Right there in the middle of the restaurant, Gianna leaned on her elbows and told Arryn, "I think we should break up."

Arryn's throat closed off in the same way it had the day her Papi had told her he was moving out and that her parents were getting a divorce. "What was this all about?" She waved her hand around the room, gathering onlookers. "You're breaking up with me in my favorite fucking restaurant. Are you serious, Gia?"

Gianna took a deep breath, clearly exasperated – as if Arryn's reaction was utterly irrational. "I've been offered a position in New York. I'm taking it."

There was bound to be an excellent argument to offer, but for the life of her, her mind drew a complete blank. "Good for you. Go to New York and have a wonderful life—without me."

Gianna rose from her seat, her arms braced in front of her as if she were trying to tame a wild animal ready to strike. Maybe she was. "Wait. Sit, please. This was a hard decision."

"Really," Arryn commented dryly, her hands on her hips. Surrounding tables started to stare, but Arryn really did not have one fuck left to give. "Which part? Taking the job or dumping me?"

"Both."

Tears burned in her eyes, but she would not allow Gianna to see her fall apart in public. And maybe she deserved this, after all. It was Gianna who told her at the beginning of their relationship that love was a con job, and all that other poetic Tumblr bullshit.

Gianna's eyes wandered to her drink, the flowers, over Arryn's shoulder. "I knew you wouldn't go, and that's why I never brought it up. I care for you, but I can't pass up this deal." Her attention landed back on her again, and she smiled. "If you want, my condo will be available. This is a perfect opportunity for you to get out of that dreadful part of town. I know you think the south side has great lighting," she lifted her fingers into air quotes, "but you shouldn't have to deal with all the drunks from the bars downtown. I'll give you a great price."

"You want me to buy your condo?" Fire burned in the pit of her stomach like she'd swallowed a lump of hot coal. The nerve of her. Then she got control. "That isn't going to happen, but thanks for the generous offer. Now I'm ready to order dessert. You said money was no object, right?"

"Of course, Arryn. I'm glad you're being reasonable." She motioned for the waiter.

Pushing aside her disappointment, Arryn decided payback would taste sweeter than anything she ordered. She beamed up at the server. "I want a slice of Raspberry Charlotte, two dozen Madeleine's, ten profiteroles, three chocolate crêpes, and six pistachio éclairs." She closed the menu and stood. "Oh, I almost forgot. Also, a Floating Island and three bottles of Dom Pérignon Rose 2002. All to go, please."

"Arryn," Gianna chastised, "Are you insane? That's over a grand worth of champagne!"

"Clearly, I must be," she smiled down at her. "For wasting three years of my life on you."

Without another glance at her now ex-girlfriend, Arryn snatched her clutch and hurried to the lady's room. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she adjusted her skirt and then smoothed her hair. How could she have been so blind? It sounded like every song ever, but it was a valid question. Sure, sex hadn't been so great lately, but all couples went through dry spells. Work stress and schedules took their toll. Or, maybe Gianna had never actually loved her, and thinking upon it, Arryn realized Gianna had never actually told her she loved her.

Shaking her head to clear it, she decided the reason didn't matter. Only the result. Bottom line— it was over. A tear slid down her cheek, and she hastily wiped it away as she ordered herself an Uber. She had to pick up her order before Gianna came to her senses and refused to pay for Arryn's revenge desserts. Squaring her shoulders, she rushed to the counter, got the goods, and made her getaway.

As the car pulled from the curb, Arryn opened one of the to-go boxes, removed a Madeleine, and shoved it into her mouth. The cake felt like sawdust against her tongue. She stared out the window at passing cars, licked her lips, and tasted salty tears. Damn it. She sniffed, wiped them away with the sleeve of her jacket, and reminded herself crying was useless. It was over, and that was that.

An hour later, sitting on her sofa polishing off her third éclair, she took stock of the place. As much as she hated to admit it, Gianna had a point. It was depressing and in a bad location. The bar downstairs had drunks screaming into the void all hours of the night.

Reaching for another pastry, the phone rang. She took a swig of her three-hundred dollar champagne and grabbed her cell without looking at the caller and pressed it to her ear. "Mmhpf?"

"Well?" Darcy demanded, "Did Gianna propose? I couldn't wait until morning to find out."

Arryn sniffed and then stared at the cream-filled profiterole to concentrate on the sugar-high she had going in place of her broken heart. "No. We're done."

"Oh God. We're coming over."

"We?"

"Yeah. I'll stop and get Yennefer on the way."

"No! Don't come..." It was too late. Darcy had already hung up on her.

She sank deeper into the couch. She loved her two friends, and they were great to want to offer comfort. But she wanted to be alone, in her miserable apartment, with her thrift store furniture, binging on French desserts and taking pure pleasure knowing Gianna was footing the bill. Even if a thousand dollars spent on dessert and champagne wouldn't make her bat an eyelash. Gianna was from old money.

Arryn scurried into the kitchen, reached into the cupboard for plastic champagne flutes, and rotated one in her hand. Then her eyes swept the room. She'd done her best to decorate the place. Bright yellow cabinets. A backsplash of sample tiles bought during a liquidation closeout. So what if they were every color in the crayon box? They fit right in with the antique dining table and mismatched chairs. Not to mention the homemade chandelier of punch cups dangling from the light fixture. Although the place reflected her personality, Gianna was right.

Maybe she should move. No. Who was she kidding? She'd never find another place for such low rent, and the neighborhood wasn't that bad. Gianna definitely didn't have fun neighbors like the seventy-year-old yenta down the hall that sold Arryn pot. What would she do without Sylvia?

She reached back into the cabinet and retrieved a stack of plates. No need to use a cardboard box. As she finished arranging the sweets on one, the doorbell rang. She squared her shoulders and turned the lock, ready to relive the night's events. Her two best friends pulled her into a hug.

"I never liked her and her hipster bullshit anyway."

"Why don't you tell us how you really feel?" Yennefer asked Darcy and then turned to Arryn. "But she's right. Gianna wasn't good for you."

From the number of pastries and champagne she'd had, a weak smile was all Arryn could muster. "I'm an idiot. I convinced myself a proposal was coming, but she never intended to marry me. And then she tried to sell me her condo. What millennial not living off dad's dime can afford a condo?"

Hands on her hips, Darcy backed away and scowled. "Are you kidding?"

"I hope you gave her a piece of your mind." Yennefer's face pinched, and she rested an elbow on the counter. Arryn was thankful for their support.

"I did better than that. Thanks to Gianna, we have dessert."

Yennefer picked up a cookie and poked a small bite into her mouth. "How'd you swing that?"

"She offered to let me order anything I wanted for dessert. I guess she thought that would soften the blow. That's three-hundred-dollar wine you've got there."

Darcy's brows lifted, and then she picked up the bottle for closer inspection. "Petty, but I approve."

Arryn's face lost color. "Oh, no. My mom. I'll bet she's already told all her friends I'm getting married. I can hear her now. She'll say this is my fault."

"Don't worry about her." Yennefer passed a glass to Arryn and waved the idea away. "Part of your problem is you've spent most of your life trying to please her."

Arryn took the plate of goodies in one hand, her drink in the other, and strolled to the sofa with her friends in tow. She set the treats down, picked up an éclair, held it in midair, and stared at it. "There is nothing better than French pastries."

"You'd better slow down," Darcy said. "I don't want to hold your hair back when you throw it all up."

Yennefer twirled around, her tiered skirt swishing with the movement. The eyelet ruffle on her off the shoulder blouse fluttered in concert. "I should do a reading." She rummaged in her purse and produced her deck of Tarot cards.

"No." Arryn wagged her head. Her last reading had been in college. Even though she didn't believe in the ability to see the future, having the death card show up every time was enough to turn her off completely. "If something else bad is going to happen, I don't want to know."

Yennefer stacked the cards on the table and sat next to Arryn.

"You don't need tarot cards." Darcy emptied her glass and smacked her lips. "You could always join eDen or something. I met Shaw on Tinder after the whole Benji thing."

Meeting total strangers didn't appeal to Arryn. That's why she couldn't believe she was considering it. That's why she couldn't believe she was considering it. "Am I that desperate?"

"Yes, you are." Her friend glanced up from shuffling. "Let's discuss the real reasons you're upset. First, you invested a lot, with no return. Except for this delicious champagne." She lifted the glass as if toasting. "Second, like your mother, you'll start menopause by thirty-three. Last, that curse gives you a couple years to find someone who's crazy matches your crazy, and get knocked up." She elevated her voice for effect. "And a teeny-tiny window if you want more than one baby. So yeah, you're desperate."

"Marriage is overrated." Darcy flapped her hand. "Adopt or go to a sperm clinic. That would've been your plan anyway if you married Gianna."

"I'd never be considered for adoption with my income. And what if I chose a popular donor? It'd be a nightmare for my kid to find out they have a hundred siblings."

"Damn, talk about Christmas shopping hell," Yennefer added.

"Or just, I don't know, find someone who's willing to play ding-dong-inseminate-ditch." Darcy shrugged. "Cheaper."

"I guess I have nothing to lose."

Stashing the cards back in her purse, Yennefer regarded Arryn. "Let's fill out your profile and get you laid."

Arryn's stomach knotted, her throat went dry, and her chest tightened. Did she really want to go through all this dating stuff again? What if her date was a serial killer, a stalker, or worse—a republican? She emptied her flute in one big gulp. She'd have to block Fox News on the parental controls. "Yeah, and hope I don't end up in the ditch." This might be the biggest mistake of her life.

Darcy slid Arryn's laptop into her lip and pulled up eDen. "You need something catchy to get attention. How about—I'm a hottie and ready to party?"

Arryn groaned. "Absolutely not."

"Single and ready to mingle?"

"No. Sounds like I'm just DTF." She stopped. She wouldn't mind it. Good sex. Hot sex. Down and dirty sex. It'd been a while since she'd had that kind. She took another sip of champagne to cool the heat rising in her throat.

Darcy didn't give up. "We can go with Arryn's my name and writing's my game."

Yennefer eyed her and confiscated the laptop. "List the basics. You know, Puerto Rican, works in media, loves bohemian style, cooking, rock climbing, and music—what else?"

"I like cats?"

"Yeah, add that."

A half-hour later, Yennefer slid the laptop across the table and stood. She pulled a half-asleep Darcy with her, who appeared to have chocolate sauce smeared on the side of her lip. "Let's get you home before you go into a full-on food coma."

Arryn stood at the stairs and watched them drive away. They'd been a good distraction, but now sadness washed over her. All her plans, squashed. Tears welled up again.

Minutes later, she got control and went back to her laptop to concentrate on her work assignment. Could she do justice to a Valentine's article with her heart broken? She wasn't in the mood to write about romance, but if she documented her dates from the site, she could pitch it to her editor. If he agreed to a series, it might cement a promotion in place and act as therapy to get over Gianna.

Desiree Darrell planned to get a promotion in a few months, and her long-running column, Lovin' the D, would be up for grabs. If Arryn landed the gig, she'd be set. A big raise wasn't the only benefit. The chance of the Associated Press picking up one of her columns could be a real coup. It might develop into talk show appearances. Radio interviews. Freelance work. A book deal. The possibilities were endless. With those thoughts churning in her brain, she opened a blank document and typed until she heard the rowdy bunch of drunkards begin to line the street. A look at the clock had told her it was midnight. She looked back over her draft.

Finding the balance between work and family is the hardest challenge modern women face today. Although he was incarcerated for life, Charles Manson was engaged at the time of his death. Ted Bundy married and fathered a child while on trial for murder in Florida. So why can't an average, successful, professional almost-thirty year old do the same? Statistically, we have a better chance of finding love in prison.

Eh, good enough for a midnight jaunt. She saved the file for later musing. Arryn checked the cats' bowls, put up leftover pastries, and rechecked her profile. There could already be matches.

She clicked on her profile and found that her profile already had four matches. She settled deeper into the sofa and pulled up the first inquiry.

Dan. Broad shoulders, which she loved. Six feet, one inch. Another plus. Nice smile, too. Until she hit the photo where he was sporting a giant gas-hog monster truck with confederate flag stickers plastered everywhere. A t-shirt that proclaimed I've got a fun gun. An arrow pointed south.

Delete.

Bachelor number two. This time she'd play it safe, skip the basic information, and move right to his reveal. People call me Dumbledore because I'm the head master. Arryn snorted. Delete.

Number three was Haley. I enjoy long walks to the fridge, ass to mouth, and making chocolate molds of my vagina.

She tapped to the next.

Inquiry number four reveal. I'm into golden showers. Delete, delete, delete.

She closed the laptop with more force than she'd intended. A hot bath always worked wonders, but she wasn't sure if it could wash a fun gun, head master, AtM, and Donald Trump from her brain. She decided not to let the first applicants spoil her mood. Once she agreed to join the site, she committed. Besides, the profiles she'd read proved there was plenty of material for her articles. That's how she needed to approach this. Embrace the good, the bad, and the weird.

They all had a story to tell, and she was the person to write them.

new story who dis.

Poor Arryn. At least she got her revenge and some pastries though, right?

Updates every week on Tuesday and Friday.

TEASER: "You deliberately date girls you'll never fall in love with. I bet the idea terrifies you."