Karen Whittenburg - The Matchmaker's Plan

“At fifteen, five years is a big deal. He’s halfway through college. You’re still in high school. That difference in experience is a very big deal.”

“Mom doesn’t think so.” She played her ace casually, picked up another fry, changed the routine by skipping the ketchup, dipping only in the mayonnaise. “She likes Covington and thinks he’s perfect for me. She knows I’m very mature for my age.”

“So, as long as her opinions coincide with yours, then she really knows what she’s talking about.”

“If she thought Covington was too old for me, you’d be saying how smart she is. So why is it such a freaking sin that this time she happens to agree with me?”

Peyton had hoped to have a reasonable discussion. She’d thought she could say what neither of her parents would. She’d believed, foolishly it seemed, that Scarlett would listen to her. “Mother is easily…dazzled. She wants you to fit in so badly that she’s not giving you appropriate guidance. You’re fifteen. He’s twenty. Twenty, Scarlett. You should be dating boys your own age and, quite frankly, Covington should not be interested in dating someone so much younger than he is.”

Scarlett’s eyes flashed fury at the criticism. “That just shows how little you know, Peyton. For your information, Covington tells me I’m a lot more mature than the college girls he knows.”

“You’re underage, Scarlett, no matter how mature you may be. You have no business going to fraternity parties and he has no business inviting you. It’s not fair for him or anyone else to put you in situations you shouldn’t be in, situations that require choices you’re not ready to make.”

“How would you know? You never went to a fraternity party. You hardly ever even went out on a date. You went to class and came home. That’s it. You didn’t even live on campus.”

“I had to stay with you,” she retorted in self-defense. “Mom and Dad were working, and I didn’t live on campus so I could stay with you.”

“I never asked you to do that. I’ll bet Mom and Dad didn’t ask you to, either. You did it because you were too scared to go away to school. Or you did it because you liked feeling needed. I don’t know why you did it, and I don’t care.” She tossed the French fry onto her plate, wadded up her napkin, glared across the table. “I’m not going to make the mistakes you did, Peyton. By the time I’m twenty-seven, I’ll have had a million times more fun than you ever thought about having. And I’ll still turn out to be a whole heck of a lot smarter than you are now.”

That stung. Because it was true. Scarlett would have to be incredibly stupid, even at fifteen, to wind up in the situation Peyton now found herself in. Found herself. As if she hadn’t had a thing to do with getting there. As if she hadn’t, against every atom of good judgment, every molecule of good sense, willingly and willfully, made a really, really bad choice. And now she found herself without options.

Or at least without any options she wanted.

“Thanks for lunch.” The chair scraped across the floor as Scarlett pushed up from the table. “And thanks for caring, but the truth is I already have a mother. I don’t need another one.” She spun on her heel and flounced across the restaurant to the door, her slip of a purse bouncing against her slim little hip, her long dark hair swishing across her shoulders, her flippy strut and flippant attitude signaling her indignation.

And she was right.

Totally wrong in what she wanted, and was being allowed, to do. But absolutely right in thinking a sister had no authority to correct a parent’s mistake.

Peyton folded her own napkin, laid it beside her plate and waited for the bill to be delivered. She didn’t know why she’d ever thought talking to Scarlett about this was a good idea. She hadn’t been able to get her mother to see sense. Or her dad. So what had made her think she could persuade Scarlett? What had made her believe it was her duty to try?

She’d given up any claim to being a role model the night of Ainsley Danville’s wedding, the night she and Matt had gone looking for Scarlett.

They hadn’t found Scarlett or Covington, though it hadn’t been for lack of searching.

Oh, no, the lack had come later.

But she wasn’t going back over that night again. Not the worst of it. Not the best of it. If she could turn back the clock and change it all, from start to finish, she would. She’d stay at the party, stay out of Matt’s car, stay away from any possibility of finding herself in this…this untenable situation. But that door was closed. She had slammed it shut behind her, and now she had to follow the detour she had impetuously, and so unwisely, chosen.

The waiter brought the check; she gave him money and he returned with change, and she left it all on the table. She drank her ice water and let him refill the glass twice before, finally, pulling on her gloves, her coat, her scarf and heading out into the cold December air.

She hadn’t planned to see Matt Danville this afternoon, but the day was already ruined, her stomach already knotted with tension. And it wasn’t as if there would ever be a good time to face him and say the words that needed to be said. Nothing about this was going to be easy, no matter how much longer she put it off. So she might as well do it now, while the sky matched her mood and the air was cold enough to numb a heavy heart.

THE SNOWFLAKES of the morning had long since turned into a gray drizzle, but Matt swiveled his chair and stared out the rain-slicked window at the dreary afternoon. As if he had nothing to do. As if daydreaming was his main occupation. He had plenty of work awaiting him. Important work. Necessary work. Work that meant a world of difference to a child halfway around the world. A child he would never meet.

The wind chased a raindrop across the windowpane, leaving a wavy trail across the glass. A second drop splattered and raced to oblivion in three tiny rivulets. He wished that he could love this work, wished that it brought him the soul-deep satisfaction it should. But he seemed to lack something, some fundamental Jonathan element missing that left him dissatisfied and restless in his life. Which, right now, happened to be the reason he sat staring out the window at a dismal view instead of turning his mind to work that was worthy and rewarding and, by birthright, his to do.

He heard a soft footfall and the rustle of movement in the outer office, caught the scent of an elusive perfume and felt a twinge of regret that his solitude was about to be interrupted. T.J. attended classes in the afternoons. Jenny, the afternoon student assistant, was off sick with a cold. The Foundation offices seemed uncommonly quiet on this rainy day and, when he heard the soft tap on his opened door, he fully expected to turn and see Jessica standing in the doorway, one excuse or another tucked under her arm.

But when he swiveled around, it was Peyton who stood there, her coat unbuttoned and splotched from the rain, a plaid Christmas scarf hanging listlessly from her collar, her dark hair curling slightly with the damp. She appeared pale, hesitant, as if she’d rather be anywhere else as she drew a glove off first one hand, then the other. The sudden unwitting thrill of seeing her so unexpectedly faded as her eyes met his and her expression turned cool and distant. He missed the fire of her arguments, the zeal she’d thrown at him for no better reason than that she enjoyed their debates. But since the night at the beach house, she and her passionate opinions had avoided him. It made him think she’d expended all the passion she had to offer him that night and nothing but indifference remained. The fact that she was here, now, in his office, looking as if a breath of controversy would blow her away, annoyed him, and that annoyance was both illogical and inconvenient. But he rose, like a gentleman, and offered her a polite smile. “Peyton,” he said, her name forming a stern, stiff greeting.