Free The Matchmakers of Minnow Bay by Kelly Harms Page A

lawyer and got fed up with my antics. Colleen hasn’t asked once what I’m doing here or why I came alone. My car jammed full of belongings has been parked in her lot for almost a day and she’s asked me nothing about it. She seems comfortable taking me only on what I’m happy to share myself. Face value. It’s nice.
    Cupping a travel thermos of coffee from Colleen and dusting off lemon poppyseed muffin crumbs from a hurried breakfast, I walk out into the snow and wind and down the street to the high school and around in circles and up and down stairs and past oodles of curious students until I find the computer lab. And, like it is all meant to be, my husband is sitting in there completely alone, door closed, in sight of the window. The whiteboard on his door says, “Office Hours, Please Knock,” and I knock.
    Ben looks up. Today he is in another flannel shirt, a blue and yellow one. Over the flannel is a tie, and all of this is worn with faded denim jeans. He looks so North Woods it hurts. What became of that slick Silicon Valley millionnaire I met in Vegas? Through the inset window I see him mouth, “Come in” and give me a friendly, curious wave.
    When I step into the room I feel it right away. An aura of calm, of stability, of infinite patience. It seems to be radiating out of his eyes. This. This is why I married him that night. This is why the teen coffee shop girl is in love with him. This, and his green-gold eyes and thick eyelashes and broad, broad flannel-clad shoulders. “Hi,” I start. It comes out on a little sigh. Oh lord. I have more in common with Junior Miss Muumuu than I thought.
    â€œHi,” he says. His eyes are searching mine, then my face. There’s no attempt to mask the confusion. But it’s confusion, not displeasure, not disdain, just confusion I see. “Ben Hutchinson,” he says at last, rising from his chair and extending a hand to shake. “Have a seat.”
    â€œThanks.” I take his hand and give it a little jostle. “I hope I’m not interrupting?”
    â€œOf course not. But … we’ve met, right? I … I’m embarrassed to tell you I’ve forgotten your name.”
    â€œIt’s Lily. Lily Stewart. But there’s no way on earth you could have remembered me. I couldn’t remember you, frankly, until I looked you up.”
    â€œLily…” he mumbles. Then his eyes widen. “Las Vegas Lily?”
    â€œThe very same,” I say, forcing a meek smile. To my alarm, I feel all the calm and patience wash out of the room. The man looks positively panicked.
    â€œOh. Whoa.”
    â€œSo you remember me, then,” I say, hoping to lighten the mood. But I am getting pretty panicked myself now. Why is he looking at me like that?
    â€œWell,” he says and there’s an interminable pause, and he takes an enormous breath, and lets it out very slowly. “Yes. Of course. A bachelorette party. You were the maid of honor.” He runs a hand over the stubble of his chin.
    I nod. “That’s right,” and wait for the penny to drop.
    â€œThat was quite a wild night,” he says, slowly shaking his head. “And it was a long time ago … And we…” Ah, here we go.
    â€œYeah. We did. Ten years ago, to be exact.”
    â€œAre you…? Did you…? Am I a father?” he squeaks out.
    â€œWhat? Oh god, no. Oh my god. You … we … we were careful. Jeez.” I can’t help but laugh at his terror.
    â€œOh, thank God,” he says on a monster exhale. His head tips back and he looks at the ceiling and I swear he actually mouths a prayer. “I know we were smart, but my brain just went there because, well, why else would you be here?”
    â€œYou really have no idea?” I ask.
    â€œNone. Nostalgia? Soul-searching? AA?”
    â€œGuess again.”
    There’s a pause and then he says apologetically,