Match Made in Heaven

Tilly flinched at the reference to her little party trick. Damn, I should never have let Shannon drag that admission out of me. Tilly was certain her work colleagues, as well as her older brothers, would find ways to tease her with that little nugget of information for the rest of her life.

Tilly walked slowly across the stage just as Shannon had coached her. Shannon wanted Tilly to make an impression on the audience. Tilly just wanted to make it to her seat without toppling off the sky-high death traps Shannon had insisted she wear.

Tilly hoped her face wasn't as flushed as it felt. With any luck, the makeup Shannon had slapped on it was industrial strength and capable of hiding embarrassment. Surely, Tilly reasoned, she wouldn't be the first contestant to turn as red as a beet from nerves.

On the upside, if it melts off, maybe I'll be camouflaged against the huge red heart suspended on the wall behind me.

"Hi ladies, and welcome to tonight's show."

Gene proceeded to do his usual thing of having a brief chat with each contestant, but Tilly hardly registered his words as she was busy once again trying to control her nerves with some surreptitiously taken deep breaths. Hopefully, the camera and the audience would be concentrating on either Gene or contestants one and two.

Of course, Tilly's turn came all too soon.

Gene had her perform her little-known skill—no surprises there.

"So, Tilly, is the alphabet the only thing you do backward? Please tell us you don't read the end of a story first or, worse, when you're on a hot, romantic date, have the cigarette first!"

"Um, I'm claiming the Fifth Amendment on the grounds I may incinerate—I mean, incriminate myself." Tilly blurted out. Her unscripted response got a huge laugh from the audience and a snort of surprise from contestant number one. If Tilly thought her face felt warm before, it was now a veritable inferno.

"Okaaay, someone is on fire tonight! Moving right along. Backstage we have a gentleman who is a match made in heaven with one of our contestants. Please tell us about him, Maxwell."

Maxwell, the voiceover guy, with the deep, distinctive voice that Tilly normally liked began his introduction.

"My pleasure, Gene. Our single guy is a successful architect with an interest in ballroom dancing—"

Bollocks! Well, that's me done—I have two left feet.

"—and water sports."

God, I hope that's not a euphemism for something else....

"Please make welcome Ryan Kingston."

The expected cheers and claps filled the studio. The wolf whistles were a welcome surprise—maybe Shannon hadn't been exaggerating and the guy actually was handsome.

"I'm tempted to twirl you around the studio, Ryan, and do a big showy dip," Gene joked. "But I'm worried I'll sweep you off your feet and leave our poor contestants with no hope of meeting their perfect match."

Ryan laughed—it sounded nice. Low and deep and sincere.

"I hate to break it to you, Gene, but if anyone is going to be doing the dipping, it will be me."

I glanced to my left. Shannon was at the edge of the stage, grinning from ear to ear, and giving me the big thumbs up—she must have already forgiven me for going off script.

To his credit, Gene laughed. "Right-oh. Well, Ryan, you know the way it works. We want you to ask these lovely ladies a series of questions in an effort to find who the stars have destined to be your perfect partner. First question to contestant number one, please."

"Contestant Number One, of all your nasty shocking habits, and I'm certain you must have some—we all do—which one would you try the hardest to hide from a prospective boyfriend?"

The more Tilly heard Ryan speak, the more she wanted to hear. He had a low, soothing voice that seemed to flow into the air, rather than break into it. It distracted her, and she only caught the tail end of Amelia the lawyer's answer.

"...crazy situations and getting myself out of them at someone else's expense."

Even having only heard the last few words Tilly thought Amelia sounded like an entitled bitch.

Gene repeated the question to Charlie, contestant number two, whose worst habit, it seemed, was squeezing the toothpaste from the middle of the tube. Tilly turned to look at Charlie. Was she for real? Bad toothpaste etiquette? That was it?

Somehow, Tilly had managed to forget she'd have to answer the same question herself. Hearing Gene prompt her for the second time, Tilly felt her throat go dry and her palms break out in a sweat.

"You still with us, Contestant Number Three?" He directed his next words to the audience, getting a good laugh from them. "Maybe Tilly's worst habit is not answering questions."

Out of the corner of Tilly's eye, she saw Shannon waving her hands and all she could think was how they reminded her of windmills.

"Um, I drink out of the milk carton, put empty jars of peanut butter back in the pantry, and I always think we've run out of toilet paper and so every time I go to the grocery store I buy some. Our whole linen press is entirely devoted to toilet paper."

Even through the laughter of the audience, Tilly heard Shannon's moan.

Gene laughed. "Contestant Number Three, are you going for the trifecta? We asked for one bad habit and you give us three. Any more you want to own up to while you're at it?"

Tilly saw Shannon using her hands to make a slashing motion across her throat, but Tilly couldn't seem to stop the words from popping out of her traitorous mouth.

"I've been known to wear my sneakers without socks, and I've been lying to my mum since I was seven that I like her Shepherd's Pie."

Now Tilly could hear the handsome Ryan laughing too. Worse, her mum would probably send a hit squad over to take her out. She was very proud of her Shepherd's Pie.

"Contestant Number Three, are you sure you want to win a date with Ryan? I'm beginning to think your worst habit is shooting yourself in the foot!"

After the audience had settled back down, Ryan made his choice—Charlie and her bad toothpaste etiquette. Tilly's heart sank.

"Next question to Number Two, please, Ryan."

"Okay. Contestant Number Two, what character from a film do you feel you were born to play?"

"I don't even have to think about this one. Meg Ryan from Sleepless In Seattle. I'd do whatever it takes to find my love too, and once I found him, I'd never leave his side," Charlie answered without a moment's hesitation.

The audience aawed.

Oh no! That was my answer. No way known should a MMA fighting, pre-school teacher play sweet and quirky Annie! Cersei Lannister from Game of Thrones, more like it! Christ, shut up, Tilly, and think. Who else? Who's cool? Who's romantic? Who's funny?

As soon as her answer slipped out, Tilly knew she should never have asked herself the last question.

"Olive Penderghast, The Easy A."

So much for going for a classic.

The laughter that flew around the sound stage was more a hoot. Tilly glanced at Shannon. She was too busy covering her eyes and shaking her head to notice.

"Let's see... because she loves reading?" Gene asked. His voice sounded funny—Tilly thought he was trying to smother a laugh, but at the same time she got the idea he felt sorry for her and was trying to help her out of the hole she'd just dug herself.

A hole she couldn't seem to stop herself from digging deeper.

"No. Like Olive I have a thing about eighties movies and when she said she always wanted to look out her window and see John Cusack holding a boombox or ride off on a lawnmower with Patrick Dempsey I felt like she'd been reading my diary."

"Well, um, thanks for that, Contestant Number Three. So, Contestant Number One, what film role do you think you were destined to play?"

"Oh, that's easy. Katniss Everdeen in The Hunger Games Trilogy. I'd so take down President Snow and the Capitol!"

Tilly had to close her eyes and bite her lip to stop herself from rolling her eyes and groaning. What a vain cow. My answer may have been stupid, but at least I didn't presume to save the whole damn world.

Ryan obviously thought differently. "Contestant Number One. I have a bit of a thing for brave heroines."

Tilly avoided looking in Shannon's direction.

"Okay, Ryan, please direct your third question to Contestant Number Three."

"Contestant Number Three, what is the one gift you would never want to receive?"

"Herpes."

Tilly didn't think. It just came out. She didn't know where it came from.

"Or any STD, really."

The audience howled with laughter. Tilly could see people holding their stomachs and rocking back and forth. Others were wiping their eyes or putting their fists in their mouths.

Oh my god, what have I just done? Mum will definitely kill me now. Nanna Robson has probably had a heart attack and it will have been all my fault. Well, if Shannon doesn't first.

Tilly risked a look in Shannon's direction and caught her throwing up her hands in defeat as she turned and walked away.

By the awkward silence Tilly knew she'd even managed to throw Gene, the consummate game show host, off his game. He gave his head a shake, plastering a showbiz smile on his face.

"Um, right. Interesting. Contestant Number One?"

"Silverware. I have enough of my own. I'm a collector."

Tilly couldn't help it. She raised her eyebrows. She looked around the audience. Surely they found Amelia as boring, vain, and as up herself as she did? In Tilly's opinion, her answer was worse than Tilly's verbal faux-pas, which had at least been honest. She didn't want herpes, gifted or otherwise.

Saint Charlie didn't disappoint with her answer. "Oh, I can't think of a gift I'd return. I'd be grateful for whatever someone gave me. The old saying, you know: It's the thought that counts."

Tilly rolled her eyes. Yeah, right, and then you'd karate chop them. Then, having realized her mistake, checked all the cameras, hoping none of them had been trained on her.

Ryan, sadly, seemed to like MMA fighting saints, choosing Charlie.

The familiar tune used for when the guest was meant to choose the contestant of his dreams filled the air. Tilly's heart and hopes plummeted, coming to rest somewhere around her kneecaps. She knew she had no chance. Ryan had two matches with the almost too good to be true Charlie, and one with 'head so far up her own butt she could tickle her own tonsils', Amelia.

"Two matches with Number Two, one with Number One, no pressure, Ryan, but you have ten seconds to make the big choice."

Knowing the cameras would pan from one of them to the other, Tilly kept her features neutral, a half-smile turning up the corners of her mouth, just the way Shannon had taught her. Of course, she couldn't do anything about the fact her face was redder than her dress.

The music tapered off.

"You're grinning, Ryan. I want to know what you're smiling about," Gene asked.

"Long story."

Gene laughed. "Okay, well, we'll leave that story for another time then. So, Ryan, which number do you want? One, two, or three?"

Tilly tuned out—either choice wasn't her, and so what did it matter? Tilly just wanted it over with so she could shed the mic, cream off the make-up, take out the damned contacts, and wash the gunk out of her hair. She wanted to go home and pour a wine and forget she'd ever been stupid enough to allow herself to be talked into going on the show in the first place.

"Number Three, please."

The climactic 'congratulations' music blasted out, and normally Gene would talk over the top of it to reiterate the chosen contestant. Instead, his mouth dropped open. So did Tilly's. Her heart did some funny somersaulting too.

"Contestant Number Three? You're sure?"

"Very sure."

Well, Tilly was glad someone was sure, because she wasn't sure she even knew what day it was anymore, let alone what was going on.

Gene recovered his aplomb. "Number Three has won the date with the handsome and successful, Ryan, our architect from Sydney! Just goes to show, folks, honesty is the best policy!"

The audience hooted and cheered.

"Ryan has chosen Contestant Number Three! The woman he had no matches with!"

Thankfully, they began introducing Ryan to the other contestants first, because Tilly wasn't sure her body would obey her just yet—she was still in shock.

"Contestant Number One, Ryan, is a lawyer who loves Scrabble and Sherlock Holmes. Say hello to Amelia Johnson!"

The music almost drowned out their brief greetings, and in the midst of Tilly's stunned confusion, she vaguely wondered if Ryan and Amelia were sharing the usual air-kiss on the cheek.

"Contestant Number Two is a pre-school teacher who moonlights as a MMA instructor. She's also a huge fan of Michael Jackson. Please say hello to Charlie Kincaid."

More clapping and more murmured greetings, and then the moment was there. Tilly couldn't believe it. Why had he chosen her? She'd screwed up every answer. Made an absolute fool of herself. Even Tilly thought she sounded like an idiot, and Tilly liked herself. Well, normally she did.

"Number Three, pull it together. Make your way down to the half way."

Tilly's legs obeyed Gene's instructions. Apparently, they listened better than her brain.

"Ryan, here we go. The big moment. Number Three, if you haven't guessed already, is an expat Brit. She's also a book editor, who, surprise, surprise, loves to read. She also loves the theatre and to sail and go hiking, and, as we all found out to our delight, she suffers from verbal diarrhea! Ryan Kingston, please say hello to Tilly Robson!"

The wall slid back and Tilly's legs almost let her down—had her brain not kicked in and told them to hold fast and lock, she'd have slid to the floor. Ryan was every bit as tall, dark, and handsome as Shannon had said he was, but it wasn't that which made Tilly's knees go weak. It was his smile, so warm and humorous. It was the intelligence and kindness she recognized in his gaze.

Gene was talking again, but he might as well have been speaking Chinese for all Tilly understood. To her relief, Ryan seemed a tad distracted too.

Maxwell took over, doing his usual bit of describing the holiday the show would send them on. Tilly didn't care—it could be Antarctica as far as she was concerned.

Ryan leaned down and whispered in her ear. Tilly shivered. "What say, when they stop with all the talking, you and I go find a lawnmower to take off on? Maybe find a karaoke bar and sing some eighties tunes badly?"

"Okay." All night she'd suffered from the disease, sayeth too mucheth, and now when she needed a few words to dazzle Ryan with, she could hardly string two together. And why was she agreeing to sing karaoke? She sucked at karaoke. In a panic, Tilly blurted, "Wait! Hang on. No. I'd much rather kiss you."

Bollocks! I might as well have told him to shag me now. Will my foot-in-mouth disease never end?

Ryan chuckled softly. "Nice to know. The feeling's mutual."

"It is?"

"It is."

At Ryan's words the signature tune from The Easy A, Pocketful of Sunshine blasted through the studio.

Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah...
I got a pocket, got a pocketful of sunshine
I got a love and I know that it's all mine, oh, oh-oh

"Christ, I think its happened. I'm in an eighties movie!"

Ryan silenced Tilly with a kiss. Definitely better than singing karaoke.

"Ryan... Tilly!"

Was Gene talking to them?

"Hey, guys!"

Tilly really wished Gene would shut-up—he was as distracting as a mosquito buzzing around your ears. Couldn't he see they were busy?

Laughter accompanied Gene's third, louder, attempt. "Ryan! Tilly!"

Oops, right. We have an audience....

And still the song played.

Take me away (Take me away)
A secret place (A secret place)
A sweet escape (A sweet escape)

Tilly scanned the room for Shannon. No surprises—she looked smug. One glance at Ryan's smiling face, though, and Tilly couldn't bring herself to mind. In fact, her roommate could rub her face in it for the rest of her life if she wanted.

And then came Maxwell's impossible to ignore voice-over.

"And there you have it, Ladies and Gentleman! Who needs a holiday when your destiny is a 'Match Made In Heaven'?"