Page 16 of Stupid Matchmaking Love

I huff a laugh. ​​You got it. Now, I need to head out or I’ll be late for work.​​

I put the phone down and carefully wrap the figurines in tissue paper before placing them gently in a box.

Once my shoes are on, my stomach twists into all kinds of knots.

Today’s goal: avoid Rhett Maddox at all costs.

The plan is simple. If he’s spotted, go in the other direction. All hallways must be checked before entering. This means peeking around each corner. There will be no gallivanting today. This week calls for high-level survival tactics.

The worst part isn’t even the humiliation. It’s that I can’t stop replaying the moment our fingers touched, the electric jolt, the way he looked at me before the whole stalker thing.

Stop it, Cristina. You don’t get to have butterflies about someone who was hiding from you.

This means, once I reach the spa section of the hotel, I will not, under any circumstances, leave—even if a fire breaks out.

Okay, I might leave then.

But that’s the only reason.

I’m about to head out the door when my phone dings again. Wondering if the ladies are about to invite me back into their arms because they’ve already realized they don’t know how to form a group chat on their own, my heart stutters to a stop when I read the message.

Come on, Kitty Kat. Just one quick call to your old man. How hard can it be to talk? I miss you.

Bile creeps up the back of my throat. I swallow it down and push a button on the phone, making the screen go black.

It’s only then that I leave for work.

When I’m in the car, I make a quick call to my dad—not the one who gave me up, but the one who raised me.

My dad, known to his friends as the great Willie Palmer—no, they don’t actually call him “great,” but that’s how I think of him—answers on the second ring. The Bluetooth picks up the call, and his voice floats from the speakers, filling the cabin. “Hey, sunshine. You all set for your first day at the new job?”

I glance at the box of figurines in the passenger seat. “I sure am.”

“Rowe must be sad to see you go,” he says, chuckling warmly.

“She’s got another masseuse at the farm. Besides, I’m still part of the family since this is her husband’s resort. I told her if she wound up with any busy days to call me and I’d help her out.”

“You’re a good friend.”

That warms my heart. “Thanks, Dad.”

“So, kiddo. Do you want to talk to your mom?”

“No, um . . . I called to talk to you,” I say a smidge too quickly.

There’s a pause on his end, and I grimace. Now he knows something’s wrong.

“What’s going on?”

I take a deep breath. “Did you give Glen my number?”

“No,” he says, slowly and with suspicion. “Why?”

“He’s been texting.”

“What’s he saying?”

“He wants me to call him.”