Page 16 of No Match Found
She looked a question at me.
“He left it.” It was a lame way to answer her unasked question, but I was too prideful to be more frank about why I’d stopped her. I was curious, plain and simple.
“True. Don’t know what I was thinking.” She held it up andtilted her head to the side, her brows knitting. “Whatisthis? Ugh. Worthless.” She crumpled it and went to toss it in the trash.
I snatched her wrist.
She cocked a brow at me. “You’re being weird, Viv. They’re scribbles on a Post-It.”
I dropped her wrist. “Those aren’t scribbles. That’s how he writes.”
She uncrumpled the note and took a second look. “Does he speak hieroglyphics?”
I took the yellow paper from her. “No onespeakshieroglyphics.” I tilted the note, trying to make heads or tails of it. “It’s gotta be shorthand. Does anyone here know shorthand?” I raised up on my tiptoes and looked around at my employees.
“The only shorthand you’ll find around here is ASAP and FYI. But we can figure it out.” Katie had never been one to be daunted by a difficult task.
My appointment with my inbox was put on hold while we spent the next half hour Googling different types of shorthand, identifying Grant’s style of choice as Pitman, and translating the scribbles.
Katie pored over the sticky note, slowly deciphering the message, character by character.
On some level, I knew what we were doing was incredibly pathetic. On another level, I didn’t care. I wanted to know what he’d written—just one little peek into the mind of Grant Wilder, especially if the message was about me, which I was certain it was. He’d had his notebook, after all; why write something down on the sticky note unless he’dmeantto leave it?
Katie stopped.
“What?” I craned my neck to get a look at the note, my pulse quickening.
“That was a lot of trouble for nothing.” She moved aside, and I used the edge of the long desk to slide my rolling chair toward her spot.
And there it was: the translated message.
Succulents aren’t flowers.
Hehadbeen cheating.
SIX
“Matchify is all about compatibility.Do you think compatibility is the same thing as chemistry?”
Grant Wilder and his questions would be the death of me. I suspected that was his goal: my untimely demise.
“The same thing?” I resituated my glasses on my nose. “No. But the correlation is undeniable, particularly if you know what areas of compatibility are most meaningful.”
“Liking the same kind of donuts?”
I shot him an unamused look. He must’ve noticed my reaction when he’d mentioned maple bars. I was a sucker for them.
He put his palms up. “Hey, it’s one ofyourquestions.”
“A question that’s helping paint a bigger picture. No healthy relationship ends up in the gutter because one person likes sprinkles and the other likes Bavarian cream.”
“Personally, I don’t know how someone could make anything work long-term with anyone but a maple bar lover. But why ask the question at all if it has so little to do with compatibility?”
“It’s a proxy, Grant. We’re not only looking at the answer—we’re taking note of the amount of time it takes to get there. Is the responder decisive? Do they choose one, then change their mind?”
“Very Big Brother of you,” he said as he scribbled on his notepad.
I’d been debating bringing up the succulent note since he’d arrived. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how long Katie and I had spent decoding the message.
