Page 43 of The Merry Matchmaker

Stef swallowed nervously. “What happened?”

Camille turned her screen so Stef could see the Letters to Santa page. “Corcoran happened.”

“What?” Stef stared at the page, looking for clues as to what was wrong.

“His father called.”

Uh-oh. But still, “Hey, I didn’t promise Corcoran a mom.”

“No, instead you as much as promised him his father would get him one. Remember when we first started this? I told you to keep everything vague.”

“I thought I had,” Stef said in a small voice, and Camille’s eyebrows dipped into a V. Yes, the eyes were definitely looking steely now.

The same wave of panic she’d gotten when a cop had stopped her for speeding a couple of months back rolled over Stef, going all the way from her face to her stomach. “I’m so sorry.” She was afraid to ask, but she had to. “Am I fired?”

“Over one mistake? You know me better than that.” Camille sighed. “This is as much on me as it is on you. I should have looked this over more carefully. But really, Stef, I shouldn’t have to babysit you on this.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t think my answer through very well. I didn’t really make any promises, though.”

“Nothing concrete, but you put the boy’s father in the hot seat, and he didn’t appreciate it.”

“I was only trying to make his child feel better,” Stef said in her own defense.

“That’s not your job,” Camille said sternly. “This is not an advice column. Your job is to channel Santa and ho, ho, ho and promise the kids Santa will talk to their parents.”

“Which I did.” Sort of.

“Requests for things like drum sets and...whatever,” Camille said with a flick of her hand, “don’t matter. But we can’t be wandering into sensitive areas like this. It’s a good way to lose subscribers, and we can’t afford that. So. No more letters asking for intangibles make the cut. I’ve smoothed ruffled feathers, and legal assures me we’re okay, but we don’t need to put ourselves in this position. Only respond to requests for toys and goodies from now on and always keep the answers vague. Like we talked about when we first started this page.”

“I’m sorry,” Stef managed. She still felt like she was being blamed unfairly, but it would be pointless to argue any more.

“Be more careful in the future,” Camille said.

“I will,” Stef promised, and left the office feeling like a kid who’d just gotten reamed by the principal.

It wasn’t right. Here poor Corcoran had poured out his heart to Santa, and what did his tool of a father do? Call the paper and make a stink. What a Grinch. What a heartless father. It was a good thing she hadn’t talked to the man. She’d have told him a thing or two.

And probably lost her job.

Sorry, Corcoran. I tried.She plopped down at her desk and called her sister. “Where are you?”

“I’m shopping with Elinor. What’s up?”

“I don’t want to be Santa anymore,” said Stef.

“Uh-oh. What happened?”

Stef told her.

“Well, it could be worse. Camille could have fired you.”

“I wouldn’t have deserved that,” Stef said. “In fact, I didn’t deserve the lecture. I’m not the problem. The problem is this poor kid’s father. Sheesh, what a jerk.”

“It’s not easy raising a kid alone. We know that, right?”

Yes, they did. Adele had struggled for the first few years after Dad died.

“But still. You don’t call the paper and yell at them because your kid wrote a letter to Santa. I need chocolate.”

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