"You're an hour late," I say, folding my arms on the park bench. He drops his backpack and sits down as if he owned the bench. He smells like diesel and cologne that doesn't try too hard. "Traffic at Fort Mariner," he says. "And a detour for coffee that turned into a detour for thinking." "You planned on making me wait," I say. "I planned on making you wait." He answers like it's a line he's used before, then looks at me. "But not to the point of missing breakfast." "That's not helpful," I tell him. "My mother will eat my head if I'm late." He raises an eyebrow. "Your mother sounds efficient." "She is," I say. "She is also loud, persistent, and convinced I will be single forever." He gives a small laugh. "Brielle warned me about loud mothers." "Brielle gave you my number?" I ask. He nods. "Brielle is a dangerous woman with a stack of teacher gossip and zero empathy for parents." "That is an accurate description," I admit. He studies me. "So why are we here? Weddings? A dare? A breakup recovery exercise?" I meet his eyes. "Matchmaker's idea," I say. "Brielle says you'll shut my mother up faster than hiring a gag order." "I can do that," he says. "I can also be a bad influence." "Great pitch," I tell him. "Is that your recruiter tone?" "No recruiter," he says. "Riverside Battalion. Not recruiting you. Just making