Matchmaker Mayhem
Chapter 33: Mei’s Match

Chapter 33: Mei’s Match

Ava sat across from Mei in the tea shop, her arms crossed and one eyebrow arched in suspicion. "So, let me get this straight: you gave me a whole lecture about taking chances on love, but all this time, you’ve been secretly matchmaking yourself?"

Mei didn’t even blink. Utterly unfazed, she stirred her tea with the calm precision of someone who had zero guilt and all the wisdom in the world. "Of course. What’s the point of running a matchmaking business if I can’t use it for myself every now and then?"

Ava stared, flabbergasted. "You’ve been matchmaking yourself? How long has this been going on?"

"Oh, just the last few months," Mei said, taking a slow sip from her floral teacup. "Ever since I met Harold."

"Harold?" Ava squawked, nearly spilling her own tea. "As in Harold Lin? The retired librarian who runs the community book club?"

Mei nodded with a faint smile, utterly serene. "The very same. He’s quite charming once you get to know him."

"And you didn’t think to tell me?" Ava demanded, gesturing wildly like an air traffic controller directing a particularly dramatic plane landing.

Mei shrugged, her calm demeanor infuriating. "I didn’t think it was relevant."

"Not relevant? You’re my grandmother!" Ava exclaimed, waving her hands in exasperation.

Mei set down her teacup with the precision of a Zen monk. "And you’re a very busy woman. Besides, it’s not like I needed your help. I matched myself perfectly, as usual."

Ava’s jaw dropped. "You’re unbelievable."

"No," Mei said serenely, "I’m just very good at what I do."

---m

Later that week, Mei invited Ava to meet Harold during one of his regular visits to the tea shop. Ava arrived early, expecting awkward small talk and perhaps a sprinkling of polite, surface-level compliments. What she didn’t expect was Harold himself.

The man was... well, unexpectedly cool. Harold Lin, retired librarian, was tall and distinguished, with silver hair combed neatly to the side and a quiet wit that could charm the socks off anyone. He wore a tweed blazer with elbow patches—elbow patches!—like he’d stepped out of a catalog for sophisticated gentlemen.

"So, you’re Ava," Harold said, his handshake firm and warm. "Your grandmother talks about you all the time."

"She does?" Ava asked, shooting a side-eye at Mei, who was busy arranging pastries behind the counter like nothing was amiss.

"Oh yes," Harold replied, his eyes twinkling. "Mostly about how stubborn you are."

"Excuse me?" Ava said, scandalized.

"It’s a compliment," Mei called over her shoulder, barely stifling a smirk. "Stubbornness is a sign of strength."

Harold chuckled. "Don’t worry, Ava. Mei’s just as stubborn as you are. It’s one of the reasons I like her."

Ava blinked, caught completely off guard. "You... like her?"

"Of course," Harold said simply, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "She’s kind, funny, and brilliant at what she does. What’s not to like?"

Ava opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. She hadn’t expected Harold to be so... genuine.

---

Over the next hour, Ava sat back and watched Mei and Harold interact. Their banter was so easy, so natural, that it felt like they’d been doing this for years.

"You know she banned me from the shop once," Harold said at one point, his tone teasing.

Mei huffed indignantly. "You kept leaving your library books on the tables. This is a tea shop, not a storage facility."

"It was one book," Harold protested. "And it was Jane Austen. I thought you’d approve."

"I did approve," Mei said, smiling faintly. "That’s why I let you back in."

For the first time in her life, Ava saw Mei not as the all-knowing, slightly meddlesome matchmaker, but as a woman—someone who had lived a full life, experienced profound loss, and was still open to the possibility of joy.

At one point, Mei caught Ava staring. "What?"

"Nothing," Ava said quickly, looking away.

Mei smirked. "You’re terrible at hiding your thoughts, you know."

Ava sighed, rubbing her temples. "I just... I didn’t realize you were still interested in, you know..."

"In love?" Mei finished for her, raising an eyebrow. "Why wouldn’t I be?"

"I don’t know," Ava admitted, feeling awkward. "I guess I just thought... after Grandpa..."

Mei’s expression softened, a flicker of old pain visible in her eyes. "Your grandfather was the love of my life. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t room for something new. Love isn’t about replacing someone—it’s about opening your heart to what’s possible."

Ava swallowed hard, her grandmother’s words hitting closer to home than she cared to admit.

---

As Harold finished his tea, he leaned back in his chair, eyeing the pastries Mei had carefully arranged on a tiered stand.

"Did you bake these?" he asked, reaching for a scone.

"Of course," Mei said, watching him like a hawk.

Harold took a bite and paused dramatically, as though he were judging a baking competition. "Not bad," he said finally.

"Not bad?" Mei repeated, scandalized. "These are perfect."

"Almost perfect," Harold teased. "They could use a touch more cinnamon."

Mei gasped, her hand flying to her chest like she’d been mortally wounded. "More cinnamon? More cinnamon?!"

Ava had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. "I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think Harold just out-stubborned you."

Mei shot her a look. "Don’t encourage him."

Harold, unfazed, reached for another scone. "You know, I could teach you a thing or two about seasoning. I make a mean apple pie."

Mei narrowed her eyes. "Are you saying my pie isn’t good enough?"

"Not at all," Harold said, smiling serenely. "I’m just saying it could be better."

Ava finally lost it, doubling over with laughter as Mei muttered something in Mandarin that definitely wasn’t polite.

---

When Harold finally left for the evening, he turned to Ava with a parting smile. "It was lovely to meet you, Ava. Don’t let Mei give you too much grief."

"I make no promises," Ava said, earning a laugh from Harold and a playful swat from Mei.

Once Harold was gone, Ava turned to her grandmother. "He seems... nice."

"He is," Mei said simply, her tone unusually soft. "And he makes me laugh. That’s important."

Ava hesitated. "Do you ever get scared? About starting over?"

Mei gave her a knowing look. "Of course. But being scared isn’t a reason to stop. It’s a reason to try harder."

Ava frowned, her thoughts drifting to Ryan.

Mei, ever perceptive, smirked. "Speaking of being scared, how’s Ryan?"

Ava groaned, slumping against the counter. "Don’t start."

"I’m just saying," Mei said, raising her hands in mock innocence. "If an old woman like me can open her heart, what’s stopping you?"

"Ryan is not Harold," Ava snapped.

"No," Mei agreed. "Ryan’s a pain in the neck. But he’s your pain in the neck."

Ava stared at her grandmother, torn between exasperation and grudging admiration. "Why do I even talk to you?"

"Because I’m wise," Mei said, pouring herself another cup of tea. "And because you know I’m right."

---

Ava stared at the list scrawled in her notebook, her pen hovering over the page. She chewed her lip, her thoughts swirling in a chaotic mess of doubt, excitement, and terror.

"Step 1: Find an excuse to see him."

The words seemed to mock her from the page.

"Why is this so hard?" she muttered, pacing her living room. The faint glow of her desk lamp cast long shadows on the walls, the only source of light in the otherwise dim apartment.

She glanced at Mei’s file, which was now sitting on her coffee table like a smug, all-knowing oracle. Ava had practically memorized the notes Mei had written about Ryan: "Stubborn, guarded, and infuriating. But he sees Ava for who she really is."

Ava let out a groan and flopped onto her couch, pulling a throw pillow over her face. "Why him?" she muttered into the fabric. "Of all people, why Ryan?"

But she already knew the answer.

---

For the next hour, Ava sat cross-legged on the floor, her notebook spread out in front of her. She’d written and rewritten the same phrases so many times that the paper was smudged with ink.

Reasons I Shouldn’t Like Ryan:

1. He’s infuriating.

2. He’s emotionally unavailable.

3. He’s probably incapable of owning a spice rack.

Reasons I Do Like Ryan:

1. He’s funny.

2. He challenges me.

3. He sees me.

Ava stared at the second list, her heart pounding. It was true. Ryan saw her—not just the professional matchmaker or the career-driven perfectionist, but the messy, flawed person underneath.

And he didn’t just tolerate her chaos. He seemed to... like it.

Her stomach flipped at the thought.

But then her mind flashed back to the mixer, to Ryan’s sharp critique and his maddening tendency to push her away just when she thought they were getting somewhere.

"Why are men so stupid?" she muttered, scribbling a doodle of a very unflattering stick figure labeled "Ryan."

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table, snapping her out of her spiral. She grabbed it, half expecting it to be another client emergency.

But it wasn’t a client.

It was Ryan.

Ryan: "Hey. You okay after the Ethan debacle?"

Ava’s heart jumped. She stared at the screen for a full ten seconds, debating how to respond.

Finally, she typed back: "Define ’okay.’"

Ryan’s reply came almost instantly:

Ryan: "Still furious? Still blaming me? Still plotting my demise?"

Ava snorted, her lips curving into an involuntary smile. "All of the above," she typed. "Why?"

Ryan: "Just checking. For someone so scary, you’re surprisingly bad at hiding your feelings."

Ava frowned, her smile fading.

She typed back: "What’s that supposed to mean?"

But instead of a response, the typing bubble disappeared.

"Typical," Ava muttered, tossing her phone aside. But the message lingered in her mind, gnawing at her like a puzzle she couldn’t solve.

---

Hours later, as the city outside her window quieted and the clock ticked closer to midnight, Ava found herself staring at the last page of Mei’s file again.

"Love isn’t logical, Ava. It’s messy. Complicated. Annoying. And completely worth it. Stop fighting it."

She exhaled slowly, the weight of those words settling over her.

Mei had spent her entire career helping people find love. She’d seen it all—heartbreak, second chances, the whole messy spectrum. If anyone understood what Ava was feeling, it was her grandmother.

And maybe, just maybe, Mei was right.

Ava reached for her notebook again, flipping to a fresh page.

At the top, she wrote in bold letters:

Operation Idiot Ryan

Her pen hovered for a moment before she started jotting down ideas.

---

The Plan: Chaos in the Making

Step 1: Create an excuse to see him.

Ava tapped her pen against her chin, brainstorming. Something casual. Something that didn’t scream "I have feelings for you and I’m scared out of my mind."

Coffee? Too predictable.

A fake work emergency? Too obvious.

A matchmaking consultation disguised as "research"? Hmm... maybe.

She scribbled "research excuse" in the margin, then moved on.

Step 2: Be honest, even if it’s terrifying.

This step made her pause. Honesty wasn’t Ava’s strong suit—not when it came to her own feelings, anyway. But if she wanted Ryan to open up, she had to take the first step.

She underlined the word "honest" three times, as if that would make it less daunting.

Step 3: Don’t let him walk away.

Ava bit her lip, her pen hovering over the page. How was she supposed to do that?

Ryan was like a cat—aloof, unpredictable, and impossible to pin down unless it was his idea. She’d have to outmaneuver him, catch him off guard.

Her thoughts drifted to their banter, the way he always seemed to lean into their arguments like he couldn’t help himself. Maybe that was her way in.

"Fine," she muttered, scribbling a final note at the bottom of the page:

Turn the banter into something real.

She sat back, staring at her chaotic, half-formed plan. It was risky. It was terrifying. But for the first time in weeks, Ava felt like she was finally doing something.

---

As she cleaned up her desk and got ready for bed, Ava found herself thinking about Mei’s words again.

"Love isn’t about replacing someone; it’s about opening your heart to what’s possible."

Ava had spent so much time guarding her heart, convinced that letting someone in would mean losing control. But maybe Mei was right. Maybe love wasn’t about control at all.

Maybe it was about taking a leap and trusting that someone would catch you.

Ava climbed into bed, her notebook resting on the nightstand. Her plan wasn’t perfect—far from it—but it was a start.

And for the first time in a long time, she felt ready to take that leap.

"Tomorrow," she whispered to herself, closing her eyes. "Tomorrow, I’m going to figure this out."

Her heart still raced at the thought of what lay ahead, but it wasn’t just fear anymore. It was hope.