Elaine Jordan

Nathan let out a breath through his nose and straightened the tulips in his hand.

Same suit. Same damn flowers. Different door.

“Sally,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Just send me back. I’ll cancel the date, I swear. I’ll delete your code and bury the watch in a field. This is too much.”

“Request denied,” Sally chirped. “The success of your romantic future requires full exploration of high-probability candidates. Please ring the bell.”

He glared at the sleek watch face like it owed him money. Then, reluctantly, he lifted his hand.

Ding-dong.

A moment passed.

Then the door swung open, and there she was—Elaine Jordan.

Tall. Glamorous. Hair in silky waves that spilled over her shoulders like something out of a shampoo commercial. Red lips, red heels, red dress. And yes, those definitely-enhanced breasts, defying physics and modesty alike.

Nathan’s jaw slackened.

"Mrs. Jor—Elaine?"

Her face lit up with delight. “Nathan! Oh my God, you look so handsome. Are those for me? You are such a sweetheart. Come in, come in—I just need to put these in water. I’ll be right back.”

He stepped into the tastefully decorated foyer, blinking like he’d been hit by a freight train full of perfume and memory.

Elaine Jordan. His best friend Tim’s mom. The woman who made cookies in booty shorts. The woman he once had a terrifyingly vivid dream about when he was sixteen and avoided eye contact with for three weeks after.

What the hell was Sally thinking?

“Candidate: Elaine Jordan. Age: 43. Occupation: Real estate agent. Marital status: Complicated. Compatibility Index: 89.1%. Note: Subject searched ‘hot milf stuck in dryer’ seventeen times between ages 16 and 17. Correlated preference detected.”

Nathan slapped a hand over the watch face. “Shut up shut up shut up.”

Elaine glided back in, hips swaying like she was in a music video. “I’m so glad you asked me out,” she said, brushing a hand over his arm. “It’s been… lonely around here lately. My husband is always away on business. Always. I’ve been so tired of being just... a wife. I want to feel like a woman again.”

Nathan made a strangled noise somewhere between a cough and a prayer.

She guided him to the couch. “I thought we could share a glass of wine before heading out. Unless… you’d rather stay in?”

Somewhere in his brain, an alarm was going off. But his hormones had thrown a towel over it.

They sat. She poured. She leaned close, laughed too hard at his dumb joke about real estate agents and haunted houses. Her hand found his thigh.

“God,” she murmured, eyes half-lidded. “You always had the cutest little smile. And that brain of yours… so brilliant. I used to wonder what you’d be like when you got older.” Her nails lightly scraped along his leg. “Now I know.”

Her lips brushed his cheek. Then his jaw.

Then—

“Oh hey, Nathan.”

Nathan froze. Elaine's hand froze. Their faces turned in slow-motion toward the voice.

Tim.

Standing in the entryway with a gym bag over his shoulder and earbuds around his neck, totally unbothered.

Tim popped a protein bar into his mouth. “Heard you two were going out. Mom’s been super pumped.” He grinned. “So, what do you think? Gonna make a play for the big spot? Wanna be my new dad?”

Nathan blinked.

Elaine smiled nervously, lips still inches from his face.

Nathan sighed. “Sally.”

“Yes, Nathan?”

“Reset.”

“Resetting.”

The room flickered.

Darkness. Then light. Flowers. A new door.

Nathan groaned. “I swear to God, if this one opens and it’s a goddamn nun, I’m jumping into traffic.”