Would You Marry This Man
Copyright© 2025 by A Kiwi Guy
Chapter 3
Venue: Crowne Plaza Hotel Conference Room 3
The rustle of pens and shifting paper filled the room, punctuated by the occasional nervous cough or quiet laugh. Roy moved among the tables, collecting completed questionnaires as they were handed in — some with polite smiles, others with lingering glances he wasn’t quite sure how to interpret.
Anne, clipboard in hand, was quietly noting who returned forms and who merely sat clutching them like shields. “So far,” she murmured, “you’ve got twenty-six responses. A couple walked out without completing it after they read the questions. If this number doesn’t scare you, I’d check your pulse.”
Roy looked out across the room. A buzz of conversation had started as the women began rising for morning tea. “I’ll see you in about 45 minutes,” he announced, as Roy took the stack Anne passed him and retreated to the small table at the front of the room, steeling himself. Celia approached with two coffees. “Triple shot,” she said, “you’re going to need it.”
He took a sip, opened the first form, and began reading.
Applicant #7: Naomi T.
Occupation: Primary School Teacher
What do you value in a partner?
“Kindness, wit, the ability to survive a Year 4 parents’ evening without tears. Also, someone who doesn’t mind glitter in strange places.”
What would a typical Saturday look like for you?
“Ballet class (for me — yes, really), coffee with friends, arguing with my cat, baking something experimental that may or may not explode. Then collapsing on the sofa with a book and a wheat bag.”
If you were an animal, what would you be and why?
“A border collie. Loyal, energetic, slightly neurotic. Also good at rounding up lost causes.”
Roy smiled. “We might get along,” he murmured.
Applicant #12: Francine D.
Occupation: Freelance Violinist
What do you value in a partner?
“Ambition, silence when appropriate, clean fingernails.”
What would a typical Saturday look like for you?
“Two rehearsals, three arguments with conductors, a very long bath. I don’t do idle.”
If you were an animal?
“Osprey. Solitary, precise, efficient. Plus I like fish.”
Roy blinked. “Mmm, not sure.” He put it to one side.
Applicant #19: Brodie Cartwright
Occupation: Veterinary Nurse
What do you value in a partner?
“Gentleness. Patience. The kind of strength that doesn’t shout. Someone who likes animals more than social media.”
What would a typical Saturday look like for you?
“Sleeping in. Cuddling whatever dog I’m fostering. Gardening with gloves and gumboots. Mum would say I’m wasting my prime. I think she’s wrong.”
If you were an animal?
“An otter. Quiet joy. Plays hard. Surprisingly tough teeth.”
Roy felt a tug in his chest. “Sorry your morning started rough,” he muttered.
Applicant #27: Sonia Street
He stared at the name. Then looked up. At the back of the room, Sonia sat with arms folded, a faint smirk playing on her lips.
Occupation: TV Journalist
What do you value in a partner?
“Someone who doesn’t flinch under pressure. Also, someone who can spell. Extra points if they argue well and make good coffee.”
What would a typical Saturday look like for you?
“Up early. Gym, then coffee. Editing footage. Maybe a wine tasting. Trying not to text my ex.”
If you were an animal?
“Panther. Obviously. Sleek, fast, occasionally bites.”
Roy exhaled through his nose. “This woman is going to be trouble.”
Another 20 minutes and Roy had worked his way through the forms.
Anne sidled up beside him again. “Find anything interesting?”
“Define ‘interesting.’”
She glanced at Sonia’s form. “Ah. That kind.”
“Okay,” he said quietly, “let’s pick four or five to invite for a longer chat. A mix of personality types, and a maybe a wild card. And schedule me a full day off tomorrow. I need to lie down somewhere quiet — possibly for a week.”
Anne grinned. “You’re handling this better than I expected.”
“You expected me to run?”
“No,” she said. “I expected you to build a brick wall in front of the door and climb out the window.”
Roy gave her a sideways look. “Don’t give me ideas.”
...
The mood in the conference room had shifted. The easy chatter and polite laughter of morning tea next door had given way to a quiet undercurrent of tension. As the women filed back in, their eyes flicked to Roy, who stood once more at the front of the room, a sheaf of notes in hand. He didn’t look quite as anxious as he had earlier, but there was a new weight behind his gaze — the weight of decision.
Sonia Street sat in the back corner, pen poised above a page of shorthand scrawl, expression unreadable. During the break — true to the word she gave Roy – she had spoken only with the women who’d volunteered, and even they had insisted on no surnames, no close-ups, no clichés. Sonia hadn’t pressed. She was watching.
Roy cleared his throat. “Thank you all for your generosity — of time, and of honesty. I’ve just read through twenty-eight forms,” he said, holding them up, “and every one of them has taught me something. About courage. About what people carry. About how you can long for something deeply, and still make a joke about it.”
That drew a warm ripple of laughter.
He continued, more slowly. “The next part is where I make some impossible choices. Please understand this: I’m not selecting the ‘best’. I’m selecting people whose answers suggest we might have something to talk about — maybe even something in common. If I don’t ask you to stay, it doesn’t mean I didn’t value your presence. You’ve already made this a richer experience than I thought possible.”
Celia, seated with hands folded tightly in her lap, blinked hard. Anne, standing at her shoulder, looked on like a teacher watching a pupil give a flawless speech — equal parts pride and readiness to jump in if it all went pear-shaped.
Roy read the first name. “Miss Gina Lavery — if you’d be willing to stay.” A woman in her late twenties looked up, surprised but pleased.
“Miss Naomi Tai.” A quiet nod from the second row.
“Miss Brodie Cartwright.” The girl’s mouth dropped open in surprise.
And...” he paused, “Miss Verona Lowe.”
There was a long silence as the list ended. A few women smiled, gave polite nods, began gathering their coats. A couple of glances flitted about — who had made it, who hadn’t. Most, though, simply accepted the outcome. Not everyone had come expecting miracles.
Roy stepped forward again. “For those who are leaving now — thank you. Truly. I know this was a leap into the unknown, and I respect every one of you for it. There’s a small thank-you pack by the door — please take one on your way out.”
Sonia noted the movement. One woman hugged another. A tall blonde in her forties gave Roy a thumbs-up and mouthed, “Go well.” One or two brushed away a tear discreetly. Anne moved among them like a quiet tide — offering a smile, a word, a guiding hand. Even Celia got to her feet and took on hostess duties, making sure no-one slipped out feeling unseen. And then, almost imperceptibly, the room had emptied, apart from the four women Roy had chosen, plus Sonia Street, who was curious to see how things played out. They sat scattered now, the space oddly vast around them.
Roy stepped down from the front, chair in hand. “I think we’ll try something a little more ... human,” he said, placing the chairs in a loose circle. “Let’s talk.”
They shifted to join him. The mood, tentative but intimate, settled in like a breath being held. Sonia stayed where she was, watching, scribbling.
At one point, Roy glanced over to her, half expecting something — another camera angle, a pointed question. But Sonia only met his eyes for a beat and tilted her head slightly, a gesture hard to read. Curiosity, perhaps.
Roy took his seat, leaning forward with his forearms resting lightly on his thighs. “I realise I’ve not done a lot of talking. I’d like us to have a conversation now.”
The women exchanged glances. Verona Lowe, a tall, honey-voiced bookseller who had circled “Very open” under the question How do you feel about risk?, was the first to speak.
“So, Roy,” she said, “you’ve read about our lives. Our quirks, our injuries. What’s one thing about you that you didn’t put on your form?”
There was a beat of silence. Then a laugh — Roy’s. “Fair’s fair,” he admitted. “Okay. Here’s one: I have never had a steady girlfriend. To a large extent because I’m afraid I’ll act like a complete dork in front of them. And ... I get claustrophobic in tight spaces. Even though I’m a builder, crawling under a house is not a happy place for me.”
That earned a ripple of amusement.
Gina Lavery, an aged care worker with an incisive gaze, leaned in. “And emotionally? Any?”
Oof. Roy blinked, sat back slightly, gave her a slow smile. “Yes,” he said. “A few. I’m still figuring out what’s in them.”
Brodie Cartwright, the vet with the domineering mother, spoke next. “You said earlier you want someone with a mind of her own. How do you handle disagreement?”
Roy looked thoughtful. “I used to avoid it. Now, I try to listen. I’ve had to learn that being right isn’t the same as being wise.” Naomi Tai, quiet till now, nodded appreciatively.
From the back corner, Sonia’s pen moved in smooth, steady arcs. She hadn’t said a word, but her presence was keenly felt. Anne brought her a second cup of tea, which she accepted with a murmur of thanks, still watching.
Then Naomi, in a lilting, deliberate tone, asked a question no one expected. “Are you lonely, Roy?”
Silence.
Roy looked down at his hands, then back at her. “Yes,” he said. “Sometimes even in a crowd. Sometimes even when I’m with people I care about. I admit to being something of an introvert. I can put on a good front when I have to, but it’s a bit of a learned ability.”
For a few moments, no one spoke. Then Gina Lavery, a cheerful redhead who worked in aged care, broke the quiet. “You know, this is the weirdest second date I’ve ever been on.”
They all laughed — even Sonia, though only briefly, the corners of her mouth twitching before vanishing into neutrality again. A subtle change passed through the group. The laughter wasn’t just polite — it was connective. They were no longer interviewees. They were people in the room, sharing something rare.
Roy leaned back. “If I asked each of you to name one non-negotiable in a relationship,” he said, “what would it be?”
Naomi: “Stability. I’ve done chaos. And respect – non-verbal just as much as verbal.”
Verona: “Curiosity. If you stop wondering about each other, you’re done.”
Gina: “A sense of humour — the kind that can survive a flat tyre in the rain.”
Brodie: “A life outside each other. We can orbit the same sun, but we need our own gravity.”
Roy absorbed each answer like a man drinking slowly from deep wells. It was at this moment that Sonia quietly stood, gathering her notes.
Roy looked up. “You’re leaving?”
“Deadline.”
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