Page 113 of The Merry Matchmaker

He looked at the picture and blinked hard. Got busy returning the picture to his wallet, then putting it back in his pants pocket. “She was amazing.”

“What was amazing about her?”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“Sure you do,” Stef coached.

“She laughed a lot. She was always happy. And patient. She never got mad.”

“Seriously?” Who never got mad?

“Not really. She’d get irritated sometimes, like when I’d forget to pick up something at the store on my way home from work. But she’d make a joke out of it, kiss me and say, ‘You’ll do better next time, Mr. Wonderful.’”

“Mr. Wonderful,” Stef repeated.

“Hard to believe, huh? It was her way of always forgiving me. Always urging me to be better. We both knew I wasn’t wonderful. Unlike her, I wasn’t patient. And I’d get mad easy. I, uh, guess you noticed that.”

“I guess so.”

“Mostly I’d get mad over unimportant stuff—a flat tire, messing up trying to fix a leaky kitchen sink.” He gave a grunt. “What did any of that matter, really? What does any of that little stuff matter? It’s the people in our life...” He shook his head. “Okay, this wasn’t supposed to be a shrink session. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I asked.”

“You can stop asking now,” he said, but not meanly. More like he was embarrassed to have shed his manly shell and revealed his vulnerability.

“I can’t help myself. I’m a reporter. Remember? So, one more question. What’s her name?”

“Kaitlyn. Her name was Kaitlyn.”

“It still is. She may not be here with you anymore, but her memory is.”

He nodded slowly but said nothing.

Stef raised her cup. “So, here’s to Kaitlyn and the great memories she gave you and the great kid.”

There was the smile again, small, almost balancing out the sadness in his eyes. “To Kaitlyn,” he repeated, and took a sip. He set down his cup and said, “Okay, that’s enough about me. How about you? How did you end up being Santa’s helper?”

“It was my sister’s idea, actually. She suggested it to my editor, and I got to do it. I love doing the page. And most people really like it,” she added.

He held up a hand. “I know, except for us Scrooges.”

“Scrooge changed,” she pointed out.

He gave a grunt. “Now you’re channeling my sister. But never mind Scrooge and me. Tell me more about you. What do you do besides fill in for Santa?”

“I like to read, watch movies. I ski occasionally. Badly,” she added. “I do a lot with my family.”

“No real Santa in your life? No Mr. Wonderful?”

She shook her head. “Only an ex-Grinch. Every time I find myself wishing I had a child, I think of Dick and am glad we didn’t have children together. They might have turned out like him.”

“Dick, huh? That’s his name?”

She grinned. It gave her such wicked pleasure to shorten her ex’s name. “He preferred to be called Richard, but Dick fit him better.”

“You do have a way with words,” he said.

“He didn’t appreciate it.”

---