Page 41 of The Merry Matchmaker

He wasn’t going to shoot the messenger, but he was going to take aim at the paper.Why don’t you ask Daddy to find you a mommy? I’m sure he’d like to help Santa out.Of all the idiotic, ill-considered, thoughtless, stupid replies. There was nothing Griff would have liked better than to hang this Santa from a chimney in nothing but his long underwear and let him freeze.

He said a grumpy goodbye to Joel, then searched the page to find the name of the culprit. There it was:Santa’s letters delivered by Stefanie Ludlow.If Corky’s letter didn’t come down as of yesterday, Stefanie Ludlow would be delivering the paper instead of writing for it.

He found the newspaper’s number and punched it into his phone. “Put me through to your editor,” he snapped at the operator taking calls. “And don’t send me to voicemail. This is urgent.”

“Of course,” she said, and left him to listen to some tinny Christmas music.

Urgent or not, he wound up getting sent to Camille Carlisle’s voicemail. He ground his teeth as he waited for the beep. Then he left his message. “My son’s letter to Santa got put on your paper’s page without my permission, and the answer to it is completely inappropriate and unappreciated. If you don’t take down the letter from Corcoran immediately, you will be hearing from my lawyer today.”

He stabbed End on his phone and banged it down on his desk. He didn’t have a lawyer, but if somebody didn’t get back to him within the hour, he’d find one.

He sat for a moment and fumed, then snatched the phone back up and called his sister. She, too, was hiding behind her voicemail.

“Jenn, what the devil were you thinking letting Corky sucker you into helping him with that letter? The paper will be taking it down, and I’d better not see it pop up again or you’re gonna lose your aunt rights.”

He stabbed End again and half strangled his phone before slamming it back on the desk. Great. Now he’d cracked it. He swore and glared at his computer screen.

And reread his son’s letter and wanted to cry.

I wrot last year abot bringing me a new mommy but daddy furgot to mal it.

Daddy didn’t furgot. Daddy lied about furgotting. It had been easier than trying to explain to his son that the aches piercing his heart had left him emotionally crippled. Corky hadn’t been that old when his mom died, but he remembered enough to know he missed her hugs, missed her tucking him in at night. He wanted a mommy like the other kids had, and even though Jenn did a lot to help out, it wasn’t the same. As a real estate agent, she was busy, and her hours were all over the map. She couldn’t be around all the time. And she shouldn’t have to.

“Somebody’s got to help fill the gap,” she often reminded Griffin when he told her she needed to pay more attention to her own life.

Their parents lived a couple of towns away, so Jenn had been stepping in a lot since Kaitlyn died. Maybe she was tired of wrapping so much of her life around his. She never said, but he was pretty sure it was why things hadn’t worked out with her last man. Now she was starting to see someone new. He shouldn’t have to stand in line for Jenn’s attention behind Griff and Corky, although Griff suspected he already was. She did so much for them. Griff turned down the heat on his anger with his sister.

They were still going to have to have a talk though. Maybe they would even revert back to their childhood and there would be some yelling involved.

His phone rang, showing the number of theCarol Clarion. He answered with a curt, “Hello.”

“Mr. Marks, this is Camille Carlisle, returning your call. I do apologize for this mix-up. We will, of course, take down your son’s letter to Santa immediately.”

“Good,” he said, and could almost hear his mother scolding,Not your sweetest voice, dear. Well, he didn’t feel all that sweet.

“I want you to know that the page does state clearly that, by allowing their children to write to Santa care of theClarion, parents are giving the paper permission to print those letters.”

Covering her butt. Had she talked to their legal team? “Well,Ididn’t allow it, and it was sent in without my permission,” he snapped. Now he was really sounding like a jerk, but he didn’t care. “And I didn’t appreciate Santa’s answer, either. ‘Why don’t you ask Daddy to find you a mommy? I’m sure he’d like to help Santa out.’ Where does your Santa get off dishing out advice?”

“Again, I’m very sorry. It will be taken down immediately,” she said. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” Unlike his, her voice was calm and rational.

“No. Thank you.”

“All right then. Have a good day,” she said, and was gone.

He hadn’t had a good day since Kaitlyn died. He rubbed his forehead in an effort to stop the dull throb that was starting. He’d have to have a talk with Corky and explain that mommies weren’t that easy to replace. In fact, ones like Kaitlyn were impossible to replace.Shewas impossible to replace. Corky was going to have to learn to be content with his dad and his aunt.

And Griff was going to have to continue working on getting up every morning and setting aside the bitterness that kept him company all through the night, keeping him tossing and turning.

The first year after she died, visions of his wife had lurked around every corner of the house. He’d see her when he first awoke, lying next to him, her hair spread out on her pillow like thick threads of gold. She greeted him when he walked into the kitchen to get cereal for Corky. It felt so real, envisioning her leaning on the counter in that big, ugly T-shirt she loved to sleep in, holding out a mug of coffee and smiling at him. He’d catch sight of her sitting in one corner of the couch, keeping him company as he watched a football game, cheering at all the right moments because she was determined to be a Seahawks fan like him.

He managed to get through the new morning ritual with just him making coffee and pouring cereal into a bowl for Corky. And Corky always cuddled up next to him on the couch when he was watching a game. He’d explain the plays to his son, they’d eat chips and he’d try not to squeeze too tightly when he tucked his kid in bed although he wanted to.

But he’d learned the hard way that when Hades came to take someone, it didn’t matter how tightly you held them. They’d be gone anyway.

He could even take a shower now and turn from the image of her in there with him, naked. The steam they’d created in there had had nothing to do with the temperature of the water.

He sighed. He missed being married, missed having his wife to talk to at the end of the day. Missed shared jokes and fighting over the last popcorn in the bowl during movie night. He sure missed getting laid.

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