MATCH MADE IN HEAVEN

AUTHOR’S NOTE

MATCH MADE IN HEAVEN is a departure from my usual Lit offerings. It’s in the Romance section, for one! And there’s not a cheating wife in sight!

It’s a lighthearted, romantic piece that has been written as part of the LITEROTICA ANNUAL VALENTINE’S DAY STORY CONTEST so please remember to give it a rating when you finish.

The premise is loosely based on a dating show that aired in Australia back in the 1980’s. I’m sure countries around the world had their versions. Briefly, three contestants of the same gender were hidden from view from a contestant of the opposite gender who asked three questions. He or she would select the answer they liked the best. After all three questions had been asked and answered the contestant would select his or her favourite “hopeful” and the pair would go off on a holiday. Some time later they would return to the show to talk about their trip and whether they were now dating.

I hope you enjoy my version.

Big thanks to my Valentine – Vandemonium1 – who proofread MATCH MADE IN HEAVEN and was his usual supportive self.

Happy Reading!

*****

“OUCH! DAMN!”

This feels so right.

Must be love at first sight.

You and I fit like hand to glove.

Must be a gift from the heavens above.

Tilly shook her head and laughed quietly when she heard the combination of Shannon swearing and the opening lines of the catchy tune to Match Made In Heaven waft down the hall. That meant it was seven o’clock. Shannon, Tilly’s roommate and best friend, never missed an episode. And that was before she got a job in the hair-and-makeup department of the matchmaking show. The show was Shannon’s equivalent of church on Sunday. She also never failed to trip over the corner of the rug that adorned the centre of their living room in her haste to curl up like a kitten in the corner of the lounge. You’d think the girl would learn.

Some call it fate.

Others kismet.

But for you and I destiny’s the word.

I would have preferred.

“Hurry up, Till, or you’ll miss the start,” Shannon hollered, the beginning of impatience tinging her summons to the sofa. If Tilly knew her at all—and she did; backpacking around a country together will do that for you—Shannon would be squirming in her seat, barely able to sit still. And why she was already getting her knickers in a knot was beyond Tilly—they were still playing the opening song.

Doesn’t matter which you use.

We’re a Match Made In Heaven.

Oh yeah, Match Made In Heaven!

As the jingle drew to a close, Tilly quickly added the finishing touches to the cheese platter she’d been preparing. She grabbed the Sauvignon Blanc and two glasses and performing a balancing act worthy of the high-wire artists from Cirque du Soleil, scurried down the hall to the lounge room. Shannon spared her a glance and a smile before returning her gaze to the television where the host, Gene Winters, had just bounded out, looking like an advert for spray tanning.

“Great hair,” Tilly commented, indicating the host with a nod of her head at the same time as she placed the cheese platter on the coffee table in front of them. She poured the wine into the two glasses and passed one to Shannon.

“I touched up his foils and gave it a trim before drying it. His fringe was getting a touch too long.”

Tilly smiled to herself—Shannon sounded smug. Tilly sat and nudged her, waiting for Shannon to turn and look at her before flashing an exaggerated wink. “That explains why he looks even more polished than usual.”

Shannon grinned and jostled Tilly back.

Shannon was, in Tilly’s opinion, the best hair and makeup artist in Sydney. She had that whole edgy and trendy London look happening. Not so surprising, considering that’s where she originally hailed from. Even when Shannon was wearing nothing more sophisticated than a pair of cut-off shorts, she still managed to look chic. Tilly knew she lacked the aplomb of her best friend. Her excuse was she’d grown up as the only girl with five brothers. She had no choice but to end up a tomboy. On top of that she was a bookworm. Oh, and she hailed from Yorkshire—a born and bred northerner, more at home in jeans and a plaid shirt.

The next half hour passed quickly, with more than a few laughs from both girls and wistful sighs from Shannon. Apparently, the winning guy contestant had been ‘divine’, and so having him end up paired with ‘blondezilla’ whose boobs were as fake as her eyelashes was a waste of a good man.

If it wasn’t for Shannon, Tilly probably wouldn’t have ever started watching Match Made In Heaven, but Shannon’s funny, and at times, snarky commentary—along with her behind the scenes gossip—always made it fun. And, of course, Shannon’s howls of horror at some of the answers, usually accompanied by her thumping of their poor couch, were entertainment in and of themselves. Truth be told, Tilly had come to look forward to their weekly viewing of the show almost as much as Shannon did.

When the credits began to roll, Shannon sighed and sipped her wine, then turned to Tilly. “You should go on the show, Till.”

Tilly snorted. “What and make a huge idiot of myself in front of millions? Methinks not.”

“You wouldn’t make an idiot of yourself. We’re doing a big bonus show for Valentine’s Day. Kind of like two episodes in the one show.”

One look at Shannon’s face told Tilly how excited she was. It also told her Shannon was planning something. Tilly had a sinking feeling she was about to be conned.

“What? So two shows in one for Valentine’s Day?”

Shannon started waving her arms about—a sure sign she was getting excited. “They sure are. The first half will be a girl looking for a guy and the second half a guy looking.”

“Why don’t you enter?”

Shannon pouted. “I can’t because I work for the show.” She took another sip of her wine before slyly adding, “But you can.”

“So, you want me to so you can live vicariously through me?”

If Shannon had nodded any more enthusiastically, her head would have toppled off her slender neck.

“I don’t think so, Shan, it’s not really my thing. I’d feel stupid and awkward, and we both know I can’t come up with witty, off-the-cuff, one-liners to save myself.”

“I’ll coach you.”

Tilly looked at her friend doubtfully. “I don’t think ‘Hey, is that a party going on in your pants, and if so, am I invited’ is going be a winner here, Shan.”

Shannon laughed, nearly spilling her wine. “You’re never going to let me forget that party, are you? But, hey, don’t knock it. It worked for me as I recall.”

“Maybe, but it’s not exactly an appropriate response to ‘What have you always wanted to do, but have never been game to try?” Tilly said, quoting one of the questions from the episode they’d just watched.

Shannon laughed again. “Oh, I don’t know. With just a tiny tweak, it would have gotten my vote.”

“Yeah, but you’re my best friend.”

Shannon smiled. “True, which is why I want you on the show. I want my best friend to meet a wonderful guy worthy of her.”

“Um, maybe better I meet him someplace like a library or gallery or something. You know; doing something I like in a place I might actually enjoy visiting. I’m no good at thinking on my feet. You know me. I like to listen, and have time to think things through before I throw my two bob’s worth in. I’ll suck on the show. Probably be their worst contestant ever.”

“So, you’re not opposed to the idea, just how you’ll come off?”

“Shannon,” Tilly whined. “I don’t want to do it.”

“Just think about the holiday you could win. It’s at the Whitsundays, on a chartered yacht. Can’t you picture it? You and Mr. Gorgeous sailing. Sun. Blue skies. Waited on hand and foot. What could be more perfect?”

“First, I’d have to be the one picked, and with my social skills, that’s about as likely as pigs flying.”

“That’s where I come in. I’ll coach you. Who knows more about the show?” Shannon didn’t wait for Tilly to answer. “No one. That’s who. With my help, you’re a shoe-in.”

“But what if the guy is a vain and arrogant dumb arsehole with bad breath who can’t string an intelligent sentence together and has a cocktail frank for a dick?”

“Well, I can’t vouch for his equipment, but I can tell you the dude they’ve picked doesn’t have bad breath, has been as nice as pie to everyone, and he’s freakin’ gorgeous, and, I might add, right up your alley. Late-twenties, educated, artsy, tall, dark and handsome….” Shannon trailed off suggestively before grinning triumphantly. “Sound like a certain someone’s dream guy?”

“Sounds wonderful but he might be a tad disappointed when the curtains are pulled back and he sees nerdy me instead of some hot chicky-babe with tits to rival Pamela Anderson.”

“You underestimate yourself, Till. If you just made a little effort you’d be beautiful.”

Tilly groaned. “Christ, you really are serious. You really want me to do it. You’re going to nag at me like a dog at a bone until I give in, aren’t you?”

Shannon nodded, smiling. “So you may as well give in now and save us both a bit of time and angst. Besides any resistance is futile. Didn’t I tell you I’ve already entered you?”

“What? You’ve already entered me? So this was really an ambush.”

“Yep.” Shannon made a popping sound on the ‘p’. “An ambush done with love.”

Tilly slid down the couch, pulling a pillow over her face as she went. It muffled her words, but she knew Shannon would hear them anyway—her hearing was bionic when Tilly said things she wanted to hear. “Remind me again that my best friend loves me.”

*****

EVERY DAY OF THE next month was, for Tilly, the equivalent of a trip to the dentist. Shannon treated her as if she, Tilly, were the clay and Shannon the sculptor. Tilly was the human equivalent of a doll that Shannon got to play dress-ups with. Tilly wondered if she should change her name to Barbie.

Shannon took her shopping and made Tilly buy contacts to replace her glasses. She had Tilly up her number of visits to the gym from thrice weekly to daily and with a personal trainer that Shannon briefed as if Tilly were about to star in a Hollywood blockbuster. Her muscles were so stiff and sore she felt like a puppet and someone else was pulling the strings. If that weren’t enough she now sported a new hairstyle that meant getting personal with her hairdryer for thirty minutes every morning. More hard work for her aching limbs.

Tilly was waxed, foiled, exfoliated, manicured, tanned, and trimmed until she was convinced even her own mother would have difficulty recognizing her.

Her arguments that what they were doing was false advertising—there was no way Tilly intended to keep up the routine after the show. For one thing it was too expensive!—fell on deaf ears.

Her pointing out that it was personality and character that mattered, not ‘window dressing,’ didn’t fare much better. Shannon merely scoffed, saying, “What good is personality and character if you can’t get them to, metaphorically speaking, enter the shop first? You’re an attractive girl. You just manage to hide that fact well.”

Not a day passed that Shannon didn’t give Tilly an old question from the show to think about and formulate a witty answer to. She’d hand it to Tilly at breakfast, and by dinner Tilly was expected to have some clever response ready. The first day she tried using Rhett Butler’s line from Gone With The Wind – ‘Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.’ All she got for her cleverness was a verbal clip around the ears. After that, Tilly made more effort but most evenings Shannon would still tweak whatever Tilly came up with. Tilly had to admit Shannon was right about one thing—most questions were variations on a limited number of themes.

To make Tilly sound more interesting, Shannon coached her on using the pitch and tone of her voice to add emphasis and pause to her answers.

Tilly once called Shannon the female answer to Professor Higgins from My Fair Lady. It was meant as a tease, but instead of cringing, Shannon puffed up like a peacock.

By the end of week three, Tilly mentally likened herself to being a well-trained parrot with the appearance of a prize poodle.

In other words, Tilly was nothing like her usual bookish, tomboy self.

****

“NOW, TILDA MARIE, DEAR, I want you to promise me you’ll mind your Ps and Qs.”

“Oh, I don’t think you need to worry about that, Mum. I don’t think they let you swear on prime time telly.”

“Well, I certainly hope not, dear, because I have not only Granny May coming but also Nanna Robson. And then there’s Uncle Phil and his wife, Delores, and you know how Old School she is. If she had her way, we’d still be living in the Victorian era. Honestly, I’m sure she has a pole lodged up… well, never you mind, you know how she can be. And Grandpa Robson would be most upset if he heard you blaspheming and making a mockery of the Queen’s English on the telly.”

“Mum—”

“Aunt Sue and Uncle Tom are coming up from Birmingham and bringing the twins with them. Ned is coming, too. He’s bringing that floozie he’s been dilly dallying with since the divorce. I thought that would stop Cheryl coming, but, God love her, she says she doesn’t care and that she’s bringing a male friend. Is that what they’re calling a boyfriend these days? A male friend? God only knows who it is. She says we don’t know him. I do so hope he’s a nice lad, though. She deserves someone nice after the run-around Ned gave her. Between you and me, if he wasn’t my cousin, I’d give him a clip around the ears. I just hope your brothers don’t say something to him. I don’t want them spoiling your night. And Carol—you remember Carol, don’t you? From bingo?—well, she’s coming with her new bloke, and—”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Mum! Who didn’t you invite?”

“Father Henderson, which is probably just as well if you’re going to take the Lord’s name in vain and swear like a crusty old sailor, Tilda.”

Tilly flushed—not even the ten or fifteen thousand miles and God only knew how many seas and oceans that separated Sydney from the UK managed to dim her mother’s ability to reduce her to feeling like a ten-year-old again.

“Sorry, Mum, but, jeez, it sounds like the entire extended family and half of Yorkshire are going to be watching.”

“Well, Aunt Peg said she can’t because she has to work, though I promised her we’d record it, but other than that….”

Tilly groaned. She decided she was going to shoot Shannon. How could she run off and tell Tilly’s mom about her going on Match Made In Heaven? How could she offer to livestream it to her? Shannon knew what her mother was like.

Come the fourteenth of February, my humiliation will be complete. I’ll never be able to return to the UK.

*****

“YES, IT’S MATCH MADE in Heaven! And now welcome the star of our show, Gene Winters!”

Tilly cringed at hearing the upbeat introduction from the voice-over guy, Maxwell. Instead of feeling cheered by the words, she felt as if she was being led to the gas chamber. She could picture the perfectly coiffed and tanned host bounding out as if he had springs in his shoes. Each bounce was like a step on her chest. In that moment, if she could have backed out without losing face, she would have.

Tilly glanced at her fellow inmates. Were they feeling the same way? Maybe they were saddled with a ‘Shannon’ in their lives, too. She didn’t know—none of them seemed to be up for much in the way of conversation. Best friend or not, though, Tilly swore to herself this was the last time she’d go along with one of Shannon’s hairbrained schemes.

Tilly could hear the audience cheering. She wondered if they’d still be clapping once she’d finished making a fool of herself in front of them and a few other million people. She’d probably never get a date again. She could picture her life. She’d be like Miss Havisham from Great Expectations, except instead of a wedding dress she’d still be in the too-tight-for-comfort red minidress Shannon had insisted she wear. Best not put on any weight, then, Tilly, old girl.

Just thinking about the dress made Tilly squirm uncomfortably. It was so damn short. She gave it a tug, trying to magically stretch the dress to cover more of her bare legs. Even her legs didn’t look like her own. Gone were her pale pins, replaced by two tawny stems. They were toned and shapely, though, she had to admit. She might keep the personal trainer, after all.

“Thank you! Thank you!” Gene, the host sounded so different to when he was off air. Off air there was no mistaking his homosexuality. “Now put your hands together for the lovely Cassie Davenport!”

More cheers reverberated around the waiting room, along with a few wolf whistles and hoots. They just made Tilly feel more sick.

If my face matches the feeling in my belly, I’m probably a glorious shade of green, maybe even neon.

“Hello! And hi to everyone at home.”

To Tilly’s ears, Cassie sounded like a bleeding bird twittering away, each tweet a needle jab to Tilly’s throat. It was excruciating. Never again would she be able to listen to their intros on the show without dying a small death of sympathy for those waiting behind the curtains.

Gene and Cassie went through their usual exchange of banter, but Tilly was too busy taking deep breaths to stop from hyperventilating to take much notice. She was certain she could have gotten a job as phone-sex worker with her anxiety-driven panting.

And then came the death knell phrase.

“Please, Cassie, tell us about our next three contestants.”

That was their cue. Tilly watched as the girl closest to the door stood. She sucked in a big lungful of air and patted her hair, though why Tilly wasn’t sure. They all had so much hairspray on their locks it would have taken a chisel to move even one strand. With a squaring of her shoulders and a last toss of her head the girl strode out the door and down the corridor that led to the stage they’d been shown earlier.

With her departure, Tilly’s anxiety cranked up a notch. Oh god, at this rate I’m going to need resuscitation before they even get to my name.

“All of our contestants tonight are from the beautiful city of Sydney! First we have a lawyer with a passion for everything and anything to do with Sherlock Holmes! Please give a big welcome to Amelia Johnson.”

No sooner had Amelia left when the girl across from Tilly rose to her feet. Tilly watched, as the dark-haired girl adjusted her boobs in the lowcut dress that didn’t leave a lot to the imagination. Lift them any higher, love, and they’ll pop right out.

The brunette ignored Tilly as she flexed her neck and shook her arms while managing to bounce on the balls of her feet. Tilly looked on in alarm as the boobs nearly bounced out of their miniscule restraints. She couldn’t help but be impressed by the bouncing, though. It was quite an achievement, considering she was wearing shoes with a high enough heel that Tilly felt they qualified as stilts. The girl looked like she was preparing for a boxing match. Maybe that wasn’t so far off the truth.

“Next is Charlie Kincaid, a pre-school teacher by day and MMA fight instructor by night. That’s right, folks, not only is this pretty lady dressed to kill, she’s pretty… well, deadly!”

I knew it! If by some long shot I win, Charlie will probably kill me!

It was Tilly’s turn.

“And last, but by no means, least, please make welcome contestant number three, Tilda, or as she prefers to be called, Tilly Robson, an expat Brit book editor who can say the alphabet backward!”

Tilly flinched at the reference to her little party trick. Damn, I should never have let Shannon drag that admission out of me. Tilly was certain her work colleagues, as well as her older brothers, would find ways to tease her with that little nugget of information for the rest of her life.

Tilly walked slowly across the stage just as Shannon had coached her. Shannon wanted Tilly to make an impression on the audience. Tilly just wanted to make it to her seat without toppling off the sky-high death traps Shannon had insisted she wear.

Tilly hoped her face wasn’t as flushed as it felt. With any luck, the makeup Shannon had slapped on it was industrial strength and capable of hiding embarrassment. Surely, Tilly reasoned, she wouldn’t be the first contestant to turn as red as a beet from nerves.

On the upside, if it melts off, maybe I’ll be camouflaged against the huge red heart suspended on the wall behind me.

“Hi ladies, and welcome to tonight’s show.”

Gene proceeded to do his usual thing of having a brief chat with each contestant, but Tilly hardly registered his words as she was busy once again trying to control her nerves with some surreptitiously taken deep breaths. Hopefully, the camera and the audience would be concentrating on either Gene or contestants one and two.

Of course, Tilly’s turn came all too soon.

Gene had her perform her little-known skill—no surprises there.

“So, Tilly, is the alphabet the only thing you do backward? Please tell us you don’t read the end of a story first or, worse, when you’re on a hot, romantic date, have the cigarette first!”

“Um, I’m claiming the Fifth Amendment on the grounds I may incinerate—I mean, incriminate myself.” Tilly blurted out. Her unscripted response got a huge laugh from the audience and a snort of surprise from contestant number one. If Tilly thought her face felt warm before, it was now a veritable inferno.

“Okaaay, someone is on fire tonight! Moving right along. Backstage we have a gentleman who is a match made in heaven with one of our contestants. Please tell us about him, Maxwell.”

Maxwell, the voiceover guy, with the deep, distinctive voice that Tilly normally liked began his introduction.

“My pleasure, Gene. Our single guy is a successful architect with an interest in ballroom dancing—”

Bollocks! Well, that’s me done—I have two left feet.

“—and water sports.”

God, I hope that’s not a euphemism for something else….

“Please make welcome Ryan Kingston.”

The expected cheers and claps filled the studio. The wolf whistles were a welcome surprise—maybe Shannon hadn’t been exaggerating and the guy actually was handsome.

“I’m tempted to twirl you around the studio, Ryan, and do a big showy dip,” Gene joked. “But I’m worried I’ll sweep you off your feet and leave our poor contestants with no hope of meeting their perfect match.”

Ryan laughed—it sounded nice. Low and deep and sincere.

“I hate to break it to you, Gene, but if anyone is going to be doing the dipping, it will be me.”

I glanced to my left. Shannon was at the edge of the stage, grinning from ear to ear, and giving me the big thumbs up—she must have already forgiven me for going off script.

To his credit, Gene laughed. “Right-oh. Well, Ryan, you know the way it works. We want you to ask these lovely ladies a series of questions in an effort to find who the stars have destined to be your perfect partner. First question to contestant number one, please.”

“Contestant Number One, of all your nasty shocking habits, and I’m certain you must have some—we all do—which one would you try the hardest to hide from a prospective boyfriend?”

The more Tilly heard Ryan speak, the more she wanted to hear. He had a low, soothing voice that seemed to flow into the air, rather than break into it. It distracted her, and she only caught the tail end of Amelia the lawyer’s answer.

“…crazy situations and getting myself out of them at someone else’s expense.”

Even having only heard the last few words Tilly thought Amelia sounded like an entitled bitch.

Gene repeated the question to Charlie, contestant number two, whose worst habit, it seemed, was squeezing the toothpaste from the middle of the tube. Tilly turned to look at Charlie. Was she for real? Bad toothpaste etiquette? That was it?

Somehow, Tilly had managed to forget she’d have to answer the same question herself. Hearing Gene prompt her for the second time, Tilly felt her throat go dry and her palms break out in a sweat.

“You still with us, Contestant Number Three?” He directed his next words to the audience, getting a good laugh from them. “Maybe Tilly’s worst habit is not answering questions.”

Out of the corner of Tilly’s eye, she saw Shannon waving her hands and all she could think was how they reminded her of windmills.

“Um, I drink out of the milk carton, put empty jars of peanut butter back in the pantry, and I always think we’ve run out of toilet paper and so every time I go to the grocery store I buy some. Our whole linen press is entirely devoted to toilet paper.”

Even through the laughter of the audience, Tilly heard Shannon’s moan.

Gene laughed. “Contestant Number Three, are you going for the trifecta? We asked for one bad habit and you give us three. Any more you want to own up to while you’re at it?”

Tilly saw Shannon using her hands to make a slashing motion across her throat, but Tilly couldn’t seem to stop the words from popping out of her traitorous mouth.

“I’ve been known to wear my sneakers without socks, and I’ve been lying to my mum since I was seven that I like her Shepherd’s Pie.”

Now Tilly could hear the handsome Ryan laughing too. Worse, her mum would probably send a hit squad over to take her out. She was very proud of her Shepherd’s Pie.

“Contestant Number Three, are you sure you want to win a date with Ryan? I’m beginning to think your worst habit is shooting yourself in the foot!”

After the audience had settled back down, Ryan made his choice—Charlie and her bad toothpaste etiquette. Tilly’s heart sank.

“Next question to Number Two, please, Ryan.”

“Okay. Contestant Number Two, what character from a film do you feel you were born to play?”

“I don’t even have to think about this one. Meg Ryan from Sleepless In Seattle. I’d do whatever it takes to find my love too, and once I found him, I’d never leave his side,” Charlie answered without a moment’s hesitation.

The audience aawed.

Oh no! That was my answer. No way known should a MMA fighting, pre-school teacher play sweet and quirky Annie! Cersei Lannister from Game of Thrones, more like it! Christ, shut up, Tilly, and think. Who else? Who’s cool? Who’s romantic? Who’s funny?

As soon as her answer slipped out, Tilly knew she should never have asked herself the last question.

“Olive Penderghast, The Easy A.”

So much for going for a classic.

The laughter that flew around the sound stage was more a hoot. Tilly glanced at Shannon. She was too busy covering her eyes and shaking her head to notice.

“Let’s see… because she loves reading?” Gene asked. His voice sounded funny—Tilly thought he was trying to smother a laugh, but at the same time she got the idea he felt sorry for her and was trying to help her out of the hole she’d just dug herself.

A hole she couldn’t seem to stop herself from digging deeper.

“No. Like Olive I have a thing about eighties movies and when she said she always wanted to look out her window and see John Cusack holding a boombox or ride off on a lawnmower with Patrick Dempsey I felt like she’d been reading my diary.”

“Well, um, thanks for that, Contestant Number Three. So, Contestant Number One, what film role do you think you were destined to play?”

“Oh, that’s easy. Katniss Everdeen in The Hunger Games Trilogy. I’d so take down President Snow and the Capitol!”

Tilly had to close her eyes and bite her lip to stop herself from rolling her eyes and groaning. What a vain cow. My answer may have been stupid, but at least I didn’t presume to save the whole damn world.

Ryan obviously thought differently. “Contestant Number One. I have a bit of a thing for brave heroines.”

Tilly avoided looking in Shannon’s direction.

“Okay, Ryan, please direct your third question to Contestant Number Three.”

“Contestant Number Three, what is the one gift you would never want to receive?”

“Herpes.”

Tilly didn’t think. It just came out. She didn’t know where it came from.

“Or any STD, really.”

The audience howled with laughter. Tilly could see people holding their stomachs and rocking back and forth. Others were wiping their eyes or putting their fists in their mouths.

Oh my god, what have I just done? Mum will definitely kill me now. Nanna Robson has probably had a heart attack and it will have been all my fault. Well, if Shannon doesn’t first.

Tilly risked a look in Shannon’s direction and caught her throwing up her hands in defeat as she turned and walked away.

By the awkward silence Tilly knew she’d even managed to throw Gene, the consummate game show host, off his game. He gave his head a shake, plastering a showbiz smile on his face.

“Um, right. Interesting. Contestant Number One?”

“Silverware. I have enough of my own. I’m a collector.”

Tilly couldn’t help it. She raised her eyebrows. She looked around the audience. Surely they found Amelia as boring, vain, and as up herself as she did? In Tilly’s opinion, her answer was worse than Tilly’s verbal faux-pas, which had at least been honest. She didn’t want herpes, gifted or otherwise.

Saint Charlie didn’t disappoint with her answer. “Oh, I can’t think of a gift I’d return. I’d be grateful for whatever someone gave me. The old saying, you know: It’s the thought that counts.”

Tilly rolled her eyes. Yeah, right, and then you’d karate chop them. Then, having realized her mistake, checked all the cameras, hoping none of them had been trained on her.

Ryan, sadly, seemed to like MMA fighting saints, choosing Charlie.

The familiar tune used for when the guest was meant to choose the contestant of his dreams filled the air. Tilly’s heart and hopes plummeted, coming to rest somewhere around her kneecaps. She knew she had no chance. Ryan had two matches with the almost too good to be true Charlie, and one with ‘head so far up her own butt she could tickle her own tonsils’, Amelia.

“Two matches with Number Two, one with Number One, no pressure, Ryan, but you have ten seconds to make the big choice.”

Knowing the cameras would pan from one of them to the other, Tilly kept her features neutral, a half-smile turning up the corners of her mouth, just the way Shannon had taught her. Of course, she couldn’t do anything about the fact her face was redder than her dress.

The music tapered off.

“You’re grinning, Ryan. I want to know what you’re smiling about,” Gene asked.

“Long story.”

Gene laughed. “Okay, well, we’ll leave that story for another time then. So, Ryan, which number do you want? One, two, or three?”

Tilly tuned out—either choice wasn’t her, and so what did it matter? Tilly just wanted it over with so she could shed the mic, cream off the make-up, take out the damned contacts, and wash the gunk out of her hair. She wanted to go home and pour a wine and forget she’d ever been stupid enough to allow herself to be talked into going on the show in the first place.

“Number Three, please.”

The climactic ‘congratulations’ music blasted out, and normally Gene would talk over the top of it to reiterate the chosen contestant. Instead, his mouth dropped open. So did Tilly’s. Her heart did some funny somersaulting too.

“Contestant Number Three? You’re sure?”

“Very sure.”

Well, Tilly was glad someone was sure, because she wasn’t sure she even knew what day it was anymore, let alone what was going on.

Gene recovered his aplomb. “Number Three has won the date with the handsome and successful, Ryan, our architect from Sydney! Just goes to show, folks, honesty is the best policy!”

The audience hooted and cheered.

“Ryan has chosen Contestant Number Three! The woman he had no matches with!”

Thankfully, they began introducing Ryan to the other contestants first, because Tilly wasn’t sure her body would obey her just yet—she was still in shock.

“Contestant Number One, Ryan, is a lawyer who loves Scrabble and Sherlock Holmes. Say hello to Amelia Johnson!”

The music almost drowned out their brief greetings, and in the midst of Tilly’s stunned confusion, she vaguely wondered if Ryan and Amelia were sharing the usual air-kiss on the cheek.

“Contestant Number Two is a pre-school teacher who moonlights as a MMA instructor. She’s also a huge fan of Michael Jackson. Please say hello to Charlie Kincaid.”

More clapping and more murmured greetings, and then the moment was there. Tilly couldn’t believe it. Why had he chosen her? She’d screwed up every answer. Made an absolute fool of herself. Even Tilly thought she sounded like an idiot, and Tilly liked herself. Well, normally she did.

“Number Three, pull it together. Make your way down to the half way.”

Tilly’s legs obeyed Gene’s instructions. Apparently, they listened better than her brain.

“Ryan, here we go. The big moment. Number Three, if you haven’t guessed already, is an expat Brit. She’s also a book editor, who, surprise, surprise, loves to read. She also loves the theatre and to sail and go hiking, and, as we all found out to our delight, she suffers from verbal diarrhea! Ryan Kingston, please say hello to Tilly Robson!”

The wall slid back and Tilly’s legs almost let her down—had her brain not kicked in and told them to hold fast and lock, she’d have slid to the floor. Ryan was every bit as tall, dark, and handsome as Shannon had said he was, but it wasn’t that which made Tilly’s knees go weak. It was his smile, so warm and humorous. It was the intelligence and kindness she recognized in his gaze.

Gene was talking again, but he might as well have been speaking Chinese for all Tilly understood. To her relief, Ryan seemed a tad distracted too.

Maxwell took over, doing his usual bit of describing the holiday the show would send them on. Tilly didn’t care—it could be Antarctica as far as she was concerned.

Ryan leaned down and whispered in her ear. Tilly shivered. “What say, when they stop with all the talking, you and I go find a lawnmower to take off on? Maybe find a karaoke bar and sing some eighties tunes badly?”

“Okay.” All night she’d suffered from the disease, sayeth too mucheth, and now when she needed a few words to dazzle Ryan with, she could hardly string two together. And why was she agreeing to sing karaoke? She sucked at karaoke. In a panic, Tilly blurted, “Wait! Hang on. No. I’d much rather kiss you.”

Bollocks! I might as well have told him to shag me now. Will my foot-in-mouth disease never end?

Ryan chuckled softly. “Nice to know. The feeling’s mutual.”

“It is?”

“It is.”

At Ryan’s words the signature tune from The Easy A, Pocketful of Sunshine blasted through the studio.

Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah…
I got a pocket, got a pocketful of sunshine
I got a love and I know that it’s all mine, oh, oh-oh

“Christ, I think its happened. I’m in an eighties movie!”

Ryan silenced Tilly with a kiss. Definitely better than singing karaoke.

“Ryan… Tilly!”

Was Gene talking to them?

“Hey, guys!”

Tilly really wished Gene would shut-up—he was as distracting as a mosquito buzzing around your ears. Couldn’t he see they were busy?

Laughter accompanied Gene’s third, louder, attempt. “Ryan! Tilly!”

Oops, right. We have an audience….

And still the song played.

Take me away (Take me away)
A secret place (A secret place)
A sweet escape (A sweet escape)

Tilly scanned the room for Shannon. No surprises—she looked smug. One glance at Ryan’s smiling face, though, and Tilly couldn’t bring herself to mind. In fact, her roommate could rub her face in it for the rest of her life if she wanted.

And then came Maxwell’s impossible to ignore voice-over.

“And there you have it, Ladies and Gentleman! Who needs a holiday when your destiny is a ‘Match Made In Heaven’?”