Matchmaker Mayhem
Chapter 81: Challenge 2 – Matchmaking at the Market

Chapter 81: Challenge 2 – Matchmaking at the Market

The early morning sun bathed the Rue Cler Market in golden light, illuminating the rows of fresh produce, warm baguettes, and stalls of colorful flowers. The smell of baking bread, ripe cheese, and fragrant herbs lingered in the air, mixing with the lively chatter of vendors and shoppers.

For most people, a morning at the market was a relaxing way to start the day.

For Ava and Ryan, it was their next matchmaking battlefield.

The second challenge of L’Amour Élite was all about matching clients in an organic, natural setting—no pre-arranged meetings, no profiles to rely on. Just pure intuition.

As Ava scanned the bustling market, she sighed. "Why do I feel like this is going to end in chaos?"

Ryan, standing beside her with his hands in his pockets, smirked. "Because it’s us?"

Ava rolled her eyes. "Fair point."

Mei, standing a few feet away with Harold, clapped her hands excitedly. "Ah, there’s nothing like romance and fresh produce! A perfect combination."

Harold adjusted his glasses. "And cheese, Mei. Never forget the cheese."

Ava crossed her arms. "So, what’s the actual matchmaking strategy here?"

Margaux Duval, the ever-glamorous host of L’Amour Élite, swept into the scene in a silk scarf and designer sunglasses, sipping an espresso like this was a casual brunch rather than a competition.

"The challenge is simple," she said smoothly. "Each team must observe the market-goers, identify potential matches, and set them up in a spontaneous, natural way."

Ryan raised a brow. "No profile swapping? No algorithms?"

Margaux smiled. "This challenge is all about the art of observation. A true matchmaker should be able to spot chemistry before a single word is exchanged."

Ava exhaled, scanning the crowd. "Okay. No pressure."

Margaux took another sip of her coffee. "Oh, and one more thing—you have thirty minutes. Bonne chance!"

Ava and Ryan exchanged a look.

"Let the matchmaking begin," Ryan said, grinning.

---

The market was a whirlwind of energy, with shoppers haggling over prices, vendors passionately describing their produce, and tourists snapping photos of Parisian charm at its finest.

Ava and Ryan split up, both scanning for potential matches.

Ava found her first potential client near a bakery stall—a charming, soft-spoken florist named Camille, who was too shy to approach the man she had been stealing glances at for the last ten minutes.

Ava followed her gaze toward a tall, bearded man picking out pastries.

"He comes here every Saturday," Camille admitted, fidgeting with her basket. "I just... I don’t know how to say anything."

Ava smiled reassuringly. "Lucky for you, that’s my job."

With a little encouragement, Ava led Camille toward the bakery stand, casually striking up a conversation about the best croissants in Paris. Before long, Camille and her mystery man—Mathieu, a history professor with an apparent weakness for almond pastries—were deep in conversation.

Ava stepped back, watching them with a sense of satisfaction.

One match down.

Across the market, Ryan was in the middle of his own matchmaking attempt—except his wasn’t going nearly as smoothly.

His client, a confident and fashionable woman named Isabelle, had been meant to meet a charming chef who specialized in French cuisine.

But instead of heading toward the actual chef, Isabelle had mistaken a butcher for her date.

Ryan caught up just as she was passionately complimenting the man’s "culinary skills."

The butcher, a stocky man with a thick mustache, looked both flattered and confused.

"I... make sausage," he admitted.

Isabelle blinked. "Oh. Well. That’s... also a skill."

Ryan facepalmed.

"Uh, Isabelle," he said, guiding her gently away, "your date is actually at the cheese stall over there."

Isabelle groaned. "Mon dieu, that makes more sense."

Ryan sighed in relief. "Glad we cleared that up."

---

With the chaos finally settling, Ava and Ryan turned their attention to the last pair of clients—two food lovers who both had extremely strong opinions on cheese.

At first, Ava thought the match was perfect.

And then the arguments started.

"How can you possibly prefer Brie over Roquefort?" the woman, Delphine, demanded.

The man, Luc, scoffed. "Because Brie is the perfect balance of flavor! Roquefort is overpowering."

"You call that balance?" Delphine huffed. "It’s mild to the point of being boring!"

Ava, in the middle of all this, sighed. "I thought food lovers were supposed to bond over food."

Ryan, watching in obvious amusement, smirked. "Maybe this is their version of foreplay."

Ava shot him a look. "Do not make this weirder than it already is."

Ryan shrugged. "Too late."

By the time the challenge timer ended, Delphine and Luc were still arguing—but with smaller smiles, more playful teasing.

Ava arched a brow. "Are they flirting?"

Ryan grinned. "Told you. Foreplay."

Ava shoved him.

---

Back at the main plaza, Margaux reviewed each team’s matchmaking attempts, watching the newly formed couples interact.

Ryan and Ava stood together, watching their successes unfold.

Camille and Mathieu? Already exchanging numbers.

Isabelle and her actual date? Laughing over wine.

The cheese debaters? Still arguing.

Mei? Still proud of her forty-euro baguette.

Ava let out a deep breath, nudging Ryan with her elbow. "Well... we survived."

Ryan nudged her back, his voice laced with amusement. "You mean we won."

Ava smirked. "Yeah, yeah."

Ryan glanced at her, his expression softer now. "You know, watching you do this—helping people find each other—it’s kinda incredible."

Ava felt her heart skip a beat.

For a brief moment, the noise of the market, the competition, the world around them faded away.

And it was just them.

Ava smiled. "Don’t get all sentimental on me now, Kim."

Ryan grinned, stepping closer. "Too late."

And before Ava could argue, he stole a quick, teasing kiss on her cheek, leaving her completely flustered.

"Ryan—"

"Come on, Matchmaker," Ryan said, walking ahead. "Let’s go celebrate."

Ava, standing there stunned, took a deep breath before muttering, "I swear he’s going to be the death of me."

But as she hurried after him, her cheeks still burning, she couldn’t help but think...

She didn’t mind it one bit.

---

After wrapping up the matchmaking challenge at the Rue Cler Market, Margaux announced the results in her usual, effortless Parisian elegance.

"Congratulations to Ava Lee and Ryan Kim for orchestrating the most natural, seamless connections today."

Ava let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.

Ryan grinned, giving her a cocky side glance. "Told you we won."

Ava rolled her eyes. "You get one gloating moment. Use it wisely."

Ryan pretended to think, stroking his chin. "Hmm. Nah, I’ll save it for later."

Before Ava could come up with a retort, Mei swooped in between them, clutching her beloved forty-euro baguette like it was a national treasure.

"A toast is in order!" Mei declared, dramatically holding up her expensive bread.

Harold sighed. "Mei, that is not how toasts work."

Mei ignored him. "Let’s celebrate with wine, laughter, and perhaps some questionable life decisions!"

Ava let out a long-suffering groan. "I feel like ’questionable life decisions’ is just another way of saying, ’Mei is about to ruin my night.’"

Ryan smirked, nudging her. "Or... make it unforgettable."

Ava glanced at him, her stomach doing an annoying flip, and quickly turned away. Nope. Not falling for that look tonight.

---

Mei, true to her extravagant and completely unpredictable nature, led the group to a small, cozy Parisian wine bar tucked away in the backstreets.

The place was dimly lit, filled with soft jazz music, and overflowing with charm. The kind of spot where secrets were whispered over full glasses, and stolen glances were exchanged between lovers.

Ava paused at the entrance, suddenly realizing how... intimate it was.

Ryan must have caught the hesitation because he leaned in and murmured, "Second thoughts, Matchmaker?"

Ava straightened, forcing a neutral expression. "Not at all."

Ryan smirked but said nothing. Dangerous man.

They all settled at a round wooden table, the dim glow of candlelight softening the shadows around them.

Mei, the unofficial ruler of chaos, waved a waiter over with unnecessary grandeur.

"Your finest bottle of red!" she declared. "And an extra glass for my beautiful baguette!"

The waiter blinked. Harold groaned. Ava hid her face behind a menu.

Ryan? He laughed.

The wine came quickly, along with a selection of cheese, fruit, and warm bread.

Ava relaxed, enjoying the easy laughter between them—until Mei leaned forward with a knowing grin.

"So, Ava," she said sweetly, sipping her wine. "How does it feel having Ryan gaze at you like a lovesick puppy all day?"

Ava choked on her drink.

Ryan, the traitor, didn’t even flinch. "I’d say that’s a pretty accurate description."

Ava whipped her head toward him, eyes wide with betrayal. "Excuse me?!"

Ryan took a slow sip of his wine, looking far too pleased with himself. "I mean... you have to admit, I was rather charming today."

Ava scoffed, folding her arms. "Oh, please. If anything, you were insufferable."

Ryan tilted his head. "And yet... you keep letting me hold your hand."

Ava’s brain short-circuited.

Mei gasped dramatically. "Hand-holding?! In Paris?! My sweet granddaughter, I had no idea you were so scandalous."

Harold chuckled into his drink.

Ava groaned, dragging her hands down her face. "This is my nightmare."

Ryan leaned closer, his voice just for her. "You love it."

Ava, still flustered, grabbed a piece of cheese and shoved it into Ryan’s mouth.

"Less talking, more eating."

Ryan chewed slowly, grinning at her the whole time.

Ava refused to acknowledge the way her pulse skipped.

---

After too much wine (courtesy of Mei’s over-the-top toasts) and a few too many embarrassing conversations, Ava needed air.

She slipped out of the bar unnoticed, walking along the quiet Parisian street. The night was cool, the scent of fresh pastries and coffee lingering in the air.

She let out a deep breath.

A few moments later, she heard familiar footsteps.

"You left without me," Ryan’s voice came from behind her.

Ava turned to find him already catching up, his hands stuffed into his coat pockets.

She raised a brow. "Since when do I need to announce when I want to breathe?"

Ryan fell into step beside her. "Since I decided that wherever you go, I go."

Ava blinked.

That was new.

And far too serious.

"You don’t have to keep doing that," she said, trying to sound casual.

Ryan glanced at her, his expression soft, but unreadable. "Yeah, I do."

Ava looked away, suddenly too warm, despite the chill in the air.

They walked in comfortable silence, the soft glow of streetlights guiding their way.

Somewhere along the way, Ryan’s fingers brushed against hers.

And for once... Ava didn’t pull away.

She let him hold her hand.

Just for tonight.

Just for them.

The warmth of his touch was subtle, almost hesitant—like he was giving her the choice to pull away. But she didn’t.

Ava let her fingers curl slightly around his, their hands brushing as they continued walking. The quiet hum of the city wrapped around them, the distant murmur of laughter from a nearby café, the occasional rattle of a passing bicycle.

Ryan didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

Ava exhaled, feeling the steady rhythm of his presence beside her, anchoring her.

Maybe it was the wine.

Or maybe... it was just him.

Either way, she wasn’t letting go. Not tonight.