Dear Matchmaker,
I once believed that there was someone out there for me—that one person I wouldn’t be able to imagine life without.
I’ve never asked for much. My soul mate doesn’t need to be perfect or gorgeous, just a man who sees in me what I see in him. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. But as the years roll by, I’m wondering if I was forgotten when fate created soul mates. Maybe for some, love just isn’t meant to be.
I’m reaching out to you as a last resort before I give up altogether. Am I just an older woman whose life is passing her by, or is my soul mate still out there, waiting for me, as I still wait for him?
One Last Hope
P.S. Please leave my reply under the willow tree by Fanny’s Pond. There is a rock where you may hide your letter.
“Taylor, you’re up.”Ben slid a cast iron plate of sizzling steak fajitas under the heat lamp.
I tucked the letter back into my waitress pouch and headed toward the cook window. I must’ve read that letter over ten times already, but I didn’t know where to begin with a reply. If the Matchmaker was this woman’s last hope, I needed to be extra careful about what I wrote back.
Thelma walked up and yelled through the window at Ben. “How are those burgers coming?”
Ben frowned and didn’t look her way once. “You’ll get ’em when you get ’em.”
She rolled her eyes and let out an annoyed sigh.
I placed the steaming fajitas on a tray. “Trouble in paradise?”
“There wouldn’t be ifsomebodyweren’t so jealous all the time,” she said loud enough for Ben to hear.
“Well, maybe he wouldn’t be jealous ifsomebodydidn’t flirt with half the damned town.” He slammed two burger plates down in front of her, fries toppling onto the metal shelf. “Your burgers for your not-so-secret admirers.” He gave a sly smile.
She put a hand to her hip. “What did you do?”
He shrugged. “Just made them up something extra special.”
I laughed, knowing Ben didn’t do anything to those burgers and their fight would soon end in a passionate night of makeup sex. They would be madly in love for another month or so until it happened all over again.
I hoisted the large tray in the air and rested one side on my shoulder. Old Charlie sat alone at the corner table, staring out the window.
“Steak fajitas with an extra side of salsa and sour cream,” I said. Charlie inhaled the scent of sizzling onions and peppers through the steam as if it was the first time he’d ever seen or smelled it before.
“Perfect. Thank you.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of eating the same thing every Saturday?” I asked.
“Oh, but it’s not the same every time.” He smiled up at me. “Some days it’s a tad spicier. Sometimes Ben likes to dress it up a bit and make it fancy.” He looked down at the mixed pile on his plate and chuckled. “And then there are the days he’s fightin’ with Thelma.”
I laughed. “If it’s not as good as it should be, then it’s on the house.”
He waved away the gesture and plopped a spoonful of steak, pepper, and onion onto a tortilla. “Nothing wrong with a little extra spice from time to time. Keeps life interesting.” He winked at me.
“Will I see you later today?” I asked.
“Be there at 3 p.m. sharp. We’ll have that water heater up and running like new.”
“Thanks, Charlie.”
“Not at all. Your grandmother’s peach cobbler is worth it.”
I patted his shoulder before heading back to the waitress station. My grandmother’s peach cobbler wasn’t that good, but Charlie would’ve eaten sand and rocks if it meant spending time with her. He’d been crushing on my grandmother for years. I loved Charlie and had tried to match them up, but both seemed content with the relationship they’d built: Him flirting, and her squabbling with him like they were some old married couple.
I’d known him since I was seven years old, and he was the closest thing to a father figure I’d ever had. He was also an honorary Matchmaker Club member, and I couldn’t think of a better person.
