An Unlikely Match (The Match Series - Book #1) (2 page)

JW was new to this game. But a
good grandfather would step up and help out. Wouldn’t he?

o
o o o

Morgan
Holbrook swung his rented bicycle into JW’s garage. He couldn’t bring himself to call the man “grandfather,” and he probably never would. This long-lost family reunion visit had seemed incredibly important to his mother, but Morgan found the whole thing an imposition and an annoyance. The nodes of commonality between him and a former four-star Army general were zero.

Morgan had
just successfully defended his PhD thesis on advanced concepts in jet propulsion, and he was waiting to hear on a new research position at Berkeley. If the hiring committee asked for a second interview, he needed to be able to get there on short notice. Also, the further along he was on his latest research project, the better. Hanging out here in Florida, getting to know a gruff, testy, virtual stranger, while the heat and humidity melted his brain cells, was a colossal waste of time.

Not to mention the alligators. Why
anyone, never mind slow-moving senior citizens, wanted to live in a state where gators ran rampant was beyond him. He’d dodged two of them during his ride through the park this morning.

He hit the button to
close the overhead door, plucking his damp T-shirt away from his body as he moved toward JW’s laundry room. He had to admit, Sunny Autumn Seniors Community itself seemed like a comfortable place to live. By his count, there were thirty roomy, well-appointed condos in this horseshoe-shaped building. They were built surrounding a private pool and patio area that merged into a well-kept park which, in turn, connected to other buildings that comprised the broader complex. At its eastern edge, the park was across the street from the beach.

At the moment
, Morgan could see JW and his friends outside by the pool. He recognized Sam, Lizbet, Daisy and Hannah. Sam, he liked. In fact, it might have been better all-around if Sam had been his long-secret grandfather. Genetically, it would have made more sense as well.

Sam was one of the original NASA
computer scientists. Geniuses, all of them. Using little more than a contemporary wristwatch’s worth of computational capacity, they had put a man on the moon. What’s more, they’d brought him back again. Morgan and Sam had had a chance to talk during a barbecue last night, and Morgan had discovered that Sam had worked for NASA through both the space station and space shuttle programs. He continued to consult on the Mars rovers.

Morgan
made his way down the hall to the main-floor bathroom and stripped off his T-shirt and bicycle shorts, securing the door behind him. It was probably just as well that he changed before seeing JW again. The man seemed to think exercise was only valid if it involved an obstacle course, camouflage fatigues and a bellowing drill sergeant.

Morgan
twisted the tap to hot, musing that civilian life was definitely his choice. He’d much rather shower alone than with twenty-odd soldiers. He stepped under the spray, reaching for the bar of plain, white soap. His grandfather was a no-nonsense man. The facecloth and towels were olive green, while the striped can of shaving cream was right out of the fifties.

Morgan washed and rinsed,
telling himself to quit whining and try to appreciate the visit. In two days he’d be back on the plane heading across the country to California. Between now and then, he could be polite to the old man, maybe learn something positive about him that he could share with his mother. Maybe,
maybe
, he would find something that the two of them had in common.

Morgan scrubbed the
mud and dust from his legs and mused over strategies to make the rest of the visit less awkward. Perhaps JW liked vintage horror flicks or soccer games. Or maybe he could turn him on to Robotic Quest—though JW was likely more of a Metal Battle kind of guy.

Morgan paused.

There was a thought. The world of online gaming had most certainly left JW behind. Maybe he’d be interested in some good, old-fashioned, shoot-up-the-enemy action. It would be better than listening to another lecture on duty, valor and the American way. Morgan agreed that a military career was a perfectly valid and meritorious choice for many young men. Just not for all of them, and not for him.

He
spun the tap to off and stepped out of the shower, drying his chest and shoulders before wrapping the towel around his waist. The guest room was directly across the hall, and in two steps he was into the room. There, he dressed in a pair of black shorts and a black-and-white-striped T-shirt, combing his hair out of his eyes.

When h
e exited the room, he nearly ran into Daisy.

“Cookie?” she asked him, holding out a plate.

“Love one,” he responded, taking a roundish, vanilla cookie with what looked like chocolate icing in the middle.

“
It’s a famous, family recipe.”

He took
a bite. “Delicious.” It was probably one of the best cookies he’d ever tasted.

“Truth is I stole it from Hannah. The recipe was famous in her family.”

“It’s still delicious.”

“
Does your mother bake?” she asked him, falling into step along the hallway toward the living room.

“Only
with the cookie dough you buy in a refrigerated package.” Morgan remembered the Halloween and Christmas cookies from his childhood.

“That’s too bad.”

“They tasted just fine.”

“
So, you were third in the birth order?” she asked as they crossed the living room toward the back entrance to the patio.

“Two older s
isters,” Morgan said. “Step-sisters, actually. My mother married a widower when I was two.”

Daisy nodded
her understanding. “I used to ride a bike. Growing up in west Texas, we rode all over the place. Then I turned sixteen and got a driver’s license. We had a Ford, a pickup. Do you have a car, or just the bike?”

“I have a car,” Morgan confirmed.
It was hard to beat a bike for getting around campus and town, but he liked to venture farther afield, and it helped when you were picking up groceries.

“What kind?”

“Aston Martin.”

“Coupe?
Convertible?”

He followed her
through the kitchen. “Coupe. A little silver one. It’s ten years old. Why?”

“Just curious.”
She stopped and peered at him for a long moment. “Would you like a glass of lemonade?”

He’d rather have a beer. “Sure.”

She pulled open JW’s fridge. “And you’re a teacher?”

“A researcher.
” What was with the third degree?

“With a PhD.”
She extracted a glass pitcher of pink lemonade.

“Seriously?” came JW’s
challenging voice as he entered through the open doorway from the deck.

“I told you I
’d successfully defended my thesis,” Morgan responded to JW.

But JW was
frowning at the lemonade. “Give the man a brew.”

Daisy appeared to stifle a grin. She lowered her voice to a gravelly level. “Would you like a brew, Morgan?”

“Sure,” said Morgan. “Love one.” He couldn’t help but glance curiously at JW.

JW rolled his eyes.
“Pink lemonade. What are we? Six-year-old girls?”

“
Morgan drives an Aston Martin,” Daisy announced, setting the pitcher of lemonade back in the fridge and extracting a couple of cans of Budweiser from the door.

For some reason, Morgan found
himself waiting for JW’s approval.

“
I guess that company’s partly American owned,” JW allowed.

Morgan let
the quasi-insult slide. “So, you like American cars?”

“Mustangs,
Corvettes, what’s not to like?”

Daisy handed JW a beer
then handed one to Morgan.

Morga
n popped the top on the can. “Ever played Metal Battle? It’s a video game. Overseas war-based.”

“You like video games, Morgan?” asked Daisy.

“I do,” said Morgan, keeping his attention on JW.

“Is that where kids pretend to shoot people on a computer screen?” asked JW. He didn’t sound impressed.

“Or aliens,” Morgan elaborated. “Or zombies. In some of the games, you build things, like robots.”

“On a computer screen?”
JW asked.

“Yes.”

“So, none of these things really exist.”

“In the case of zombies, I’ve always considered that a
plus.”

“And
people think that’s fun?” JW looked doubtful.

“
Some people do,” said Morgan, realizing he’d made a tactical error. JW didn’t want to play video battle games. He’d already done the real thing.

“Or w
e could take in a baseball game,” Morgan offered. “Or football. I’m assuming you like football.”

“Do
you
like football?” Daisy chimed in.

“Sure,” said Morgan
, determined to be agreeable. “I love football.”

“There’s a
college game tonight,” JW offered. “Junior college, but the local team is doing well in their division.”

“Sounds
terrific,” said Morgan. “I’d love to go.”

“What are your favorite foods?” asked Daisy.

Morgan was confused. “Excuse me?”

“I thought we could all go out for
dinner after the game. What do you like to eat?”

“Anything,” said Morgan. He’d spent
most of the last ten years on a college campus. If you could heat it up in a dorm room, he could eat it.

“Burgers and
brats?” asked Daisy. “Or are you more steak and seafood? Or, maybe you like ethnic food. Italian? sushi?”

“He doesn’t want sushi,” said JW.

“Burgers and brats,” said Morgan. That seemed like good all-around football food.

“Okay,” said Daisy, looking
satisfied.

JW looked happy
, too. Good enough for Morgan. All he had to do was keep this up for another thirty-six hours.

o
o o o

When
JW walked into Sam’s garage three days later, his four friends were clustered in a group, their rapt attention on a pair of computer screens.

Sam had always filled his double garage with an array of electronic gizmos and gadgets. But since they’d started Operation
Matchmaker, as JW had dubbed it, the quantity and variety of gear had increased exponentially.

Hannah
was shaking her head in obvious disappointment. “I truly don’t know where we go from here.”

“And after all our hard work,” Daisy groaned with exasperation.

“What happened?” JW asked, closing the door behind him, glancing from Daisy to
Lizbet to Hannah, ending on Sam. The women were standing in a semi-circle, while Sam was perched on a folding metal chair directly in front of the computer screens.

“There’s
absolutely nothing wrong with the algorithm,” Sam stated with conviction.

“Except that it doesn’t work,” said Hannah.

“We don’t know it doesn’t work,” said Lizbet.

“What happened?”
JW repeated, perching himself against a work bench nearby.

He
still had reservations about the operation, but during the final day of Morgan’s visit, he’d become convinced the man needed assistance in meeting women. And Hannah in particular had worked really hard, gathering and logging information about her many granddaughters and great-nieces. JW now found himself rooting for success.

Hannah
fluttered her hand in the direction of the screen. “That thing matched Morgan with Amelia Airhead.”

“
Airhead?” JW rose to move closer, immediately worried by the nickname.

“That’s what her
brother calls her,” Hannah explained. “And her mom, my niece Georgia.” Her eyes narrowed at Sam. “Amelia’s a cheerleader. And a ridiculous match for a genius.”

“The algorithm is
solid,” Sam stated. “Better than anything you’re going to find anywhere else in the world.”

“We’ve only got
thirty names in the database,” Lizbet offered in a conciliatory tone. “Maybe there’s not enough to choose from.”

JW knew he hadn’t done his part in populating the database. But he had no grandchi
ldren other than Morgan, and no nieces or nephews to draw on, either. He’d tried to make up for it in other ways, making a hefty donation to the equipment fund, for example, and helping Sam move it all in and set it up.

“It’s a
ninety-three-point-seven percent match,” said Sam. “I don’t care how many or how few are in the database, you’re not going to get much better than that.”