Page 104 of The Merry Matchmaker

“Since when is the party ever over for you?” Viola teased.

“Since now. You two have fun.” Somebody needed to. Frankie sure wasn’t.

The snow was really starting to come down, and it looked like they’d get a lot more than predicted. Which meant there wouldn’t be a lot of shoppers the following day. Maybe that would be just as well. She wasn’t sure she’d be in the mood to greet people with a smile and spread the Christmas cheer.

Elinor had better bring back her dress.

“And God bless Santa,” Corky said, then finished his bedtime prayer with an enthusiastic “amen.”

“Amen,” Griff echoed, not quite so enthusiastically. Corky scrambled into bed, and Griff pulled the covers up to his chin. “Remember, Santa only brings toys.”

Corky nodded. “I know. But I told him I wanted a mommy anyway.”

Griff groaned inwardly. How many times were they going to go over this?

“What did Santa say?” he asked. If that fake Santa had promised to deliver a mom for Corky, Griff was going to hunt him down and knock his bearded face off.

“He said, ‘Merry Christmas.’”

Good. No false promises. Santa could live to ho, ho, ho another day.

“All I want for Christmas is a mommy,” Corky said.

Griff sighed. “I know. And I’m sorry you don’t have one, but meanwhile, we’re gonna be happy with Aunt Jenn and Grandma and Grandpa, right? And you’ve got me.” He kissed the top of his son’s head.

“And you,” Corky said with a nod, smiling up at Griff.

That trusting smile, it squeezed his heart like a vise. If only Griff could give his son what he wanted. But he couldn’t. There was no one who could take Kaitlyn’s place.

He wandered back out into the living room. Looked at the artificial tree his sister had helped Corky and him decorate. He smiled at the memory of his son standing on tiptoe, trying to help them string the garlands around it.

The smile faded as he remembered decorating that tree with his wife their last Christmas together. She’d been wearing red leggings and a short black T-shirt. She’d bent over to pull an ornament out of one of the too many boxes they had and caught him admiring her butt.

She’d winked at him and said, “If you’re a good boy, you might get lucky tonight.”

He’d come over, pulled her to him and teased, “What if I’m a bad boy?”

“Then for sure you’ll get lucky,” she’d said, and he’d laughed.

She’d laughed, too, as they fell on the couch.

“I’ll love you forever, Griffin Marks,” she’d said right before he kissed her.

I’ll love you forever, Griffin Marks.

He felt ill, like he’d been sucker punched. Every time he thought he was doing better, the memories came at him like ninjas, jumping on him out of nowhere. He went to his fridge and pulled out a beer, plopped on the couch and wished he could wash them away.

No, that wasn’t right. He wanted to keep the memories.

He just didn’t want the pain anymore. He wanted to get out from under the crushing weight of it, wished he could find that mother that Corky so desperately wanted. Wished he could start again.

For a moment, in the coffee shop, he’d had a glimpse of possibility. What a joke. The hottie from the coffee shop had turned out to be the pill from the paper. Ugh.

He took a swig from his bottle, shut his eyes and relived their afternoon encounter. He could clearly see the flash of anger in those pretty hazel eyes of hers, could almost hear again the scorn in her voice.

He could definitely remember the scorn in his sister’s voice when she’d said, “Way to go, Scrooge.”

Just because he’d let Stefanie Ludlow know how wrong she was, that made him a Scrooge?

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