Jess shrugged, rattled. “He’s not my type.”

“That man is everyone’s type.” Fizzy laughed incredulously.

“Well, you can have him.” Frowning, Jess watched him do his customary wipe of the condiment bar with a napkin. “I was just thinking how I can’t fathom the idea that he’s starting a matchmaking company. That isn’t something an asshole like that does.”

“Personally, I think Daniel has no idea what he’s talking about. Rich men who look like that are too married to their jobs during the day and their investment portfolios at night to think about anyone’s love life.”

Americano turned from the condiment bar to leave. In a flash, Jess’s curiosity bubbled over, and she impulsively caught him with a hand around his forearm as he passed. They both froze. His eyes were a rare, surprising color, lighter than she would have expected up close. Amber, she could see now, not brown. The weight of his full attention felt like a physical pressure on her chest, pushing the air out of her lungs.

“Hey.” Jess charged forward through vibrating nerves and lifted her chin. “Hang on a second. Can we ask you something?”

When she released him, he pulled his arm away slowly, glancing to Fizzy, then back to her. He nodded once.

“Rumor has it you’re a matchmaker,” Jess said.

Americano narrowed his eyes. “ ‘Rumor’?”

“Yeah.”

“In what context did this rumor come up?”

With an incredulous laugh, Jess gestured around them. “Ground zero of University Heights gossip. The rumor mill of Park Avenue.” She waited, but he continued to gaze down at her, perplexed. “Is it true?” she asked. “Are you a matchmaker?”

“Technically, I’m a geneticist.”

“So…” Her brows climbed her forehead. Americano was apparently very comfortable with pointed silence. “Is that a ‘no’ to matchmaking?”

He relented with an amused flick of one eyebrow. “My company has developed a service that connects people based on proprietary genetic profiling technology.”

Fizzy Oooohed. “Big words. Sounds scandalous.” She bent, scribbling in her notebook.

“ ‘Genetic profiling technology’?” Jess winced at him. “Gives me vague eugenics vibes, sorry.”

Fizzy was quick to redirect Americano’s attention away from Jess’s dumpster-fire mouth. “I write romance. This sounds like my kryptonite.” She held up her pen, shaking it flirtatiously. “My readers would flip for this stuff.”

“What’s your pen name?” he asked.

“I write under my real name,” she said. “Felicity Chen.”

Felicity offered a dainty hand as if for him to kiss and, after a beat of confused hesitation, Americano gripped her fingertips for a brief handshake.

“She’s translated in over a dozen languages,” Jess bragged, hoping to wipe the odd expression off his face.

It did the trick; Americano looked impressed. “Really.”

“Will there be an app?” Fizzy was relentless. “Is it like Tinder?”

“Yes.” He frowned. “But no. It’s not for hookups.”

“Can anyone do it?”

“Eventually,” he said. “It’s a—” His phone buzzed from his pocket, and he pulled it out, frown deepening. “Sorry,” he said, pocketing it again. “I need to go, but I appreciate your interest. I’m sure you’ll hear more about it soon.”