Page 112 of The Merry Matchmaker

She nodded. “The Coffee Stop.”

He smiled. It was tentative, the kind of smile that looked like it had been kept in storage for a long time. But it was enough to flush away the scowling Scrooge mask. What a difference from the angry man who’d come at her at the Santa Walk. He was the holiday version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

Maybe he needed someone to help him find his lost hope again. Maybe, like most people, like her, he simply needed a second chance to get his life on track.

And maybe she’d better not expect anything to come of a shared moment in a coffee shop.

All the way there, she told herself that this was no big deal, certainly not the beginning of a romance novel come to life. Until she walked in the shop and saw him waiting at a table, looking like he should be in a TikTok video in that gray suit, his coat over the chair next to him.

He stood when she approached the table, and there was that smile again. Just big enough to hint at how, if turned on full force, it could keep a woman warm on a cold winter night.

“Thanks for coming,” he said. She started to shrug out of her coat, and he was quick to help her.

“Every Scrooge deserves a second chance,” she said lightly.

“So, what are you, the Ghost of Christmas Future?”

Did she detect some cynicism in that teasing? She frowned.

He held up a hand. “Just joking.”

“Were you now?”

He cleared his throat. “I’ll get you that eggnog latte,” he said, and strode to the counter to order.

She studied him as he walked. He didn’t slouch like some men. Instead, he walked with his shoulders back. He looked like a man who could face any storm.

She wasn’t so sure he was succeeding. She suspected he was having trouble trying to raise a child alone after the loss of his wife. Was he mourning her out of guilt because they’d had trouble in their marriage, or was he, like Frankie after losing Ike, mourning the loss of a part of himself that had been cut away? What had his wife been like?

Griffin returned with large drinks for each of them. “I came back here looking for you,” he said as he settled on his seat.

“No.”

“I did. I was in here the next day, sitting at this very table.”

“I was home all day with a monster migraine. I saw you at the school concert, though.”

“You were there?”

She nodded. “My nephew was a snowflake.”

“My son was anSin Merry Christmas. His big speaking part was, ‘To everyone.’”

“A future star.” Stef took a sip of her latte. “I looked for you afterward. I was going to come say hi, but you vanished. Did you get sick?” she teased.

He made a face. “My son did. You wouldn’t have wanted to see either of us.”

“You have a sweet little boy.”

“He takes after his mother.”

It seemed like the perfect time to ask about his wife. “Tell me about her.” Pain shot across his face, and Stef instantly regretted asking. “You don’t have to.”

“No, I want to. I think I should have been talking about her a lot more than I have.”

He pulled his wallet from his back pants pocket and took out a picture. His wife had been pretty. Not gorgeous but pretty. She had a longish face framed by long blond hair, a delicate nose and full lips and nice green eyes. And a big smile.

“She’s lovely. What was she like? Tell me.”

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