The Matchmaker Novels & Stories

Even in death. This story is about a matchmaker who can't fall in love and a detective who can't feel anything.

she says and I nod in approval. "Okay, let's get some drinks," she takes my arm and walks me to the counter. "Hey peaches," the bartender lights up immediately he sees her. "Hello love of my life," she replies, before leaning at the counter and giving him a kiss. "The usual?" he asks, after they pull away. " Yeah, but my girl here is a whiskey girl," she says. He looks at me like it is the first time he has noticed me. "Hey, I am Malakai," he says with the most beautiful smile. I can't help but smile back. "I am Vienna," I say. "Oh, you're Vienna. It is nice to finally meet you," he says, walking away to get our drinks.

“I’m so sorry, I…” “Never change, young lady, I find your muttered observations quite entertaining.” Arcus grinned his feral grin. “I concur!” Bain chuckled. Gemma cleared her throat in her embarrassment, but then remembered her question. “What is a Finder?” Tamara smiled. “Ever the attention to details! A Finder is someone who manages to find and collect the needy or broken souls. That is why you managed to make a connection to your friend that was on the verge of feral.”

My old house was silent and empty. I headed straight to the matchmaker's house. Just as I arrived, I saw the matchmaker and her family sitting down to eat. They greeted me with wide smiles and called me over to join them. I smiled, agreeing, and took my place at the table. It was a small, square table where everyone sat together. The matchmaker looked at me, her face instantly flushed with guilt. "Ross, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault, really," she said, her voice filled with regret.

"I know that already." "So let's get this match making done." There's a shuffling on the other end of the line as if she's moving. "Do you want a nice cook, someone who compliment you daily, a good artist." There's pause after eacg listing as if she's writing it down. "I have a network of nice guys I could match make you with." "Just hook me up, don't match make." I beg with a low laugh. "And how many times have I told you Rose, I don't want the nice guy."

The target of her death glare just grinned and had the audacity to wink at her. “Friend of yours?” I asked through gritted teeth. The only reason that man still had functioning knee caps was because he’d just put on Ronan Keating. “Fellow English teacher,” she replied with a voice that promised murder, “and self-proclaimed matchmaker. He’s read Emma too many times and thinks he’s qualified to manipulate people’s love lives.” “You can still refuse me,” I said, extending my hand again.

His methods are creepy and sinisterly disturbing like how serial killers in the human world existed. And now that he was in front of me, I couldn't stop trembling. This man wanted me to find his mate. As a self-proclaimed and well-known Matchmaker in New Orleans, here was I, about to lose my career to this despicable, gorgeous werewolf. I bit my lower lip and closed my eyes. I sighed and looked at him once more. "If you keep on scaring me, my power won't work!" I uttered. "What do you mean it won't work? Do you want to die?" he threatened me again. "Find her! Find my mate or you will be stuck with me forever!"

He looked like some high-level accountant or a manager who took himself way too seriously, maybe that's why he was so rigid. "I’m sorry," he said, his voice so deep that I gulped in surprise. I was weak for deep voices. "Do I know you?" "Not yet! I'm Theo Pearson," I said, sticking my hand out. He looked at my hand like it was some foreign object and didn't move. I slowly pulled it back, tucking it into my pocket. "I heard you just got the two-bedroom. I’ve been looking for a place in this area, and honestly, I’m the perfect roommate. I’m clean and can clean, I can cook—like, actually cook, not just microwave stuff—and I’m barely even here because I work a lot."

she finished in one breath, and I chuckled. “Lara, you know as well as anyone that even though I recommend matches, it is still up to our clients whether or not they establish a connection,” I replied, and she shrugged, scrolling through her iPad silently. “Well, we should at least give it a try, yes?” she persuaded. “Of course. I’m not called the matchmaker for nothing,” I smirked, and she giggled, shaking her head at my antics.