“Welcome!” A little silvery, wrinkly lady dressed all in neon orange popped up from behind the tall counter when I stepped inside the old Dog House building.
I had to stop calling it that, because it no longer looked like the hot dog stand. The counter in the middle of the room cut it in half, with a half-dozen chairs and a low coffee table on one side and two desks on the other. I saw two doors behind where the grill used to be. One was marked “restroom” and the other hung open enough to see a table and several folding chairs -- I assumed it was a conference room.
“Welcome to A Match Made in Heaven!” She clapped her hands and beamed at me. “Oh, sweetie, I know it’s hard finding the love of your life, but with our help --”
“Aunt Gertie,” a man said, stepping out of the restroom. He dried his hands on a paper towel. From the restrained frustration in his voice, I had the feeling he had hurried out to stop her. “We’re not a dating service.”
Whew! I was on the verge of panic, considering the thoughts I had when Mr. Phillips gave me that card.