Annabelle had thought that swiping would be the hard part. 

But, no. 

It got worse. 

As it turned out, talking was the real issue. 

She had stared at his username all night. Clicked on his profile, so that she could see their bare message history. Then, nothing. 

How was she supposed to start the conversation? 

Hello? Hi? 

Boring. 

When you were a kid, did you ever think balloons were edible? 

Weird. 

Thanks for last night? 

Too much like a one-night stand. 

Eight hours later, Annabelle was sleep deprived, getting dressed for work, and staring at their message history. 

Which was still blank. 

With a sigh, she stuck her phone back into her overalls and threw her hair into a knot. 

Boys could wait. 

She had some bowling balls to sort. 

People simply didn't give enough credit to those working in bowling clubs. 

"Sir, could you please tell your son that it is not okay to throw the ball at his friend?" 

"No, ma'am. You absolutely cannot play in your heels." 

"Listen, kid, I don't know what lemonade your mum makes for you at your home. But this is the lemonade we have in our fridge. Do you want it, or not?" 

She saw everything. 

Parents who sent their kids loose, letting them rip the whole place apart. Dates who were trying too hard to impress their partners that they would complain about the bowling balls being the wrong weight, because they were too embarrassed to admit that their throw just sucked. Kids who thought they were in a freaking palace, expecting her to sniff up their arse and listen to every bizarre request they had. 

"Miss," one of them had said this morning. "Can I roll down the alley and see if I can knock all the pins with my body?" 

"What? Absolutely no-- hey! Come back!" 

Seriously. 

Who knew that, one day, she would be chasing a kid who was tumble turning his way down a bowling alley? 

Certainly not her. 

Still, she had thought she had seen it all. Kids picking at their noses and sticking the boogers into the holes on the bowling ball. People throwing the ball way too hard, falling down and having a concussion. She had even had someone leave the store because they had a tantrum once Annabelle played Christmas music over the loudspeaker. When it was literally two days before Christmas. 

Nothing had prepared her, though, for Luca, her favourite Italian waiter, walking through the glass doors.

With his date. 

Annabelle hadn't been so self conscious about her work place until that moment. But, suddenly, she became of the blankets of dust over the wooden floors, and that musty smell of steel and cheap lemonade that surrounded her. The rattling of balls thumping against the floor and the clattering ring of pins just felt too loud and angry, even though it had become a familiar song to her ears. 

Because his date was stunning. 

It was one of the girls he had shown her on Tinder yesterday, when they had been laying beneath the stars. He had joked that she was simply out of his league, but Annabelle had encouraged him to swipe anyways. Because, well, what was the worst that could happen? 

Annabelle found herself gripping way too tightly on a dirty sock that she was supposed to throw into the 'dirty box.' 

She had been so stupid, spending all night wondering how to message him. When, all along, he had already found some other girl. 

Luca and Tinder Girl were laughing as they walked in. There was a swing to their voices, a gentle sway to their bodies as they moved towards the counter. 

Then, when he saw Annabelle, he froze. 

There was something in his eyes -- quick and alert. But it was gone in a second, replaced by a bright smile. 

"Annabelle!" he said. "I... Long time, no see, no?"

She cleared her throat. "Long time, indeed." 

Because, you know, I've been staring at your selfie all morning. Not that you need to know that. 

"Christina, this is Annabelle," Luca said. "The girl who helped me get Tinder last night. She's the reason we met." 

Annabelle's smile was so fake that she fully expected it to fall off. 

Because, good lord, was that girl drop-dead gorgeous. Perfect hazel eyes, like someone had gotten a spoonful of Nutella and dropped it right into her irises. Tall, with nice lips and beautiful freckles and hair so fine that it looked like it had been woven through with gold. 

How did he get so freaking lucky on Tinder? When all she got was a catfish? 

"Annabelle? Hello?" 

She hadn't realised he had been saying something. Or that she had been staring ominously at his date. 

Awkward. 

"Uh, yes, what was that? Size ten?" she quickly said. 

His brows shot up. "Actually, yes. Size ten, please. And for Chrissy..." 

God, he was already calling her by a nickname? Wasn't that like, third base or something? 

"I actually have my own bowling shoes," Christina saying, digging through her bag. "So don't worry about me. I come here all the time." 

Annabelle immediately perked up at that. "Really? I've never seen you around." 

"Yeah. I come here all the time. I'm a member." 

"What's your number? Let me search you up in the system." 

Christina didn't bat an eye as she rattled off the number. 

Sure enough, she was a member. And, looking through her history, she had come to the bowling alley at least once every month for the past three years. 

Dammit. 

"Oh," Annabelle said softly. "Yeah. Alley for two, then?" 

Luca gave her a smile that screamed sympathetic. "Are you okay, Annabelle?" 

"I'm fine." 

"Are you sure? Has that Al guy tried to message you?" 

In all honesty, Annabelle had forgotten all about her catfishing date. She had kind of been concerned about her imaginary date who she had hoped wouldn't be imaginary but was most definitely imaginary because, you know, he had his own freaking date. 

But she had seen notifications from Al. Which she had promptly ignored. 

"I heard about last night," Christina said. "You poor thing. You must have been so shaken up." 

Annabelle tried not to reach out and shake the woman. 

I don't want your sympathy! I want your man! 

But, instead, Annabelle just twisted her lips into another big, painful smile. 

"Alley nine is all yours." 

For the next two hours, Annabelle kept her gaze on Luca's date. 

She was all for women supporting women, don't get her wrong. But, come on, there was no way this lady could be as perfect as she was. Absolutely not. There had to be something that would make her slip up. 

So, while mopping up the milkshakes that kids had spilt on the floor or restacking the rack of shoes, she kept her own invisible surveillance camera on alley nine. 

Bowling clubs were always where people showed their true colours. Their ugly competitiveness or pinching rage. Their terrible aim. Their poor sportsmanship. Their lack of deodorant. 

But this woman, Christina, didn't fall for any of those traps. 

She didn't do that pretentious thing where she acted like she was weighing her balls, nor did she gave them disgusting little kisses for good luck. For the most part, she almost always got a strike, leaving both Annabelle and Luca stunned. But she didn't wave her triumph in anyone's face -- she sheepishly smiled, gave a playful wink to her date, and sat back down. 

When she ordered her drink, she didn't treat Annabelle like a maid. She used please and thank you, and she even ordered a milkshake. 

A milkshake. 

How did Luca find someone who was not only stunning, but also not lactose intolerant? 

That just wasn't fair. 

Luca, too, was just so graceful. Unlike his date, his balls were going all over the place, but he never made a fit. He laughed. Beautifully. 

And when their date ended, he had, of course, paid for it. Then, hand in hand, he and his date turned to leave. 

But he froze by the glass doors. 

"Oh," he said. "I've been short changed." 

Annabelle felt her face heat up.

Had she really not given him the right amount of change? She could have sworn that she had given him the exact amount back. She wasn't amazing at maths, sure, but she knew how to subtract forty dollars from a fifty dollar bill. 

"You can wait outside," he told Christina. "I'll be right there." 

Annabelle frantically checked through the receipts as he sauntered over to her. 

She had charged him forty dollars. 

He had paid her fifty. 

She had given him ten. 

That--

"Sorry," he instantly said as he reached the counter. "I just wanted to talk to you." 

Annabelle froze. 

That was so much worse. 

"Oh," she said. "About...?" 

If he brought up the fact that they had swiped each other on Tinder, then she would melt. Right into her bloody boots. 

"I wanted to know if I did okay." 

"Huh?" 

He flushed. "This was my first date ever. I don't know if I was any good. I thought you could, well... You know a lot about all this. I thought you might be able to tell me." 

She couldn't be mad at him. He just looked so awkward, so damned curious, like a little puppy dog. 

So, she gave his arm a squeeze. 

"You were amazing," she told him. "She looked really, really happy." 

"Thank you. That's very kind." 

"Don't mention it." 

He then glanced awkward at his phone. "I guess that--" 

"You should probably go back outsi--" 

"Yeah." 

"Yeah." 

They both made eye contact. Then, to Annabelle's surprise, they both laughed. 

"I noticed that we swiped each other on Tinder," he said. "What a great idea." 

Annabelle's eyes went wide. "What do you mean?" 

"Well, now we can contact each other if something goes wrong. Like, if I walk outside and my date tries to stab me with an umbrella, I can send you an SOS, no?" 

"Did she even bring an umbrella?" 

"Well, no." 

"Then how could she stab you with one?" 

He seemed to consider this. "Well. She could stab me with other things." 

"True." 

"Car keys." 

"A pen." 

"A hair brush." 

"Okay, girls do not carry around hair brushes in their bags." 

"A sword." 

"That's more like it."

He laughed again, and Annabelle realised with a breath of horror that her hand was still over his arm. She quickly pulled it back, shoving it into her pocket. 

"Your date will be waiting for you outside," she told him. "Hopefully, I'll catch you around again. Sorry I couldn't put chilli into her milkshake. I didn't think she needed it." 

"Definitely not." He glanced back at the door. Then, back over to her. "Hey, listen..." 

"Hm?" 

She was expecting him to mention last night. The stars. Their laughter. The spark she felt when her fingers had brushed against his sleeve. 

Instead, he gave her a worried glance. 

"If you go another date, and the guy is like that Al guy..." 

She waved away his concern. "I'll just stab him with my umbrella. Do not worry." 

"I know. But if you ever need anyone, I..." 

"Thank you. I'll be okay, though. Really." 

She gave him an awkward thumbs up. Then, he reached over with his own thumb. Gave it a little touch. 

Perhaps it was supposed to be cute. But Annabelle just frowned. 

"Dude, what was that?" 

"What was what?" 

"Your thumb. You... Why did you make our thumbs touch?" 

He gave her a bewildered face. "I thought you put it out to be touched. Like, you know, a high five. But with thumbs." 

"No, I was giving you a thumbs up. Have you never--" 

"Wait, so it wasn't a thumb high five--" 

"No, it was a--" 

"I should probably go back outside before Chrissy--" 

"Yes, you--" 

Again, they both went silent. Threw their heads back and laughed.

"I'll definitely see you around," he told her. 

Then, with his eyes shining from their laughter, he turned and made his way to his date. 

Leaving Annabelle and her deflating heart. 

Call it loneliness. 

Call it desperation. 

But, that afternoon, as she closed the club for the day, she pulled out her phone. 

Took a long look at Luca's face. 

Then, she found herself swiping through face after face of men on Tinder. 

She would find someone. 

She would.