I wasn’t looking for love. Usually I’m just looking for my keys that I’ve lost for the millionth time. Instead I found a business card for a matchmaking service. Since my own dating history is a spectacular dumpster fire of crazy, I figured why not let someone else find me the perfect guy? After filling out a questionnaire longer than my college application - the one for a college I never attended - I’m pretty sure this match maker knows me better than my own mother. Surely she can find my match. The only problem? He’s nothing like me. Ethan is all about five-year plans and organized spreadsheets. And I have five part-time jobs because I get bored easily. He overanalyzes everything, and I haven’t read the fine print in my life. I’m not sure we belong in the same universe, let alone on a date. But the matchmaking service must know something I don’t, right? Either that, or I just paid good money to be completely, totally, and epically wrong about love—again.