2. Aidan

CHAPTER 2

AIDAN

I’m sitting here in my cluttered excuse of an office, glaring at my phone as if it's responsible for my life being a colossal joke. No, asshole, you’re doing it to yourself.

Taking on the mysterious Silver Spoon Falls matchmaker head-on might’ve been my dumbest idea. Ever. The local cupid-in-disguise has made it her damned mission to find eternal happiness for all the lonely souls around here. And after playing matchmaker for my brother and sister, I’ve got a target on my back. So, I hatched a devious plan—to smoke her out.

I want to rip away the veil of secrecy she’s draped herself in and show the world she’s no fairy godmother. I figured pretending to be another love-struck fool needing her services would be the perfect way to get close to her, so I sent an appropriately desperate-sounding text. Not surprisingly, she took the bait.

For the record, I’m not into this candy-coated horseshit. But business is business. I keep texting her, each message a small battle in my war to breach her defenses. But here’s where the bitchy universe decides to turn the tables. As our conversation turns into a thread of witticisms and banter, her elusiveness and sass actually start to intrigue me. The back-and-forth was supposed to be a means to an end, not a goddamn intrigue.

Before I know it, my curiosity is bubbling over, and I can’t help myself. I need to hear her voice. Just to see if the picture in my mind matches reality. Maybe then I’ll be reminded I’m doing this to expose her and all her twinkly-ass BS. With a hard-set jaw, I press ‘call’. Big mistake, Steele. Big. Fucking. Mistake.

“Hello?” Her voice is like dark chocolate laced with chili, all smoky and warm with a kick I wasn’t prepared for. It sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. Dammit. I’m gripping the phone like it's a rope inclined to haul me out of my self-made pit.

“Yeah, uh, hey. This is Aidan. Steele.” I hardly recognize my own voice, gravelly and a bit too eager. With a goddamn stutter. What the hell? A voice in the back of my mind tells me to hang up before things get out of control, but I’m too fucking dumb to listen. “Since you didn’t answer my text, I thought I’d call and ask you.”

There’s a pause on the line, and then she chuckles softly. “Maybe I didn’t answer your text because I was trying to figure out how to let you down easy. You know, without too much damage to your ego.”

Ouch. That shouldn’t have hurt, but it sent a definite zing right through the center of my chest. “I figured you were too busy naming our first son to reply.” I’m a goddamn idiot, but the words wouldn’t stay behind my teeth.

“You wish,” she snorts, but I can hear the change in the tone of her voice. “How do you manage to squeeze your ego through standard-size doors?”

Ah, she’s got balls. Direct and unflinching. It’s a rare find. “My ego isn’t what I have trouble fitting places.” There goes my goddamn mouth blabbering on without waiting for my brain to catch up.

“Have you been hitting the donuts a little hard?” she replies smoothly, the hint of amusement lining her voice like a siren’s call. “I know the perfect gym to help you get rid of the holiday paunch.”

I can’t help but snort as an unexpected warmth spreads through me, clawing its way into the fortress I’ve had around my heart for as long as I can remember. Her sass sends all the blood in my body straight for my cock, turning it to steel. Fucking hell. That just doesn’t happen. Ever.

“Why don’t you come work out with me?” I throw out there, doing my best to shake the effect she has on me and get back to my original mission. “I bet we’d have fun getting all hot and sweaty.”

She laughs again, and I’m not prepared for the way it stirs something in me. “I’m sorry. I’m not that kind of girl. I have strict dating requirements that have to be met before I would consider getting hot and sweaty with anyone.”

I smirk, feeling a challenge in those words. “What are these requirements?” I need to know what I’m working with here.

“Dinner, conversation, a spark between us.” Her voice drops. “I’m very picky, and I’m not sure you can meet my stringent standards.”

Fucking double ouch. “Challenge accepted, Fairy. But I warn you…” My voice drops as my cock joins the game, “I play to win.”

“Game on, Steele.” She hangs up, leaving me… hungry. I should feel triumphant; after all, I’ve got my first shot in my plan to unmask her. But all I’ve got is this damn ache. An awareness, electric and humming right under my skin. Dammit to hell. I might be in deeper shit than I thought.

My eyes shoot open to the echo of my own frustrated groan. Dammit. Another night, another round of restless thrashing thanks to dreams about a faceless, sassy fairy with an angel’s voice. Not that I’d ever admit it to anyone, especially her. The matchmaking fairy must be casting spells in her spare time because there’s no other rational explanation for why she’s haunting my sleep.

After the sound of her voice did insane fucking things to me two days ago, I decided to change tactics and wait a few days before I try to contact her again. Another shitty goddamn idea of mine. How the fuck can I miss talking to someone I don’t even know?

I roll out of bed, the morning light stabbing at me through the gaps in the curtains. An overzealous bird chirps somewhere outside, making me grit my teeth. Coffee. I need coffee. Strong enough to kick me back to life and maybe douse the remnants of last night’s misadventures in X-rated dreamland.

As the brew trickles into the pot, I rake a hand through my hair, feeling every bit the grumpy bastard I've always been pegged for. But today, there’s an extra bite in the ass, a phantom whisper of the ethereal voice I just can’t shake. Of course, the universe isn’t about to cut me any slack. Right on cue, my phone buzzes against the counter. It’s my pain-in-the-ass younger brother all wrapped up in matrimonial bliss thanks to the fairy’s infamous matchmaking.

I swipe to answer, already bracing myself for whatever domestic details he’s itching to share. “What do you want, Asa?” I grouse.

His chipper voice only aggravates my foul mood. “Hey, dickhead! I haven’t heard from you in a few days, so I wanted to make sure you’re still alive and kicking.”

I snort, taking a long, fortifying sip of coffee. “You should be too busy with your new wife to piss me off.”

“Oh, it’s way too much fun fucking with you,” Asa purrs smugly. “And Leslie is still recovering from this thing I did with my tongue last night?—”

“For the love of all that’s holy, spare me the details!” I bark, cutting him off before I’m subjected to any mental images I’d need a lobotomy to erase. “Why don’t you worry about keeping your wife satisfied and leave me the fuck alone?”

The little shit chuckles, unfazed by my outburst. “You’re just scared shitless. Admit it! There’s a rumor running through town that the matchmaker has the last Steele sibling in her sights after she worked her magic for Caroline and me.”

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” I snap, suddenly defensive. “I’m going to be the matchmaking fairy’s first failure.” Why does that thought make my heart squeeze? Goddamn it. I need more sleep if I’m going to deal with this bullshit.

“Famous last words,” he teases, all brotherly affection and mischief. My grip on the phone tightens as I contemplate what it would take to strangle someone through a wireless connection.

“I swear, Asa, if you keep this up, I’ll hang up on you.”

He pauses for a beat, letting the threat dangle. “Alright, alright,” he concedes, probably smiling to himself. “Just thought you might want to know. People talk. They say the matchmaker has a way of seeing who we really are and what we really need.”

“People say a lot of crap,” I retort, though there’s an uncomfortable twinge of longing zigzagging up my spine. The fairy seeing the real me… It’s too laughable to entertain, yet the thought needles at me.

“You never know.” Asa chuckles again, unfazed by my prickly demeanor. “You might be missing out on something great.” He hits the nail right on the head. Way too goddamn close for comfort.

“Whatever,” I grumble, my patience wearing thin. “Go make breakfast for your wife or something.”

“You know, she really loves when I stick my?—”

And that’s when I hang up, cutting him off mid-sentence. I drop the phone onto the counter with more force than necessary, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all. As if I’m the kind of guy who’d be led around by the nose by some matchmaking fairy. It’s about as likely as me sprouting wings and joining that early rising, chirping little bastard outside.

Yet… damn it all, if Asa hasn’t planted the seed of doubt. The kind that wraps around your sanity, leaving just enough room for uncertainty to seep in. I roll my shoulders, trying to shake it off, telling myself to remember why I’m doing this. To expose the matchmaker. But the memory of her voice curls through my mind like smoke, teasing, taunting.

I decide I need more than coffee and a good long run to clear my head and silence these traitorous whispers. Maybe then I can shake the lingering memory of her voice and the tugging awareness that maybe, just maybe, there’s more to this matchmaking magic than I gave it credit for. But for now, I grit my teeth against the threat of the matchmaker and lace up my sneakers, determined to outrun whatever infernal spell she managed to cast on my stubborn, unwilling heart.

I'm hauling ass down the trail, sneakers pounding the dirt with a steady rhythm that should drown out the chaos in my head. But even as the miles disappear beneath me, I can't shake the relentless whisper of the matchmaker’s voice, echoing in the space where my steadfast grumpiness usually resides. Running used to be my sanctuary, but now, it’s just another battlefield. By the time I loop back around to my home, I’m drenched in sweat and still pissed the fuck off.

I swallow curses along with a bottle of water, trying to calm my racing heart before stepping under the shower. Scalding water pelts my skin, steam curling into the air, and I let it wash away the physical exhaustion. But the mental strain persists like it’s got a personal vendetta, and there’s no soap strong enough for that grime.

Suit on, tie knotted without much enthusiasm, I stomp into the office late and with a storm cloud practically tattooed to my forehead. The air is thick with anticipation, or possibly fear, as my team catches sight of me. They’re a good bunch, capable and resilient, but they know better than to cross me when I’m on the warpath.

“Morning, Mr. Steele,” ventures Clary, one of the newer interns, with more courage than sense. She’s halfway through stacking a column of files when she clocks my mood and promptly decides retreat is the better part of valor.

“Morning,” I grunt back, which in my circle is practically a ‘hello, sunshine’. I barrel past, pretending not to notice when they keep a wide berth like I’m a bull making a beeline for a red flag.

Once I’m locked away in the sanctity of my office, I toss my briefcase onto the nearest chair and lean against my desk, willing the frustration to disperse. But it’s like trying to wring out a fucking stone.

The mysterious woman, with her capricious charms and ridiculous matchmaking gig, has succeeded in doing what no one else has managed. She’s gotten under my skin. My own damn fault for poking the beast, but knowing that doesn’t make it easier to swallow.

Impulse drives me to grab my phone and call her. Maybe hearing her voice again will ground me, remind me of why I embarked on this unmasking mission in the first place. But the call rings out to voicemail, each unanswered beep like a shot to my already frayed nerves.

I end the call, gripping the phone like I might crush it barehanded, and frustration curls my lips into a sneer. Her game of hide-and-seek only adds fuel to the fire. Fine. If she wants to play this game, I’ll call the shots. I thumb over to our text thread, fingers flying over the keyboard with a speed and fury that’s almost cathartic.

Me

Seriously? Ignoring my calls now? Makes you look like you're running scared.

I send the text, and for a moment, the silence stretches. There's a part of me that hopes for an instant response, for her to leap into the ring with her usual quippy bullshit and banter. But there’s nothing, only the quiet hum of the office outside my door as the minutes drag on.

It’s a gamble, texting the way I do, poking and prodding at her just to provoke a reaction. I’ve never been one to shy away from confrontation; hell, I thrive on it. But this? This simmering need to hear from her, to have her attention to the exclusion of all else, is goddamn maddening.

I down another swig of stale coffee, already cold and bitter on my tongue, contemplating if I should just storm over to my brother’s house and demand her identity. Yet some lingering thread of sense holds me back. Letting her make a move is the smarter play if I’m going to unravel this whole operation of hers and put an end to the madness.

My phone vibrates, pulling me from my stewing thoughts, and I glance down, pulse leaping traitorously. It’s a reply from her.

Fairy

Patience is a virtue, Mr. Steele. But since you asked so nicely, what’s got your knickers in a twist today?

Her words, flippant and light, crack a fissure in my irritation. It’s maddening and intriguing all at once. I don’t know why this woman dancing around me like we’re engaging in some elaborate game of chess turns my heart to mush and my goddamn cock to steel.

Me

You. You’re what’s got my knickers twisted. Fucking hell. I just wanted to hear that smoky fairytale voice of yours again.

Before reason prevails, I hit send, sealing my own fate. Might as well see how she reacts, see if she’ll peel back some of that enigma just for me.