Riding down the mountain, it was nerves—not adrenaline—that rushed through Jake. In less than five minutes he would arrive at Kismet. The destination had been high on his To-do List all day, but the lunch hour at Sinclair's had been unusually busy. He just prayed that Ebony was working overtime, because Jake couldn't wait until tomorrow. Fridays were even busier than Thursdays. 

Every few seconds the road twisted and turned, his bike leaning away from the sharp drop by the road's edge and the trees of mountain ash that grew towards the heavens. The sky glowed twilight. Headlights sped past him. There was the random walking track, a hotel pocketed amongst the forest. A minute later, he saw The Peach Tree sign dangling from a rustic post, its red brick building, blue shudders and thatched roof, the sloping carpark, the dark-haired girl stepping out of her car with 'Kismet' painted on the side doors.

Jake did a double-take at the girl and made a quick right, gravel and mud flying as he turned into a parking spot. Up ahead, she was stumbling across the gravel in her heels, wiping at her legs. She turned and shot him a glare that should have knocked him clean off his bike.

Jake grinned. Ebony looked as gorgeous as she had Friday, perhaps better, even as she turned angrily and hurried into restaurant. He didn't take it personally. There was no way she could have known who was beneath the bike helmet.

Jake removed the helmet, deciding on his next move. If he waited for her to exit the building it could take hours. Leaving his bike, he walked towards the glass doors. They were crystal clear, with the exception of the Kismet logo on one door and a white peach tree on the other. It irked him to push the door open and step inside. He was greeted by...no one. He walked through the foyer and stood at the archway, scanning the restaurant. It was airy, with white floaty curtains suspended from the ceiling here and there, providing tables some privacy. There was the odd Grecian pot with a cumquat tree in each—fake or real, Jake couldn't tell from this distance. The back wall was an expanse of glass windows and French doors that opened up the room. It was nicer than he'd imagined—maybe on par with Sinclair's, if he was honest. But the waiters were too busy setting tables to notice that someone had arrived.

This would never happen in his restaurant.

To his right, he spotted Ebony by the reception desk, talking quietly to the Maître 'd. Jake knew the man's name was Evan—Bailey had described his former boss many times: 'Slicked back hair, thin moustache, and built like a wrestler.'

Jake approached quietly, as if he were a customer standing in line. Ebony didn't notice; she was talking to the Maître 'd, and her hands were just as animated. 

"Where was her date during all this?" Ebony asked.

Evan scoffed. "That James fellow fled the scene the second she started coming out in those blotches."

"He abandoned her!"

"Yep. Never even paid for the drinks."

Bastard, thought Jake, realising this was the event Bailey had been describing last night.

"I'm very sorry, Evan," said Ebony. "I'll fix up the bill."

Do not fix up the bill, thought Jake. What is Ebony thinking?!

"That would be for the best," said Evan. "If Rose finds out..."

Ebony smiled nervously. "I'd prefer to keep this between us, if that's okay?"

"Good luck with that. I won't say anything, but I can't guarantee that the other staff will keep their traps shut."

"Let's hope. Thanks."

Tossing her phone into her bag, Ebony took a few calming breaths and stepped aside. Meanwhile, Jake's shoulders were heaving. He could not believe that Evan would let her fix up the bill. Jake was just about to announce himself when Ebony stepped back to the desk, and said, "One last thing, Evan..."

"What's that?" he asked, his gaze shifting from Jake to Ebony.

"Zara mentioned that Bailey helped her last night. I wanted to thank him personally. Is he here?"

"He quit. Can't say I'm sad to see him go. He ruined a whole lot of dates."

"How so?"

"Flirting with the girls," Evan said, polishing a wine glass. "After that, they lost interests in their dates."

"I never saw him do that."

"You're not here every night."

"I was sick last night, but if I had been here—"

"I know. But you only oversee the first dates, and it was mostly the second dates when Bailey used his sweet-talking ways. They were usually your clients, now that I think about it."

"Of course they were." Ebony sighed, clenching her hands. "Do you have Bailey's number?"

"I can only give out personal details of staff to Rose or Sage."

"Do you know where he's working now?"

As Evan shrugged, Jake said, "At my restaurant."

Ebony spun around. "Jake?"

He took a moment to enjoy the way her lips parted in shock. "Hi."

"You have a restaurant?"

"Yes. Bailey's working his first shift there now. I can take you, if you like?"

Ebony's gaze narrowed. "I can drive myself." Then she slammed two-hundred dollars on the counter and slid it towards Evan.

Jake covered her hand, halting the monetary exchange. The Maître 'd glared, but Jake whispered to Ebony, "You're not seriously paying for food that no one ate?"

"You don't understand. Now will you please let go!" she snapped.

He released Ebony's hand and took a step back, and she rushed out of The Peach Tree the next second. Jake darted after her, pleased that the gravel and her heels had slowed her down. He steadied her arm, but she shook him off. Jake matched her pace. "Ebony, you're right. I don't understand."

She leaned against her car door and rubbed her face. When she lowered her hands, she looked on the verge of tears. "I am a terrible matchmaker, Jake. Terrible!"

"You can't be that bad," he said. Although, Bailey had said she was the worst matchmaker ever. Maybe it was true? But Jake knew better than to agree with her.

"I had my second warning today. If I screw up again, I will be fired by my own family. Matchmaking is supposedly in my blood, like it is for my two aunts and Sage's two daughters. They are Kismet. Me, I'm a fraud."

Jake shook his head. "I doubt that—"

"Just last week, my Aunt Rose said that I am tarnishing Kismet's reputation with every day that I work there."

"She did, hey?" Evil woman. "Maybe she was having a bad day."

"Rose's bad mood has been going on for at least twenty-five years now. I wasn't around before that, so who knows?! It could have been longer."

"That is a long time," he agreed. Jake thought about telling her to quit and try another profession. But what if matchmaking was all she knew how to do? It could upset her more. "You know, I was on my way to Kismet—"

Ebony frowned. "You're after a matchmaker?"

"You, actually."

Her frown turned to puzzlement.

Jake realised she could have taken his statement any number of ways. He did not want Ebony to set him up on a date with a stranger, that was for sure. "After you called yesterday, one of the staff lost your phone number. Then late last night, I was talking to Bailey over the fence when he mentioned that he knew an Ebony at Kismet."

She laughed. "So you took a gamble that I was the same Ebony?"

It hadn't been much of a gamble. Bailey's description of her had been pretty spot on. "It paid off. I was riding towards Kismet when I saw you walk into The Peach Tree."

"You don't give up easily, do you?"

She was right about that. Jake had always fought for everything his whole life. Finding Ebony had been relatively easy compared to other obstacles that had crossed his path. "Not really. Do you know where Sinclair's is?"

Ebony nodded.

"I'll meet you there." Jake put on his helmet and began walking towards his bike.

"That was you on the bike?!" 

Jake nodded, wondering why she looked angry all of a sudden.

As he started the engine, he heard her call, "You sprayed mud all over me!"

Pretending that he hadn't heard, he waved and smiled, then took off up the road. He just prayed that Ebony would follow.

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If you liked Jake's newest story, I'd love to know. Comments and stars help me steer this story in the right direction. Thanks for reading!
Sam.
Xo