Someone Like You (The Ever After Agency #4)

Chapter 3

3

POPPY

‘I’m here, I’m here, I’m here!’ I call out as I enter our flat. Staying after work to talk to Freya and her bestie, Gaby, has made me later than I’d hoped.

I kick off my heels, dump my handbag on the hallstand, and shrug out of my coat and hang it up. When I whip around, I discover my bestie, Shaz, her girlfriend, Lauren, and my husband all watching me with amusement.

‘Hi, lovelies,’ I say, breaking into a wide smile. I duck around the breakfast bar and plant a kiss on Shaz’s cheek, then Lauren’s. I ruffle the fur on Saffron’s head, and she leaps from Lauren’s lap to the floor in protest.

‘Little minx,’ I say under my breath. Our cat is madly in love with Tristan, will suck up to anyone who visits, including Tristan’s ice queen of a mother, but she barely tolerates me – the person who loves her most.

‘Hi, darling,’ says Tristan, coming around from the kitchen. Even wearing an ‘I love Tasmania’ apron – a gift from Mum and Dad last Christmas – he looks handsome. He lands a soft, lingering kiss on my lips and any residual stress from my workday washes away.

My job is incredible, but helping people achieve their HEAs comes with the hefty weight of responsibility. I cherish my downtime, especially when I get to spend it with people – and a certain feline – I love.

I climb onto the stool next to Shaz, and Tristan, who’s now back in the kitchen, slides a glass of white wine across the countertop – he knows me so well. I blow him a kiss and he winks back. I take a sip – it’s my new fave, a Soave from northern Italy.

‘Client meeting run late?’ asks Shaz.

‘Sort of. You know Freya?’

She and Lauren nod – they’ve met Freya and her boyfriend, Freddie, a few times.

‘She wants me to match one of her best friends.’

‘Ooh, is it Gaby?’ asks Lauren. ‘’Cause she is…’ She waggles her eyebrows suggestively.

‘Hey! I’m right here,’ says Shaz, feigning indignation.

‘You think she’s hot as well,’ Lauren quips back, and Shaz concedes with a shrug.

Gaby is very attractive. She has a heart-shaped face, huge brown eyes, an upturned button nose, and full lips, and wears her wavy, chocolate-brown-with-caramel-highlights hair in a shoulder-length bob. She once told me that she inherited her frame – petite and compact with slim hips and lean, muscular limbs – from her mother. But I also know from Freya that she maintains it by working out a few times a week. She’s just not one of those people who talks non-stop about how much they exercise.

‘It’s not Gaby,’ I tell them. ‘It’s Raff.’

‘He’s the bloke who just won Britain’s Best Bakers ,’ Tristan says over his shoulder as he stirs a giant pot on the stove. From the aroma, it’s goulash – perfect for a wintery night. ‘He deserved to win.’

BBB , as we call it, is one of the few TV shows Tristan watches avidly. I encourage this near obsession for selfish reasons, as the baking challenges frequently inspire him to try new dishes. (Tristan’s the home chef in our family, whereas my kitchen-based abilities end with pouring cereal into a bowl and adding milk.)

‘Oh, yeah, I know who he is,’ says Shaz. She taps on her phone and brings up the BBB Instagram account, then shows us a post about Raff’s win.

Lauren reaches over to scroll through the comments. ‘Looks like you’ve got at least three hundred takers here, Poppy.’

‘Yeah, he’s become a bit of a pseudo-celeb-slash-heartthrob over the past few months,’ I reply.

‘Do people still say that, Poppy? Heartthrob?’ Lauren teases.

I shrug. ‘Better than “stud muffin”,’ I reply.

‘Oh hell, yes.’

‘Ha-ha!’ barks Shaz, who’s still reading the comments. ‘Listen to this one: “Rafferty Delaney is the hottest thing since sliced bread”.’ The three of us groan at the terrible joke.

The topic of Raff now exhausted, Shaz goes back to the story she was telling Tristan when I arrived home about their weekend away to the Cotswolds. For some reason, they were shocked by how cold it was – imagine cold weather in November! – and spent the entire weekend snuggled up inside the B&B (the poor things).

I only half listen as I sip my wine, happily observing how they are together, especially how contented Shaz is. This relationship is a far cry from the shitshow that made her want to leave Melbourne and start a new life here in London – with me in tow, also heartbroken. And any of the shitshows since.

Although, it wasn’t all smooth sailing for Shaz and Lauren, and I did my part to help Shaz admit her feelings by playing agony aunt and devil’s advocate in equal measures.

But this is one aspect of being a matchmaker I’ve struggled with. Just because I’m a professional matchmaker doesn’t mean I need to steward the relationships of all the people I love – even peripherally.

Which brings me back to Freya and her plan for helping Raff. If Saskia and Paloma agree to let me take the case, how much is Freya going to want to interfere? There’s drawing a professional line in the sand and there’s reality. I know Freya, and I doubt she’ll be sidelined without peeking over my shoulder and giving her two cents’ worth.

‘ Poppy? ’

‘What, sorry?’ I say, my attention snapping back to the flat.

‘You were off with the fairies,’ says Shaz.

‘Yeah, sorry – already noodling on the case.’

‘Everything okay?’ she asks.

‘Can I ask you guys something?’ They both reply yes. ‘If you were single and your best friend was a matchmaker?—’

‘My best friend is a matchmaker.’

‘Yes, thank you, Captain Obvious – I’m trying to set up a hypothetical here.’

Tristan joins us and tops up our wine glasses.

‘Thanks, babe. Right, so hypothetical… And, Tris, you answer as well. So, you’re single and your best friend is a matchmaker and they tell you they want to match you and you say, “Go ahead, as long as I don’t know it’s happening,” but your other best friend thinks you’re only saying that to shut down the conversation, and they try and convince the matchmaker to leave it, but the matchmaker is adamant that you meant it when you said to go ahead and?—’

‘Can you go back to the part where my best friend’s a matchmaker?’ asks Shaz, and I can’t tell if she’s being obstreperous or if she’s genuinely confused.

‘I’m with Shaz, darling. I’m completely lost,’ says Tristan.

‘I think I get it,’ says Lauren. ‘Raff told Freya to go ahead with the matchmaking, but Gaby’s convinced he didn’t mean it.’

‘Yes – that ,’ I reply.

I’m typically more discreet about my cases, only discussing them with my friends after anonymising the details. But everyone here knows everyone I’m talking about – or at least knows of them – so I may as well get their take on things.

‘Why don’t you ask him?’ asks Tristan.

‘No, we’re not doing that.’

‘Why not? You know him. Couldn’t you reach out and say, “Hello, do you actually want to be matchmade, or were you just humouring Freya?”’

‘Is that the right word? Matchmade?’ asks Lauren. ‘It sounds strange, doesn’t it?’ she says to Shaz.

‘First: yes, that is technically correct, but we just say “matched”, and second…’ I say, turning to Tristan, ‘I’m not asking him outright – because, well… reasons – but you have given me an idea. Maybe I can get Greta to interview Raff for Nouveau Life .’

Greta is a former client and the managing editor of Nouveau Life , the online magazine where I posed as an advice columnist during her case. The writing gig didn’t pan out – they had to pull the column before it was published and even if they hadn’t, it turns out I’m a terrible writer – but Greta and I have stayed close.

‘Love it,’ Shaz declares. ‘Then you can find out what he really wants without asking him explicitly.’

‘Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking.’

‘Will she go for it, do you think?’ Tristan asks.

‘I can’t see why not. Raff’s recently won a major competition show – the Christmas edition, which would be a perfect fit for the December issue. Plus, thousands of people up and down Britain think he’s hot, so he brings a ready-made readership. She’s also convinced she owes me a favour.’

She doesn’t – it was my job to help Greta achieve her HEA, but she brings it up every time I see her.

‘Ooh, I’m too excited now. I’m going to give her a call,’ I say, slipping off my stool. ‘How long till dinner?’ I ask Tristan.

‘Ten or fifteen minutes.’

‘Perfect.’

I head into the study/guest room – or if you ask Saffron, her room – to call Greta.

The next morning, I’m sipping my tea – poured from a perfectly brewed pot-for-one – when Freya drops a fat sheaf of paper on my desk, startling me.

‘Oh my god, Freya,’ I chide, reaching for a tissue to mop up the tea I’ve spilt.

‘Sorry, Poppy, but look!’ In true Freya fashion, she’s bouncing on her toes, her fingertips pressed against her lips as her gaze lands on the client questionnaire.

‘You finished already?’ I ask, picking it up and flicking through. ‘Wasn’t Gaby supposed to help?’

She flaps a hand dismissively. ‘Oh, once I got going I couldn’t stop. There are a few blanks – I have no idea about his first pet or how old he was when he learnt to drive – but I’ll call CiCi later and ask.’

I stop flicking and set the questionnaire on my desk. This is exactly what I was worried about – we’re less than a day in, Freya still hasn’t got approval from our bosses, and she’s already proceeding at a rate of knots .

‘Frey, I reckon we should take this a little slower.’

‘How do you mean?’ she asks. The bouncing stops and her gleeful demeanour disappears in an instant.

I’ve worked with Freya for years and I’ve never seen her this invested in a case. If it is approved, I’m going to need to build a metaphorical fortress around it.

‘I mean, there are a few more steps before we start assembling a list of potentials.’ She blinks at me as if I’m speaking gobbledygook. ‘The sign-off?’

‘Oh, that’ll be fine. I’m talking to Saskia and Paloma after the staff meeting.’

She really doesn’t understand.

‘ And we’ll want Gaby’s input on the questionnaire – get both of your perspectives to help round out Raff’s client profile.’

‘Okay,’ she says, her large, round eyes staring at me, unblinking.

‘ And the big one, Frey – I still need to determine if Raff wants to be matched.’

She visibly deflates.

‘But hey, I want to run something run past you,’ I say, hoping this will wipe that frown off her face.

If I am going to match Raff, I’ll need to strike a balance between looping Freya in where possible and maintaining necessary boundaries, and sharing my idea for the Nouveau Life interview is a start.

‘Thoughts?’ I ask after I’ve outlined my idea.

She smiles. ‘I love it – very clever. And an interview will give you additional insight into who Raff is. That can only help when assembling potential matches.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Only…’ She frowns again.

‘What is it?’

‘Well, Raff knows you’re my colleague, right? Won’t he be suspicious if you’re the one who sets up the interview with Nouveau Life ? ’

‘I worried about that too at first, but I’ve found a way to throw him off the scent,’ I reply. That is, if Gaby agrees to help me, something I don’t mention.

Freya appraises me with admiration. ‘Of course you have – you’re a true master of the ruse.’

I know she meant it as a compliment, but I’m taken aback. I’ve only had a few cases that have necessitated subterfuge, and I find it just as challenging as maintaining boundaries with my loved ones – if not more.