Matched by Mistletoe: Matched in Lovelorn, #0.5

By Megan Ryder

She's the one that got away. He's the one she never saw… until the town's matchmaker decided to step in.

 

Eden McIntyre has a problem. Her best friend is marrying her ex-boyfriend. What's worse? She's told everyone she's been dating someone from out of town. Only, now she has to produce her date for the Christmas wedding … and she doesn't have one. What's a girl to do? Hire a date!   

 

Josh Haynes has loved Eden since high school, but after a disastrous first date, she never spoke to him again. Now, he's returned to town, and he still can't get her to see him as anything more than her friend from high school. All he wants is a second chance. 

 

When Lovelorn's matchmaker offers Josh the chance to be Eden fake date for the wedding, will he finally get to show her how much he loves her, or is he destined to be in the friend zone for good?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Megan Ryder
• Release date: Sep 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223350002

Megan Ryder

Ever since Megan Ryder discovered Jude Deveraux and Judith McNaught while sneaking around the “forbidden” romance section of the library one day after school, she has been voraciously devouring romance novels of all types. Now a romance author in her own right, Megan pens sexy contemporary novels all about family and hot lovin’ with the boy next door. She lives in Connecticut, spending her days as a technical writer and her spare time divided between her addiction to knitting and reading.

Book preview

Chapter One

EDEN

"A North Face ski suit. A Bruno Cuccinelli suit. An Armani suit. One wasn’t enough? I didn’t spend this much on my clothes for the wedding, and I’m a fucking bridesmaid." 

Anger burned deep in my chest, almost like heartburn. I stared at the list my Rent-A-Date handed me as soon as he sat down and ordered a glass of Courvoisier brandy. I’d met him for the first time in person five minutes ago, though we’d been talking for almost a month. He’d seemed perfect for my needs—a long-distance boyfriend to show everyone that my friend marrying my ex-boyfriend, the guy I’d dated for five years, wasn’t a big deal. We had to pretend we’d been dating for a few months, visiting each other in Buffalo, and fucking like bunnies on speed. 

It had seemed strange when he hadn’t found the time to meet me in person, but I’d been busy with the ice wine harvest and wrapping up everything from the fall harvest. I would’ve found the time, maybe. But this guy, Timothy, didn’t seem to have the time either. It strengthened my story about him being too busy to come to town and meet my family. 

Now, I realized what a mistake that was, especially considering this laundry list of expensive items he’d just handed me. He expected me to pony up hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars for the pleasure of his company. Trust me, there was no pleasure to be had with this guy.

The bartender and owner of The Happy Hookup, Drew Cafferty, poured two fingers of Jameson whiskey into a tumbler and slid it in front of me. Run while you can, he muttered so only I could hear.

I snorted a laugh and picked up the glass to hide it. He knew me so well. Wine, even our own vintage, wasn’t going to cut it. Not this time.

Meanwhile, my date let his gaze slowly run over me, his eyebrow slightly raised as he took in the fitted, dark jeans and Angora sweater I thought looked nice but clearly wasn’t up to his standards. 

He sniffed, evidently not impressed. Weddings are expensive, especially destination weddings. Based on the itinerary you sent me, there are several receptions, a ski trip, and the bachelor party, besides the wedding. You asked for a boyfriend who could impress your business colleagues and pretend to be your lover.

Drew walked by and muttered in a vain attempt to save this guy from himself, Stop talking, dude. Just stop.

Drew always tried to save the village idiots from themselves, even the out-of-towners. In this case, he might have been too generous. 

I deliberately placed the tumbler on the table and stared him down. It’s not technically a destination wedding. You’re the only one who had to travel. And it certainly doesn’t require thousand-dollar suits. We’re not in the Hamptons. We’re in Lovelorn. I’m not paying for this.

I already bought everything! His tone resembled a bleating goat.

I barely resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I hope you saved your receipts. We signed a contract on the Rent-a-Date site. We agreed to specific expenses, including travel and hotel. I never agreed to these extras, and I won’t pay for them. This violates our deal in every possible way.

He tried to snatch the list from my hands, but I held it out of reach, folded it, and tucked it in my purse. I’ll keep this and send it to the site as proof when I cancel the contract. I’ll pay for your travel expenses here and your hotel room tonight, but that’s it. Go home, Timothy. It’s over.

He stood and gave me a scornful look. You’re a bitch. Now I know why you had to hire someone to be your date. He turned and stormed out of the pub, and a few of the regulars gave him the evil eye. Another benefit of being in a small town. They may all know your business, but they also have your back.

God, how could I have even considered this crazy scheme? Spending a night, much less a week, with a stranger pretending to be a loving girlfriend? I could barely do it with the guy I dated for real for five years and look where that got me. Broken-hearted, and him marrying my friend in six days. Okay, maybe not completely heartbroken, but I still had to survive the wedding, single and pathetic. But I’d make it, right?

My phone buzzed and an Instagram notification popped on the screen, #KendrickEricksonWedding. A sickeningly sweet picture of the bride-to-be, my friend Amy, and my former boyfriend, the now-groom, Brad, gazing into each other’s eyes with the caption seven days until you’re mine filled the screen. 

Nausea churned in my stomach, and I fumbled for my purse, then realized I’d left the antacids at home. Damn small purses. I wished nothing ill on Amy. She was one of my closest friends, the younger sister of my best friend, Viv. We’d grown up together, living on neighboring vineyards, and our mothers were best friends. I didn’t much like her dating—now marrying—my ex-boyfriend, even though I’d given her my approval. I never expected the relationship to go anywhere, much less that she would get Brad to the altar in under eight months when I could barely get him to propose in five years. I wasn’t bitter. Of course not. 

But I had my pride and my lie to cover up, especially since I told everyone I’d been dating someone in Buffalo for the past six months. 

And I still needed a date, damn it. 

I finished my whiskey and gestured for another, not that alcohol would solve this problem. My bestie, Viv Kendrick, Amy’s older sister, had convinced me to try Rent-A-Date to hire someone to pretend to be my date for the week. Not that I blamed her or anything. Ultimately, it was my fault I had to hire someone in the first place, my lie I had to cover up.

Drew held up a bottle of Jameson, but I shook my head. I had to drive home, and I wasn’t going to drink any more of that tonight. I’d stick to what I knew, thank you very much, no matter how badly I wanted to drown my sorrows. Wine from my vineyard, my vintage preferably, would do the job well enough. I’d grown up on that. It flowed in my veins.

Well, that was a total bust. That’s the last time I listen to Viv.

Drew leaned on the bar. You should know better than to listen to Viv. Good thing he left, or I would’ve pitched him out of here for you. You deserve better than that guy, Eden.

Thanks, Drew, but I’m running out of time.

Drew gave me a sympathetic smile, the kind I was so fucking tired of. You’ve got plenty of time to find the right guy. You just need a little luck. Or maybe you can ask the matchmaker.

I shuddered. Leave it to Drew to make me feel better in one breath and mention a nightmare in the other. Though, he had one good idea there. I gave him a considering look in return, and he immediately straightened and held up his hands.

Nope, sorry, Eden. This guy is off-limits.

I haven’t even asked you yet. I tried to ignore how his immediate rejection hurt, but in reality, I wasn’t hung up on Drew, not like so many of the women who fell for him. I just need you for a week. Nothing more. Then we can break up, and you can go back to your groupies.

He grinned, backing away the whole time. Nope, I’m looking for the total package. True love and all that. I’m not messing with my love karma. Find someone else, Eden.

I sighed. Even Drew, the one guy who helped everyone in Lovelorn, who owned a handyman business as a second job, had rejected me. I had officially hit rock bottom, and I was all alone there. It sucked balls.

My initial backup plan—a brilliant one, I thought—had been my college friend’s husband from Boston. Most people in town had never met him, but the damned flu had felled that option. Not to mention he was gay, and his husband hadn’t been thrilled to loan him out for my plan.

I sipped my merlot. This truly was one of our best vintages. Dry, smooth, and mellow. We were getting some recognition because of this vintage. I sighed. Thank God the bar wasn’t busy tonight. I was so fucking tired of pitying looks or people asking me how I was doing now my ex-boyfriend was getting married.

How the hell did they think I was doing with my friend marrying my ex-boyfriend? It sucked. I only had myself to blame, or so everyone told me. Amy asked me before she started dating Brad, saying she knew it might be awkward, but did I mind if they dated? I didn’t want to be the petty bitch and say, of course, I mind, so I stuffed my anger down and smiled. Who would have thought they would be getting married eight months later? Then she asked me to be a bridesmaid. The final cherry on the shit sundae of my life. It was like rubbing a puppy’s nose in their accident. And how did I respond? I smiled and said, of course, I would be happy to be a bridesmaid. Who the fuck did that?

What would you suggest I do now, Drew? My last brilliant idea was a bust. I tried to keep the edge of hysteria out of my voice. The wedding is Saturday. Not a whole helluva lot of time.

I say you go in there holding your head high with a fuck-you attitude. You have nothing to be embarrassed about, he suggested, proving that men never had the same pressures as women regarding dating or exes.

I grimaced. Except I’ve been talking about the wonderful guy I’ve been dating.

Drew groaned. Oh, yeah. You had to do that.

I’d joked about going to Buffalo for several weekends, about Netflixing and chilling. How was I to know it meant something else? By then, I was in too deep with the lie about my dating. I truly meant catching up on shows, reading, relaxing, and taking a break—literal Netflix and chilling. If I conveniently broke up with my fictitious man right before the wedding, no one would believe me.

Drew shrugged. You could always ask granddad. He could help you.

I glared at him. Dating got me into this nightmare.

Drew shook his head. Not dating. Finding the right one. Granddad is brilliant at finding the perfect match.

I finished my glass and tapped it. This entire conversation required more wine. I could always Uber home. And the matchmaker was not an option. He’s brilliant—at finding a person’s soulmate, their perfect match. I don’t want that. I just need a date for the week.

I glanced at the corner booth where the matchmaker conducted his business. The half-circle booth had pictures on the wall illustrating successful matches throughout the years. Not all of them—there wasn’t enough wall space in the pub. But enough to show his skills. There were also signs about his rules and a closed for business sign that could flip to show open when he was there for clients. He held court during the two major festivals in June and September and other select times throughout the year. He also used the