easels and canvases neatly arranged in pairs all around the room with a small table with two glasses and a bottle of wine in between each. This is definitely not a conventional venue for a blind date.

Honestly, I expected something a bit more cliché from my assistant. Like maybe a coffee shop or an expensive restaurant. Adam did say he was setting me up on a blind date, but he left out the part about it being a paint and sip class

Taking a deep breath to quell the mixed flood of nerves and curiosity, I step forward and pull open the door. The warm scent of acrylic paint mixed with the subtle undertone of wine hits me immediately. The cozy interior is a buzz of laughter and conversation, a soothing playlist setting a relaxed vibe. A woman at a small front desk looks up and greets me with a friendly smile.

"Welcome to Palette and Vino! Are you here for the First Date Paint and Sip?" she asks, her eyes twinkling.

First Date Paint and Sip? Fuck me. "Yes, I am," I reply, offering my best attempt at sounding confident and cool when I'm really a fucking fish out of water. "Actually, it"s my first time. I'm Sterling Midnight."

"Good evening, Mr. Midnight. It's actually our first time holding this particular event," she offers, clapping her hands together. "You"re going to have a great time. Let me show you to your spot."

She leads me through the maze of canvases, each one a burst of colors and varying degrees of artistic expression. I notice that most people look like they're in the same boat as me, wondering what the unusual evening will bring.

I'm so busy checking out this strange establishment that I barely notice when the hostess stops next to two canvases. "Here you go." She smiles at me. "Your guest isn't here yet. Hopefully, she won't be too long."

I sit on one of the stools and busy myself checking out the tools laid out for us. Glancing at my watch, I see my blind date is five minutes late, and I wonder if I'm about to be stood up on my first date in forever. I pour myself a glass of wine, wishing it was my usual scotch, and down it, telling myself beggars can't be choosers.

Ten minutes later, I'm about to call this date a loss when I glance up and feel the earth shutter to a stop. Standing at the hostess stand is the most stunning goddess I've ever fucking seen. Her curly red hair cascades over her shoulders, framing her heart-shaped face. Bright green eyes, interspersed with specks of gray, sparkle with curiosity. Freckles dot her nose and scatter across her cheeks, adding a touch of charm. Her figure is curvy, with lush hips that enhance her graceful silhouette. My cock turns to stone as the curvy little beauty heads straight for me.

If that's my date, I owe Adam a big goddamn raise. My heart pounds in my chest as the hostess stops next to me and turns to my date. "Here you go."

"Thank you." She smiles at the hostess while I attempt to control my racing heart.