Page 19 of Meet Cute Reboot
This isn’t safe. Nana could trip and fall, break her wrist or her hip. I don’t care what she says. I’m fixing it.
The paint on the garage is flaking worse than the house, and the shingles are twice as old. The leaks have encouraged termites to take residence and nibble the studs into Swiss cheese. There’s probably no saving the structure. Best bet will be to demolish it and start over.
Gran still uses the garage at the risk of her own safety. She stores the Christmas trees and ornaments under a tarp and has metal shelves full of plastic containers. I don’t know what’s in them, or whether the contents will survive the water and mice. Probably not.
The gray door doesn’t want to budge. I have to kick it a few times to gain entry. The scents of rotten wood and mildewed canvas waft from the interior. I hear something skitter in the far corner, and I shudder. A mouse. Nana puts out mouse traps and switches them frequently, but new generations of mice always find their way in.
If Nana ever gets written up by the city, it will be for this eyesore. Her neighbors probably don’t appreciate the view or the mouse population. If they lodge a complaint, it could open up a can of worms.
I deposit the trash bag into the metal can and tug the door closed. When I head back to the house, I see the faint traces of Aunt Suzanne, Madison, and Nana through the kitchen window. Nana is sitting at the table to rest her feet.
She doesn’t mean to be blunt. It’s just her nature.
...you went on a date, live, with the guy who cheated on you...
Why yes, Nana. Yes, I did.
Let’s see if my little stunt is paying off.
I park my bum on the bottom step and pull my phone out of my back pocket. To check my subscriber count, I have to go through the admin app. It has a reports page that tells me how many users are currently in the system and how many total profiles have been created.
The app’s spinner goes round and round while I wait. And wait.
That’s odd.
I wait a few more minutes. Nothing. This has never happened before. So, I exit and tap on the MatchAI icon.
The same.
A minute later, still spinning.
This isn’t good.
I open my phone app and punch Bethany’s cell number. She’s my go-to girl at Excel if I have any operating hiccups, contracting issues, or promotional needs.
“Hey,” Bethany says.
“Bethany, I think we have a problem.”
Chapter 7
Luke
Man, I stink.
After pulling weeds, I decided to go for a jog. Since I was already dirty, I figured why not turn myself into a walking biohazard? Luckily, my dog, Korg, loves me whether I’m clean or toxic.
We stop in front of my house after a good thirty-minute run, Korg panting with his tongue hanging out. I swear he’s smiling. Seeing him happy makes my heart swell.
The neighborhood is quiet, one reason I love this place. After living in Chicago and L.A., I’ve had enough of traffic and noise.
My phone rings. I pull it from my joggers, hit the speaker button, and then lay the phone on the grass while I bend down in a stretch.
“What’s up?” I say to Todd. He’s my buddy at Excel. Since I’m a majority investor in MatchAI, he’s been calling me with daily launch stats. “How many new subscribers we got?”
“I have bad news. Two pieces of bad news. Subscribers are squat. And the website is down.”
I stand and wipe my face with my shirt. “Down as in, down for maintenance?”