Matching the Matchmaker

Evangeline Patel had a rule: matchmaking was business, not personal. She prided herself on keeping it that way. Love wasn't a mystery to her; it was a carefully calibrated algorithm of compatibility, shared goals, and communication styles. And she was the undisputed queen of cracking the code.

So when her sister Meera cornered her one Sunday afternoon with an urgent plea, Evangeline hesitated.

"His name's Ethan Walsh," Meera said, showing Evangeline a photo on her phone. The guy in the picture had a boyish grin and messy brown hair that looked like it had never met a comb.

Evangeline raised an eyebrow. "You want me to matchmake...him?"

"Yes," Meera said. "He's my coworker and friend. He's smart, funny, and, believe it or not, actually looking for something serious. He just-well, he's not great at the whole dating thing."

"And I'm supposed to fix that?"

Meera leaned forward, hands clasped. "Please, Evangeline. You're the best at this. He deserves a shot."

Evangeline sighed. "Fine. But if he's late to the meeting, I'm out."