Free Perfectly Matched by Heather Webber

load, the boxes would all be downstairs, and all that remained in the office would be the big items.
    I knew my limits. The movers could handle the heavy stuff.
    After settling Ebbie’s carrier on one of the boxes in the elevator, I wiped the sweat from my brow, and wrestled with closing the decorative exterior brass door.
    The elevator was older than my father and just as fussy. It needed finesse.
    For some reason, Orlinda never had a problem with this door in all the times she visited me at my office. But whenever I tried to use it, the elevator put up a fight.
    And usually won.
    Ebbie meowed from her carrier as I tugged.
    I wasn’t sure if she was berating my efforts or giving me encouragement.
    Finally with a big whoosh , the door slid to the left. The interior steel scissor door slid easily, and I let out a breath as the herky-jerky mechanics of the elevator assured me it was working.
    If I hadn’t been on this elevator a hundred times, I would be scared for my life. But by now I knew its personality and didn’t mind the bumpy ride.
    Thankfully, the downstairs exterior door opened easily, and I made quick (but sweaty) work of the boxes, stacking them high in the vestibule.
    By the time I was done, I needed a cold drink, a shower, and possibly a nap. The two latter options weren’t on my agenda anytime soon, but the drink was immediately doable.
    I grabbed Ebbie’s carrier, went outside into the hot humid day, and took a hard right. I pulled open the door to the Porcupine, and went inside, infinitely grateful that Maggie, the Porcupine’s owner, had scrounged up portable air conditioners and had them going at full blast.
    It wasn’t as Arctic as I would have liked, but it was about thirty degrees cooler than upstairs and felt like the inside of a fridge after what I’d been through.
    I set Ebbie’s carrier on the stool next to me at the lunch counter and set my tote bag on the floor. I was checking messages for one from Sean (none) when Raphael bustled through the swinging kitchen doors. He took one look at me and turned back around.
    Usually my appearance didn’t send grown men scurrying, but I could only imagine how I looked. I could feel that my hair had frizzed, and I knew my makeup had long since melted away.
    I glanced around. The restaurant had a good crowd gathered. I didn’t see Maggie anywhere and figured she was in the back, helping with the cooking. She was doing that more and more now that Raphael was working here part time. Her love was in the kitchen, and it was a relief to her that she could trust the front of the Porcupine to Raphael.
    He was a trustworthy guy. One of the best I knew. Maybe, possibly, the best.
    Maggie was lucky to have him. Theirs was a match I thought I’d made, but it turned out that my father had a hand in their romance as well. Still, I liked to take credit. Often.
    A second later, Raphael was back. He set a tall glass of iced tea in front of me along with a tiny plate of lemons.
    The man knew me well.
    I squeezed a lemon. “Thank you. I’m dying of thirst.”
    “You should have let the movers lug the boxes, Uva,” he said.
    He’d been calling me “Uva,” Spanish for “grape,” since I was five years old and threw a tantrum that turned me as purple as a Concord grape.
    In turn, I called him “Pasa,” Spanish for “raisin.” Because any good grape knew that raisins were older and older meant wiser. M uch, much wiser.
    “I know,” I said. “But I needed a distraction.”
    He glanced at the cat carrier. “I’ll refrain from teasing about what the cat dragged in.”
    I guzzled some more tea and held the cold glass to my hot cheek. Eyeing him with as much consternation as I could muster in my current state, I said, “You need to work on your definition of refraining, Pasa.”
    His brown eyes glowed as he smiled. “You do look a little worse for wear.”
    He was being kind. I totally looked like something the cat had dragged in.
    He sniffed the air. “And