Why'd I agree to this again? Oh, right. Because it turns out I'm in love with Zander Nolan and find myself sat in front of a vanity mirror with Celia glamourising me in order to be presentable for my first date with Zander.

Thinking back to a few days ago when I made my 'peach box confession' which to my mortification is what Zander plans on calling it, I found myself pecked with kisses in a daze before I had to untangle myself from Zander's crushing grip and hastily say goodbye. To my shock, Zander offered to come with me under the guise of housesitting my cactus while I did matchmaking work but I refused out of wanting space to shriek and freak out all on my own.

I needed time to swallow the fact that I was now dating Zander and that I, Catherine Lewis finally had a boyfriend but what neither of us could have expected was that the matchmaking business would bring in a truck load of new clients - spring was in the air, and people were ready to find love.

Settling for texting, we agreed to make Saturday our first official date and that's how I find myself as the victim of Celia's makeover show, starring Celia Anderson the self-titled professional and Catherine Lewis, the sad audience member selected to quietly sit in a chair while she does it all.

"All done! What do you?" Celia asked, admiring her handy work and I have to give it to her, I'm a far cry from the colourful fuzzy nightmare Zander first laid eyes on. I went from looking like a bunny on crack to a city 'it' girl with straightened hair, a tweed skirt and cropped jacket set in pale blue with cream boots to match. If my outfit didn't scream 'I'm going on a date' then I certainly felt it.

Simpering with false tears, Celia nods approvingly before waving her fingers dramatically to fan her face, "I've done it, I'm finally seeing my friend go out with a guy and one who is hot too."

"Celia, I hate to burst your bubble, but I'm pretty sure that's all due to me and Zander," I interjected, rolling my eyes but blush when she nudges me and squeals with all the delight of a best friend.

"Have fun and get home by eleven because if you're not...I'm going to assume things and will never let either one of you live it down."

"Celia!" I cried.

"What? You're twenty-one, it could happen."

Raising a hand to stop her train of thought, I shake my head vehemently, "Not on our first date! Why would you try and ruin the romance for me!"

"Awww, Catherineeee. Look at you being all cute and innocent! Were you looking forward to being sickeningly lovey-dovey with your man?" Celia cooed, wiggling her eyebrows and smiling deviously. 

"Celia Anderson, my boots have heels and I am not afraid of using a heel to stomp your mouth shut and purify the air of your corniness," I said through clenched teeth, smiling at her with false sweetness.

Pouting at my lack of willingness to humour her, I merely wave goodbye and head to Zander's but stop dead in my tracks when my shut-in neighbour, Mona is leaning against her unit's door as she thumbs through envelopes that are no doubt, her mail. Catching my eye, she offers an arched brow, "Is that you, Catherine?"

We see one another maybe twice in a year and she chooses today to come out and cause a run-in? The last time I even made conversation with her was when she happened to be randomly at my place, Zander shoving marshmallows in his mouth and Ms. Zhao unconscious and tied to a chair.

Wheeling myself stiffly until I'm facing her completely, I give her a forced smile, "hey Mona, how are you?"

"I'm doing good but clearly not as good as you. You look good, like really good," she said, appraising my outfit while taking in my makeup and hair.

I know I think she's an airhead but she could turn out to be perceptive and gossip with everyone on the building's online forum so without giving it much thought, I scramble to come up with an excuse, "Gee, thanks, I was just on my way to help...to help my aunt um...she's throwing a party...to celebrate...her menopause. It's a big deal in our family. All the women take it very seriously."

"Oh my God, I'm sorry to hear that? I didn't know women threw parties when they hit that stage?"

Laughing throatily and forcibly, I take a step back hating my own lack of ingenuity. "Oh yeah, the Lewis family is very serious and very celebratory about...menopause."

"Really? I should look into that. I think that's so cool and liberating."

"Yeah...we dress up and there's balloons and fi-fire-fireworks...and we butter toast..." I trailed, wanting to smack my mouth and internally die since there was no way she bought that story.

"Oh!" She squeaked happily, and I raise my head that's been drooping in contrition to see her glancing behind me.

Turning, I come into contact with a chest and immediately know it's Zander who clears his throat while his body vibrates obviously holding back a laugh that's bubbling to explode through.

"Hi Zander," Mona said, swaying sideways out of shyness and admiration.

Smiling, Zander gives Mona a neighbourly wave and a sheepish grin down at me, "Hi, Mona...Catherine."

"Yes, hi," I said pensively, gritting my teeth and wanting to crawl towards a far off beach and bury myself in the sand.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I'm on my way out and promised to give Catherine a ride to her aunt's menopause party," Zander said, placing a light hand against my back and steers me towards the elevator. Once we're in and the steel doors close shut, I'm huddled on the floor and groaning.

Please. Just let me die here and now. C'mon floor, cave!

Zander for his part is silent but can't suppress the urge after a few beats to add, "So, who's the aunt we're seeing?"

Wincing, I rise to give him a stab in the stomach with an elbow which does nothing but get a chuckle out of him. I'm still basking in my own sense of humiliation when we arrive at the lobby and stride past the automatic entrance doors where an old black sedan that resembles one my grandparents owned is parked out front.

"Wait a second...is that..." I dragged out, not daring to finish my sentence.

"Oh yeah, this is our ride," Zander stated matter of factly, pulling out a pair of keys and opening the passenger side for me to hop in before taking the wheel.

"You sure you can drive this?"

Scoffing, he looks at me with a mildly hurt look, "of course, I can. She's an economical relic of her time, I know what I'm doing."

"Okay but let me know if I should take the wheel and drive us instead."

Shaking his head, he drives to the security checkpoint of the complex while giving me a sideways glance, "Oh ye of little faith. I see we're going into this relationship with so little trust."

"Zander, I trust you but I don't trust you with my life in this vehicle," I responded tartly and roll the window down to smell the spring wind and air out the heavy scent of ageing leather seats.

"Ouch."

"Why this car anyways?" I asked, finally posing the question that's been on my mind.

There's a heavy pause that makes me shift my head away from the window and catch sight of his ears faintly turning pink. Curious, I pointedly touch one and he sighs uneasily with his eyes never leaving the road, "well if you must know...it's the same car my Dad drove when he took my Mom out on their first date."

Now my ears are probably glowing red like the traffic light we're stopped at. I don't know what to say since I'm beyond elated and touched but can't trust myself to say anything coherently normal, squirming on the inside and malfunctioning from his sweetness.

Get it together Catherine, you've only been together for fifteen minutes.

"Wow, I'm surprised you didn't take that as an opportunity to make a barb."

"And why would I?" I asked, tilting my head to get a better look at his sheepish grin. "I think it's sweet so why would I make fun of you?"

"Maybe because we're riding something with romantic meaning to your aunt's menopause party."

"Ugh, I should have known!" And punch his shoulder for good measure while Zander laughs at my blazing cheeks.

And while Zander's chirpy mood contrasts with my foul one, reliving an imaginary party in which a cake resembling a pad with symbolic red candles on top is blown out by an older woman alarmingly similar to my great-aunt, I set the vision aside when we arrive at our first stop for lunch. It's a pizzeria I've been dying to visit since Celia brought me home a slice from one of her stake-outs, everything about their pizzas being perfection.

My embarrassment is easily replaced by hunger, my eyes gleaming at the interior as my stomach growls as if on cue at the aroma of pizza percolating in the restaurant. My excitement is evident since Zander has to hold me down with a hand on my arm before I can even think to ask a passing waiter for a complimentary bread basket as we wait in line to be seated.

"Cat, behave," Zander bemused, surprised that I was acting the child.

"But I'm hungry," I whined, sounding ten.

"So am I."

Huffing, I shake my head before raising a brow, "Yeah, but you didn't have to fit into a skirt today and eat half an apple for breakfast in order to make that happen."

"Your efforts are dually noted," Zander said sombrely, giving me a sympathetic nod.

"Good, because I'm seriously considering we switch clothes and I wear your shirt instead. It should be oversized enough to hide my pizza baby," I said, lightly patting my mid-section as my eyes travel up and down to assess his shirt.

"And just how much pizza do you plan on eating? You'll still be able to move after right? There is a part two to this date but we better establish if you'll be in a food coma or slugging your way to the second course."

"If you promise me dessert, I will refrain now and promise to make it to part two with my stomach sober."

"Deal."

"And for the record, I'm not bought easily Mr. Nolan," I stated pointedly, sticking a finger out and jabbing it in the air for emphasis.

We're shortly seated in a quiet corner by a waiter that looks out onto the open concept patio and silently mirror one another by opening the menu booklets, flipping through our options before ordering a chef's special where every slice is different from the next.

Happily devouring the complimentary bread that comes with a side of olive oil and hot spread, I take the chance to take in the restaurant and the diners surrounding us. I have half a slice of bread in my mouth with my eyes roaming before I nearly choke at the sight before me and Zander moves swiftly, alarmed by my hacking.

"Zander!" I hissed, my face warm from the coughs and my chest heaving.

"What?"

"It's Randy!"

"Who?" He asked, ducking his head slightly and moving to sit next to me to see where my line of vision was.

"The Paparazzi reporter!"

"You have got to be kidding me," Zander mumbled, pouring me a glass of water and sending a caustic look in Randy's direction.

Sipping the proffered glass of water, my gaze never leaves the table Randy is seated at, his voice and that of a woman's floating towards us.

"I can't do this anymore Ran," the voice bit out.

"Dana, please. Give me another chance!" Randy bursted, lowering his voice when a few of the other diners glance at him, turning away politely when he clears his throat but each one of them is leaning in further, their ears perked and ready for some drama.

And they weren't the only ones. Zander and I were eagerly eavesdropping, shooing away our waiter when she asks us for anything more and sets our pizza down in silence, giving us her best professional smile before marching off to another table.

"So Ms. Matchmaker, who do you think she is?" Zander asked, wolfing down half a slice and letting me have the rest since we agreed to split and try every single distinctive slice.

"Definitely his wife."

"What makes you say that?"

"She's wearing a wedding ring."

"So you're automatically assuming that's his wife?"

"You think it's an affair?"

"I don't want to assume anything, I'm not the professional here. You are."

"They both look way too worked up in a public setting for them not to be married," I replied, narrowing my eyes and bob my head in assurance when I can pin out that their rings were in fact, a set pair.

"I can't Ran! You defamed my favourite celebrity! Do you have any idea how it pains me to look at his poster and know that my husband was the one to take such an awful photo of him? Every time I have a new poster, you manage to go after that singer and ruin their lives!" Randy's wife said, her nostrils flaring.

"He was caught wearing hot pink latex pants and a shirt that says, Yummier Than Your Cakes," Randy flared, equally annoyed but his insult has me choking again as I realise I have an apron at home in that same collection.

"Oh my God," I whispered.

"What?" Zander asked excitedly.

"I actually share something with a celebrity."

"I'm really hoping it's not the hot pink latex pants," Zander snickered adding, "it would be really out of character."

"No! Of course not! Besides, hot pink isn't even my colour. I'm talking about the Yummier Than Your Cakes shirt. I have an apron that says that! I can't believe I have something in common with a celebrity!"

"May I remind you, you're essentially dating one," He droned, patting my back at my incessant coughing, the pats more emphatic with every word.

Dismissing his celebrity status with a hand, I return to the pizza, "Yeah, yeah. You're famous by association. Child of a politician, but nothing like an actor or singer."

Narrowing his eyes with amusement, Zander ponders for a moment before giving me a response that makes me drop my slice back onto my plate, "If association only mattered then you wouldn't mind if I walked up to Randy and provided him with a photo."

"You wouldn't."

"I could."

"But you won't."

"No, I won't since you don't want me to but I think I've made my point."

"Fine. But until you have a full sized poster -" My words are cut short and die in my throat as Randy awkwardly moves out of his chair, his eyes colliding with my wide ones. Startled, it takes him a moment to overcome the faint shock and he's rooted to the spot, frozen by a conscious awareness of someone witnessing a somewhat private marital spat and his brows worm together broodingly. Not waiting for his wife to follow or for me to creak a hello, he stomps out of the restaurant, hardly noticing Zander next to me to my relief.

"Hmmm..." I said contemplatively, a thought turning in my head at Randy's departure and his seething wife still seated at the table he's just vacated.

"What are you thinking?" Zander asked, tapping my shoulder to get my attention.

"I have an idea...but I'll tell you later. It's work related."

"Okay, can you still move? Are you stomach sober?"

"If you're asking me if I'm ready for dessert, then let's go. I'll tell you my idea then."

"Basically I have to bribe you for information."

"Yeah, basically. This is your life now dating a matchmaker."

Nodding with his lips pursed, he slants his head to one side, "And when did a matchmaker's skillset include dessert bribes? Does that come before or after the excuse making where you lie about attending your aunt's menopause party? Where apparently, the main highlight is buttering toast."

"Zander! And I hope you know it could happen! I could throw one now for my great-aunt in a retirement home who has selective hearing," I added, fumbling over my words but refusing to back down.

"And you'll have fireworks to mark the occasion? Bright and red?"

"This could turn out to be our first and last date," I said curtly, pouting at the continual teasing aimed at my lame lying.

"Well, since I don't want this to be our last date, let's go."

"But where are we going?"

"Surprise?"

"Okay, but just know I need to be home by eleven. Don't ask, I'd rather not feed into Celia's overactive imagination and live with the shame she'll inflict."

Taken aback by my sudden curfew the mention of Celia however, has Zander failing to mask a knowing smile. "Excessive but sure, we can be back by then."

Observation: Never set a curfew. You'll never actually make it home in time.