Sloane’s POV

“I didn’t sign up for this,” I said into the phone the second I opened the email confirmation.

My grandmother’s voice came through warm and completely unrepentant. “Of course you didn’t, Sloane. I did. You’re turning thirty in six weeks and you’ve spent the last three years pretending you’re fine being alone. I’m not dying without seeing you fall in love at least once more.”

“You’re not dying.”

“Not today. But I’m seventy-eight and stubborn. Pack a bag. The car comes tomorrow at nine.”

I hung up and stared at the screen. The Last Match. A quiet, upscale dating show filmed at a coastal estate. Twelve women. One...