Page 48 of No Match Found
“Would you say you had more chemistry with Tanner, then?” he asked as a car door shut across the aisle.
“Chemistry?” I repeated.
He chuckled softly. “Yes, Vivian. Chemistry.” He took the last bite of his donut.
“I don’t really do chemistry.”
“Chemistry isn’t something youdo. It’s something you experience. And, despite what you think, it’s not the same as compatibility.Besides, we’ve already got your compatibility score with Tanner, right? Seventy-one percent.”
He remembered the exact score? That was part of his job, I guess.
“I’m just not as interested in the idea of chemistry,” I said.
His expression was highly skeptical. “Everyone wants chemistry with a partner. Don’t you?”
I shrugged. “Chemistry is chaotic. It might be exciting at first, but then it’s over, and you’re left with mayhem. Like Pepsi and Mentos. I prefer something a little more reliable and a little less messy.”
“Even if it never surprises you?”
“I’m not really asurpriseperson.”
“Okay,” he said. “But Pepsi and Mentos are just one type of chemical reaction. There are plenty of others—ones that aren’t as violent. Ones that last longer.”
“Like…?”
“Like…like…” He let out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know. I’m not a chemist. But it’s a thing. I’d think of something if it wasn’t on the spot.”
I laughed skeptically.
He searched my face, eyes lightly narrowed—just enough to make me wonder how my mascara had held up over the course of the day and whether my lips were chapped. “You’re really claiming you don’t care about chemistry?”
“It’s not that I don’t care. I just don’t see it as the best predictor for relationships that last. That’s where the data come in.”
“And you think your data captures what matters?”
“I do.” It was me swearing fealty to Matchify.
“Data doesn’t capture everything, though. And it definitely doesn’t explain everything.”
“If the data were good enough, they could.”
He laughed—probably at my use of data in the plural—then shook his head. “Data, graphs, charts…they don’t explain why someone walks into a room and your pulse kicks up. Or how you can be aware of a person on the other side of a crowded room without even looking at them.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, considering me for a few seconds. In a swift movement, he set down the bag of donuts and stepped forward until he was right in front of me.
I sucked in a breath so loud it must have echoed throughout the parking garage. Something had just shifted, and my heart struggled to keep pace with the change.
He looked into my eyes, so close that I discoveredwhat a pathetic word hazel was to describe the color of his. Gray. Sea green. Flecks of blue so deep it almost looked black.
“It doesn’t explainthisfeeling,” he said.
I swallowed. He was so close, and yet, not a single part of our bodies touched. I knew that, not just because I couldn’t feel any contact but because I was aware of every inch of space between us, of how the simplest shift on his part or mine would change it.
The sudden desire for that change made me tense my body until it was as rigid as a board.
“You know what I think?” His voice was quiet, underlining how close we stood.
“What?” I managed. Barely.
“I think your graphs, your charts, your regression models…they make you feel safe. But if I touched you right now”—his eyes held mine, dark and focused—“I guarantee you wouldn’t be thinking about graphs or data.”
