Page 18 of The Merry Matchmaker

He nodded. “I miss her every day.”

Frankie handed him a drink. “I bet you do. Is your dad still alive?”

“Oh yeah. Still working his butt off at the factory. Waiting for my little bro or me to grow up, get married and give him a grandson who’ll make it to the NFL.”

“You look pretty grown up to me,” said Stef in her silkiest voice.

“Forty come February,” he said.

Stef was thirty-eight. Perfect.

“But Dad says we’re still kids in big bodies.”

This particular kid had a very nice body. If he and Stef got together, they would have gorgeous children.

“There comes a time,” said Mitch. “Even though my marriage didn’t last, I got two great sons out of the deal.”

Brock shrugged. “I don’t know if I want kids.”

Stef did. She’d change his mind.

“Kids are the best,” said Mitch.

“Yes, they are,” Frankie agreed.

“Something sure smells good,” said Brock, changing the subject.

“Pasties. Miners in England used to take them to work for their lunch,” Frankie explained.

“You’ll love ’em,” said Mitch. “Nobody’s better in the kitchen than Frankie.”

“My mom was a good cook,” said Brock, “but she only got as far as teaching me how to make an omelet and French toast. And grilled cheese sandwiches.”

“That’s all you can make?” Stef asked in surprise.

“I can grill meat,” he said, looking mildly offended. “I wouldn’t mind learning how to make some more stuff in the kitchen.”

“Stef’s good in the kitchen,” Frankie said, and Stef tried to look modest.

The doorbell rang, and Frankie went to let in Elinor so Stef could have the opportunity to brag about her culinary skills. She wasn’t as much of a foodie as Frankie, but she made an awesome Crock-Pot stew.

Elinor stepped in bearing two bottles of sparkling cider. “I hope this is enough,” she said as she handed them to Frankie.

“This is perfect,” Frankie assured her, and Elinor’s cheeks turned rosy.

The pink got deeper once she had her coat off and joined the others in the kitchen. “Hello, Mitch.”

“Hi, Elinor. You’re looking nice tonight,” he said.

Nice was such a bland word, the kind of compliment you paid when you had to say something. It fit Elinor perfectly. She was hiding under a bulky cream-colored sweater worn over tan pants, and she had on brown boots that said,Yes, we are part of the whole boring vibe. With her light blond hair and fair complexion and pale pink lipstick, she could have been a ghost. A slightly darker shade of lipstick and brow liner would have made a big difference. She wasn’t bad-looking, but she definitely hid her assets. She needed someone to take her in hand.

Elinor smiled at Mitch’s compliment and dropped her gaze. “Thank you.”

“Elinor, I don’t think you’ve met Brock,” said Frankie.

He gave her a nod and a friendly hello and she said a soft hello back.

Elinor needed to look men in the eye. No wonder she was single. She had to get in the game and quit sitting on the sidelines. The woman obviously needed a life coach.

---