When love, family, and ambition intertwine, craziness and magic are bound to follow. In Swati Hedge’s Match Me If You Can, pub owner Jaiman Patil is smitten with journalist Jia Deshpande, who loves to play matchmaker. As their lives get more tangled, Jaiman’s feelings for Jia grow stronger, and her matchmaking efforts start causing chaos. In Mumbai, though, happily-ever-afters are never far away.
Read this exclusive excerpt to find out what’s really going on!
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The Patils’ and Deshpandes’ lives were so intertwined that when the time had come to name Jia, a year after his best friend’s son was born, Papa simply took the first three letters of Jaiman’s name and scrambled them up to create “Jia.”
It didn’t stop there. Papa and Mr. Patil became business partners, raking in millions in profits throughout Jia’s and Jaiman’s teen years, until Mr. Patil decided to start something of his own and went to America to set up the new industrial business. That was right around when Jaiman was moving to Pune, a few cities away, for college. After Mr. and Mrs. Patil left, and then Jia too, for journalism school in London, Jaiman became a permanent part of the Deshpande family.
Jia would return to India during winter break to find Jaiman mixing plum cake batter in the kitchen, throwing his head back and laughing at one of Papa’s corny dad jokes. He would pause to check if Mamma’s glass of wine needed refilling, and ask Jia’s sister, Tanu, about her latest legal clients. He’d usher Jia over to the kitchen counter and show her pictures of all his weekend getaways with the Deshpandes, which happened every other Saturday, since his college was only a three-hour drive from Mumbai. It was surprising to see how easily he had made his way into her family’s hearts. So much so that when Mamma’s cancer took her away over five years ago, right after Diwali, after Jia had graduated and returned to Mumbai for good, Papa brought Jaiman along with them to scatter Mamma’s ashes in the sea. When Tanu broke down as those ashes disappeared into the waves, it was Jaiman’s shoulder she cried on.
“So how was work today?” Jaiman prodded, and Jia looked up from the tomato sauce dripping from her fork onto the plate.
“It was all right.” Jia shrugged as she helped herself to more lasagna. “I pitched the new matchmaking column to my boss last week, but Monica still needs more convincing that I’m the best person to run it.”
“Oh, wow.” Jaiman raised a thick brow. “Sounds like a big responsibility. But there’s nothing Jia Deshpande can’t do when she sets her mind to it.” He winked at her before swallowing his next bite.
Jia ignored the rush of hormones that flooded her body at his wink and the way his tongue darted out to lick the side of his lip. It was hard to be mad at Jaiman for taking over her life when he was this . . . nice. No wonder everyone in her family loved him.
She let out the smallest of sighs and returned to the rest of the lip-smacking lasagna sitting on her plate. “Maybe I’ll make lunch for you tomorrow, Papa,” she mused aloud with the next bite.
“The chicken breasts I bought during my last grocery run won’t stay fresh for too long.”
Papa shook his head. “Don’t worry, Jaiman used them for lunch today. You should have been there!”
“Yum,” Jia agreed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Papa interrupted her train of thought by speaking up. “Jaiman also took me to the doctor this afternoon. My chest was hurting so bad, I was sure it was a heart attack.”
Jia didn’t react. This had happened three times so far. No, not an actual heart attack scare. Papa’s unwarranted trips to the cardiologist.
“But then it turned out it was just gas!” Papa chortled. “Just like last month!”
The only person Papa hadn’t seen for his presumed illnesses was a therapist. The one kind of professional who could actually help him, Jia believed. He had kept the grief of Mamma’s death to himself for five long years now, allowed it to manifest in unhealthy ways, like imagined sickness and fretting over every little thing. Perhaps it was his coping mechanism—assume every minor problem was a dangerous illness, so that it could be detected early, unlike Mamma’s cancer.
Jia hoped she might, someday, set Papa up with someone wonderful who would ground him into reality and bring him some peace. But knowing her father, knowing how devoted he’d been to Mamma, it was unlikely to happen. Maybe falling in love wasn’t a choice, but working on nurturing that love within a relationship absolutely was. And it was a choice Papa wouldn’t be willing to make with anybody except Mamma.
After dinner, as she was putting her plate in the sink—the housekeeper would do the dishes in the morning—Jaiman sidled up beside her, the citrusy scent of his cologne heavy in the air. Jia didn’t understand how a man could smell this good the entire day. It should be illegal. She turned to him, arms folded, trying not to visibly inhale.
“Good job on the lasagna.” He grinned at her. “Thanks. I have to get back to the pub now. Do you want to join me? I could use your help taste-testing some new drinks.”
Jia’s gaze went to the wall clock hanging in the living room across from the open kitchen. It was just past ten, and although it would have been smarter to spend the rest of her night brainstorming ways to convince Monica, maybe a cocktail or two wouldn’t
hurt.
It was Friday night, after all. “Sure,” she said finally.
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