Chapter 1
After one glance at me, Michelle Gellar, Michael Barnier began to check his phone.
Within a short time, he had flipped through three posts of his friends on X, answered two texts, and finished a cup of coffee.
I sat across from him. The menu remained on the spot where the waiter had left it.
"Well, what do you do?" I broke the silence.
"Hm?" He didn't shift his gaze away from his phone. "In the Internet industry."
Then, he answered a call right in front of me.
"Bro, forget it..." He quickly lowered his voice, but I, sitting right across the table, heard him clearly. "My aunt, the matchmaker, said that she was a good candidate. A good candidate? What a joke..." Right there, he paused.
I looked at him, but his gaze was not on me.
"Can you do me a favor if there is a second candidate? Send me a photo before a blind date is arranged," he went on.*****
He hung up the phone. His expression was the same as always, and he even flashed a smile at me. "Sorry. My friend needed my opinion on something urgent."
I nodded. I instantly knew that this date was a waste of my time, but I didn't want to be as rude as him.
I took the menu and asked, "What would you like for dinner?"
"Whatever you like." He leaned backward and put his phone face down on the table. "I got some things to take care of after dinner, so let's grab some food as quickly as possible."
He had arrived ten minutes ago, and he was thinking of an excuse to leave.
I chose three dishes, including a soup. During the process, he didn't spare one glance at the menu.
The dishes were served. He took a few bites of the food, and his fork didn't touch the salad at all.
"What do you do for a living?" His tone was casual, as if he were attempting a small talk to kill time at the airport.
"I am a product manager in a technology firm," I answered.
"I see." Chewing the food, he added, "A lot of late nights?"
"Not many," I responded.
Then, the conversation ended.
He put down his knife and fork, picked up his phone, and checked the time. "I have business to take care of. I have to leave now."
I checked my watch. This date had lasted only 22 minutes.
He rose to his feet. During the whole date, he didn't take off his jacket.
"Well..." He patted his pocket as if he were fumbling for his wallet.
"It's my treat," I said.
He showed no objection. "Thanks. Bye."
When he reached the door of the restaurant, he received a call.
He didn't lower his voice this time, perhaps because he thought that I couldn't hear him from such a distance.
However, the distance between the doorway and my table was less than eight meters as the crow flew.
"She is boring and plain. It seems she just came straight from work. She doesn't look womanly at all. I don't know what my aunt is thinking. Why does she prefer such a kind of woman..." he complained.
My fork froze in the air. The salad seemed fresh and tasty, but I put down my fork and knife.
I beckoned the waiter over and then paid the bill, 50 dollars.
When I walked out of the restaurant, Michael was already far away. There weren't many people on the street.
The wind at the end of March was a bit cool. I didn't take my coat with me because I had forgotten it at home. I had been afraid of being late, so I had been in a rush to leave my apartment.
I saw my reflection when I walked past a showcase.
I glanced at it and saw a woman with short hair, a plaid shirt, black trousers, and a shoulder bag.
Well, I did look like a worker in the Internet industry. I shifted my gaze away and moved on.
My phone buzzed. There came a message from my aunt, Judy Webb.
Judy: [Michelle, how was your date with Michael? His dad is in the building materials business and has three houses.]
I didn't give a reply. The second message came from my mom, Betty Gellar.
Mom: [Your aunt did the introduction for your good. Be nice.]
The third one was from my mom, too.
Mom: [You are already 32 years old, so let's not get fussy.]
I stuffed my phone into my bag. It got windy. At the subway entrance, I paused.
I saw a couple sitting on the bench not far away. The woman played with her phone in the arms of the man, and he considerately shielded her against the wind.
I walked down the steps, paid the bill, and took the subway.
*****
Three months had passed.
On Monday morning, I checked my emails and noticed the list of interns sent by the HR department.
Two interns were sent to the product department, to be precise, me.
One was Kate Brown, an undergraduate student from a prestigious university.
The other one was...
My finger paused on the trackpad.
The other one was Michael Barnier, male, 25 years old, an MBA student at a good university.
Michael in the photo had a round face, thick eyebrows, and a strong jawline.
In my last meeting with him, he had worn a gray turtleneck with a small hole in the sleeve and given all his attention to his phone. It was him.
Gazing at the face on my computer screen, I slowly leaned backward.