Page 35 of The Merry Matchmaker

Adele’s lights were still on, and an SUV was parked along her curb, almost in front of the house. Drop-in company? That was hardly surprising. Adele had plenty of friends and was happy.

She’d experienced her share of hard times, though. She’d struggled to cope with widowhood and finish raising her two daughters, impulsively picking a spot on the map and moving them to the town of Carol after Dad died from prostate cancer. With Stef coming along so late, he never lived to see most of the important moments in her life—first date, prom, wedding. Divorce. (Probably a good thing he’d missed that. Richard may have come to bodily harm.)

Adele had struggled but eventually pulled herself out of the deep well of grief and done her best to give Stef, if not a perfect childhood, at least a happy finish in her teen years.

She’d jumped into small-town life with a vengeance, finding a church that she attended when it suited her, taking up line dancing at the grange hall, starting a bunco group. She loved working at the store, baking cookies for regular deliveries to the town’s nursing home (and usually drafting Frankie’s help) and hosting regular coffee klatches with the neighbors. Then there was the weekly family Sunday dinner gathering after the store closed. Adele always had something in the Crock-Pot, ready and waiting. Over the years, she had pulled busyness around her like Superman’s cape, making it her superpower.

Frankie once asked Adele if she didn’t have times when she still missed Dad. “Of course I do,” she’d replied. “You never stop missing the love of your life. But I can’t be like Lot’s wife, just standing in place, looking back. There’s no rewind in life, Frankie. All we have is forward.”

Mom was right. All Frankie had was forward, so forward she would go. And maybe she would go forward enjoying some fun with a sexy younger man.

But she knew she’d never be able to totally commit. She never again wanted to experience the kind of grief she’d felt when Ike died.

Meanwhile, she had enough to keep her busy—Christmas festivities to plan and a shop to run, a daughter and grandchild to enjoy, friends to help.

And a busy day ahead of her.

She took a warm bath to relax herself, then climbed in between the sheets, where she slept well until around midnight, waking up for no good reason.

She wandered down to the kitchen for some warm milk. She needed to get going and bake some cookies soon. Milk without cookies was naked.

Milk heated, she wandered back into the living room to turn on her tree lights. Might as well enjoy them as much as she could. No TVs were glowing behind living room windows now, and the neighbors had all turned off their Christmas lights.

Except for one. Frankie pressed her face against the glass, trying to get a better look at her mother’s house. What were Adele’s Christmas lights doing on at this hour? Her friends were usually done partying by ten, eleven at the latest. A light was on in the living room, but the drapes were drawn. And whose SUV was that still parked at the curb? Most of Adele’s friends drove smaller cars.

Frankie found her phone and called her mother.

“What’s wrong?” Adele answered. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Then why on earth are you calling me in the middle of the night?”

“I got up and saw your lights were on.” That sounded...snoopy. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“I’m fine, daughter dear.”

“You still have company?”

“Yes, I do. It’s a myth that all seniors go to bed with the birds.”

Frankie had to chuckle. Adele always had a smart remark ready to dish out. “Okay, I get the message. Have fun.”

“And go back to bed, or you’ll never make it up in time for early service. At your age, you need your rest.”

There was no point trying to come back with a clever quip. Adele would always have the last word. Maybe by the time Frankie reached her mother’s age, she, too, would be partying at midnight.

But who the heck was Adele partying with?

“Your mom is a party animal,” Viola joked when Frankie saw her at church the next morning. “How did things go with Brock?”

Frankie stared at the coffee in her disposable cup. “The pizza was good.” Beyond that, it was hard to put into words how the evening had gone.

“He seems nice.”

“He is. But, really, the age gap. Mitch as much as said I wouldn’t be able to hold him.”

“He did? The stinker! And listen, girlfriend, you got what it takes to hold any man you want.”

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