The Meet-Cute
When searching for your fairy-tale ending, how you meet your forever partner is far less important than
meeting them at all. That said, I’ll always be grateful for the fun, romantic, and original way in which I met
mine—and I never saw it coming. I first met Dave in 2016 after his former employee Liz, a vivacious
southern belle and Tough Love reality star, and my soon-to-be business partner Lauren conspired to get
him to join our database (the hardest ten-dollar referral fee she ever earned, Lauren later told me). At the
time, I was in a toxic relationship I would take years to leave, but that didn’t stop me from fantasizing what
my dream man would be like. In my mind, he was over six feet tall, scruffy with a dark complexion, had
impeccable grammar, and could easily be mistaken for Adrian Grenier. (Okay, fine, he was Adrian
Grenier.) An almost five-foot-nine baby face who knew all the words to Biz Markie’s “Just a Friend” was
nowhere on my radar. While Dave took my matchmaking process seriously, his approach to it was a
playful one. Unlike the formulaic questionnaire responses I’d come to expect from others, his exuded
personality. (When asked his age, he wrote: “I’m thirty-
seven, but most people think I’m younger. I’m not saying that to brag. I just have a youthful glow and
spirit.” As for his ethnicity? “White with a lot of flavor.” ) This shouldn’t have been surprising, given Dave
was an unscripted TV producer who earned his stripes working on shows like Flavor of Love and Charm
School. He also wore loud clothes, pronounced words such as “water” and “daughter” with a heavy New
York accent, and was secure enough in his masculinity to admit that Ryan Reynolds was “nice to look at.”
He was the perfect blend of charismatic and neurotic. When I first met him at the now defunct La
Dijonaise Café in Culver City, I thought: Wow. If I ever get the courage to leave my unhealthy
relationship, this is exactly the kind of man I’d like to date. While Lauren helped convince him to give
matchmaking a try, she flagged his possible immaturity. “He’ll be tricky,” she warned me. When I later
asked Dave what he was looking for in a partner, I realized she might be right. Additional probing revealed
that he thought there was nothing more attractive than “a woman with a little attitude who puts me in my
place—while being cute about it.” He also liked bachelorettes who “enjoyed a few cocktails from time to
time,” and who would likely be good company at Coachella. (You know, the major priorities in life, I
thought sarcastically.) He also preferred someone not Jewish, convinced a Jewish woman would remind
him too much of his own Jewish mother, sister, and cousins (a flattering comparison now that I know them
all!). “Since your pool’s so big, maybe you can find someone Mexican or Latina for me?” he asked with a
somewhat mortifying lack of filter. “I dated a local I really liked while shooting I Love Money in Mexico.
But she lived far away, and her English wasn’t great.” This guy is all over the place, it seemed. While
normally that might have been cause for concern, his energy was positive, and he seemed relatively
grounded. I chalked most of it up to humor. We set him up quite a few times, including with the creator of
a popular NBC sitcom, but he wasn’t connecting with any of his matches. “I think I prefer sweet and happy
to sassy,” he relayed in a feedback email following another one of his humdrum dates. “Just not too much
of a goody-goody or run-of-the-mill ‘nice.’ I tend to reflect the energy of people around me, and I
think if someone’s too sassy, we’d just be playing a verbal game of chess and would occasionally actually
hurt each other’s feelings. Tomorrow I might feel differently about that,” he added. His pattern of
dissatisfaction was a red flag. He hadn’t had a relationship last more than three or four months in nearly
twenty years. Did he get annoyed too easily? Run at the first sign of imperfection? Or had he just not met
the right person yet? He’d recently purchased a condo, supposedly with the intention of starting a family,
but his seeming inability to commit was definitely worth considering. Part of me hoped I could introduce
him to a woman who would be the one to break that pattern, but then, out of the blue, he put his
membership on hold. “To be completely honest,” he wrote, “I’m going on a fourth date tonight with a girl
I’m starting to really dig.” His update should have thrilled me—he was putting himself out there and
connecting with someone!—but I couldn’t summon as much enthusiasm as I normally would in that
situation. Why wasn’t I happy for him? I managed to respond: “Fourth date is big! That’s
exciting!”—accompanied by a lame smiley face emoji. Figuring I might never hear from him again, I
brushed off the exchange, but two weeks later, he resurfaced. “The fourth date went well with her,” he
shared with me, “but the fifth did not. That’s when we realized we had nothing in common. She was very
quiet and pissy after I planned a nice date to watch Fast Times in the cemetery. I think she’s more of a
Breakfast at Tiffany’s kind of girl. But I like that movie too... well, that’s one thing we’ve got.” I chuckled
at his reference to the De ep Blue Something song before I could stop myself. Why did I care so much
about his availability? It’s not like I could date him anyway. I was in a relationship. Still, Dave’s existence
proved to me there were other attractive, witty men out there. For my clients, I had to remind myself.
Over time, our emailing became more frequent, and I couldn’t help but notice the slight pick-me-up I’d
feel whenever his messages hit my inbox. “I’ve got a date tonight with someone my aunt fixed me up
with,” he wrote in one unsolicited update. “And some sweet action happening on The League.” A week
later, I asked whether his aunt was a better matchmaker than I was. “People are so weird these days,” he
r eplied. (I could practically feel his scowl through the internet.) “That girl I told you about is also from
New York, and just moved here in January. I hate how you can go on two great dates these days and then
one wrong thing can be said over text or something and ruin it all. I’m never texting anyone again. I’m
trading in my smartphone and getting a be eper.” Our chats continued, and before long it seemed like we’d
touched on everything from his celebrity crushes to his ending his last “relationship” after the woman
claimed Garfunkel was as talented as Simon. I told myself the conversations were strictly
professional—we mostly talked about his love life, so I could help him get better results—but at a point, it
became clear that his level of detail and disclosure was unique. My other clients weren’t as honest or
vulnerable with me, particularly about their concerns, or the more challenging parts of the dating process.
So what did it mean? “I think I’m gonna submit myself to being a lifelong ladies’ man and am no longer
trying to explore de eper romantic connections,” he confessed at one point. “Life is better with that mind
frame.” Ultimately, I made a hard but necessary decision. Knowing there were guys out there like Dave
who posted silly thoughts on social media about watching Dirty Dancing on a rainy day, and who were
adventurous enough to try eating a rat in Cambodia, was exactly the push I needed to finally break up with
my ex. Some people would have taken their time after their relationship ended, perhaps to work on
themselves, before pursuing something new. But I’d already done some of that development before, and
had been mourning the failures of my last relationship mainly while I was in it. I finally reached a point
where I knew what I deserved and, most important, felt ready to receive it. Maybe Dave was my person, or
maybe he wasn’t, but the only way to know was to try dating him. The problem was that Dave had no idea
I was single. As a matchmaker, I wasn’t exactly advertising this recent change in relationship status. I did,
however, have an inkling he’d be open to getting to know me better, as he hinted once I was his type. “I
swear, I’m not super super picky when it comes to looks,” he shared, after growing self-concious about all
the matches he was rejecting. “I just want someone cute. For example, I think you are cute. (I’m not flirting
with you or saying you are an example of how I’m not super picky because you aren’t that cute.) I’m just
saying... I don’t know what I’m saying. I mean, you get it.” Still, I had no technical confirmation he’d be
interested in an actual date with me. But I was free for the first time in three years, and not feeling my
usual fear of “putting myself out there.” If I asked him out and he wasn’t interested, the worst that could
happen was that I’d lose him as a client. But he wasn’t “having it” with any of our bachelorettes anyway.
To hell with it, I figured. Even if he is a “three-to-four-month relationship” guy, I could stand to have three
or four months of fun. Before I st epped out of my comfort zone to test the waters, though, I ran the idea by
Lauren. I teased that I might be interested in a date with one of our clients, and nervously wondered how
she’d feel about that. She instantly lit up, saying she had confirmation he was into me too. “Really?” I
could feel myself getting excited. “Yeah. He wondered what your deal was. Can I tell him you’re single
now, and he should just go for it?” “Sure!” I couldn’t believe my luck. “You’re talking about Dave Kuba,
right?” “Dave Kuba?” She didn’t even try to hide her surprise. “You’re interested in that guy?” (She
actually really liked Dave by then, but had already created a magical future in her mind where I was riding
off into the sunset with this other mystery bachelor.) After some playful discussion, Lauren gave me her
blessing. Out of habit, she also offered to reach out to Dave on my behalf, but I told her this wasn’t middle
school—I could handle it myself! Dave had just returned from Coachella, and I emailed him, asking how it
went. He shared he was finally “over it” and “ready for the next phase” of his life. “But what does that
mean?” he wrote rhetorically. “It means you should ask me out.” I remember hitting the “send” button
before I could overthink it. “P. S.,” I added to try to ke ep things light. “I’m aware of how unprofessional
this email is.”
It felt like months before he eventually r eplied: “I’m r eporting you to the Better Business Bureau.” I
panicked, but only for a moment. “Just kidding,” he added playfully. “Send me your phone number.” Our
texting was as seamless as our email banter, but it wasn’t long before Dave pointed out that our dynamic
felt imbalanced. As someone who had set him up multiple times, I already knew so much about him. To
even the playing field a bit, could he ask a few questions about me? “Sure,” I agreed. It was only fair. He
immediately copied and pasted my company’s intake questionnaire.