Page 12 of The Merry Matchmaker

“She looked totally different in her profile picture,” Frankie explained. “In fact, she looked great. And she likes to hike and camp. And she loves Christmas.”

“Is my picture still up on that site?” he demanded.

“It won’t be. I’ll take it down right away.”

“See that you do,” he said shortly. He stood, raised his cup to her. No smile. “Thanks for the coffee.” With that, he made for the door as fast as Wilhelmina had.

“Mitch, wait. I’ll walk back with you,” Frankie called, jumping up.

He didn’t turn around, just held up a stay-away hand and kept going, shoving the door open with enough force to almost pull it off its hinges.

This was awful. She and Mitch never fought. They were besties, always there for each other.

She ordered her mother’s latte, pretending she didn’t see Suzie the barista’s curious stare, and then walked back to her shop, feeling like she was carrying all of Marley’s chains on her shoulders. Except unlike Scrooge’s old business partner, she hadn’t done anything bad.

She had done something stupid, though. She should have listened to that little poke from her better sense when she first created his profile. Deciding to surprise Mitch with the perfect woman had been a bad idea.

But her motives had been good. Surely, he could see that.

Holiday Happiness had no customers at the moment, which was just as well, since Adele greeted her with, “What the heck happened with you and Mitch? He just walked past the window looking ready to lynch Santa.”

“I happened,” Frankie confessed, handing over the drink. “I was only trying to help,” she was quick to add.

“What have you done?”

There was no point hiding it. “I signed him up on a dating site.”

“Oh no. You didn’t.”

“I thought he was looking for someone,” Frankie said in her own defense.

“And he can’t do that without you?”

Frankie frowned and put her Holiday Happiness apron back on. “We’ve got it taken care of.”

“I can tell. He certainly looked mollified,” Adele said.

A little sarcasm, just what Frankie needed for Christmas. She frowned at her mother.

Adele shook her head. “You’d better go over there on your knees and beg for forgiveness.”

“I will.”

“I’d suggest now,” Adele said. “Elinor’s here, and all is quiet for the moment. Perfect time. Cry a little. That always helps.”

“Manipulative,” Frankie muttered.

“It always worked for me,” said Adele, refusing to see anything wrong with her suggestion. “Let this be a lesson to you. Meddling in people’s lives will only blow up in your face. Oh, and while you’re there, pick up some light bulbs for me.”

Frankie sighed, took her apron back off and left to beg forgiveness.

She was on her way when Stef texted to see if she wanted to grab an early lunch at The Salad Bowl. Anything to stall talking with Mitch.

The popular restaurant was housed in a low brick building one street over from Main Street. It followed its theme with planters overflowing with plants and herbs perched behind booths. Many of those plants had grown out of control and liked to reach out and tickle necks of unsuspecting diners. The place always smelled like curry and roasting chicken, thanks to one of its popular menu items, the Curried Clucker, a curry chicken salad loaded with celery, onions and sprouts.

Stefanie Ludlow, ace reporter for the paper’s lifestyle section, had already staked out a table. She was twelve years younger than Frankie, with the same hazel eyes and even features, but her hair was a different color, a light brown with golden highlights. She was a little slimmer, too, something Frankie was fond of advising her to enjoy while it lasted. “Just wait till menopause,” Frankie liked to tell her. It had sure taken its toll on her the year before. She’d had so many hot flashes the previous Christmas she could have powered half the houses on her block. At least that had simmered down.

“Hey there. You look stressed,” Stef said as Frankie slid into the booth.

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