Page 42 of The Merry Matchmaker

But this was his life now. He and Corky were on their own, and that was how it would have to be. They were both going to have to accept that, and so was his meddling sister.

He punched in her number again.

“Hey there,” she answered cheerfully. “What’s up?”

“You know what’s up,” he growled. “What were you thinking encouraging Corky to write that letter to Santa?”

“I didn’t encourage him. He wanted to,” she said in her own defense.

“Well, you didn’t have to send it.”

“I did, since you conveniently lost last year’s.”

“I would have lost this year’s, too!”

“That’s why Corky asked me to help him. What was I supposed to say?”

“That Santa doesn’t bring mommies, and Daddy’s not looking.”

“Maybe it’s time Daddy started looking. It’s been three years, Griff. Kaitlyn wouldn’t want you to wall yourself up for the rest of your life. She’d want Corky to have a mom.”

“He’s got you,” Griff said, forgetting his earlier guilt over taking up so much of his sister’s time.

“That’s not the same, and you know it.”

“Nothing’s ever going to be the same again, and you know it.”

“Of course, I do, and darn it, I miss her, too. She was my best friend.”

“She was my everything,” Griff muttered.

“She’d want you to move on and be happy.”

“Why do people always say shit like that?” he grumbled.

“Because it’s true. You didn’t both die. You’re still here, and so is your son. It doesn’t do either one of you any good for you to wrap yourself up like a mummy.”

“We’re doing fine just as we are.”

“Yeah, right. That’s why he’s asking Santa for a mom. Dip your toe in the water and at least go on a date once in a while.”

So far he hadn’t met anyone he wanted to go toe-dipping with. Some of those women stalking him after Kaitlyn died had been downright scary. There was something about their smiles and their condolences that had felt so...fake. Like syrup laid out to attract ants. He could almost feel himself getting crushed under the weight of all that sweetness. Just remembering tugged down the corners of his lips.

“Yeah, well, you bring me the perfect woman, and then we’ll talk,” he said.

“Maybeyouneed to write Santa,” she taunted. “I’ve got to go. I’m showing a house, and my client just arrived. I’ll see you guys tomorrow for cookie baking.”

Cookie baking. Kaitlyn had loved to bake, and she’d always gone crazy at Christmas, making everything from frosted sugar cookies to gingerbread boys. Corky was too young to really remember that, but Griff sure did. In addition to gingerbread boys, Jenn had promised to bake Griff’s favorite chocolate chip cookies with the mint M&Ms in them. Maybe she could help him talk to Corky. It was the least she could do after the mess she’d made.

On second thought, no. He’d tell her to keep her beak shut. The less said about Santa the better.

Camille summoned Stef to her office. “I had an interesting conversation a moment ago.”

She wasn’t smiling, which meant it wasn’t the good kind of interesting. Stef dropped to the edge of the chair in front of Camille’s desk.

Camille was Stef’s hero. She was smart and successful and cared about the people she worked with. At forty-eight, she was a tower of strength, a woman who had fired two husbands who had not measured up. She’d finally found her perfect man in a reclusive writer in Seattle, who was now equally reclusive in Carol. He adored her, flattered her and had already turned her into a heroine in his latest bestselling fantasy. Like Camille, the fictitious Ara was a wise elder in her clan, tall and slender with steel-gray hair and matching steely gray eyes.

Camille’s eyes weren’t usually steely. They were this morning.

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