Page 50 of The Merry Matchmaker

Corky’s smile tipped upside down, and his lower lip stuck out. Then it began to wobble. “I just want a mommy.”

“Son, Santa’s not going to bring you a mommy.”

“He will if he gets my letter,” Corky insisted. “You’ll see, Daddy. You want a mommy, too, don’t you? Then we can have someone to make dinner for us and bake us cookies.”

And smile at us over her morning coffee.Griff felt a catch in his throat. He cleared it. “Santa doesn’t bring mommies. He brings toys.”

“Aunt Jenn said he might.”

Griff could imagine the conversation. Corky looking at Jenn with those big brown eyes, begging her to assure him that Santa, who granted every wish, would hear his request. Softie that she was, she wouldn’t have the heart to tell Corky the hard truth. But why the hell did she have to mail his letter? She should have been able to come up with some excuse for why she couldn’t.

By the time they got to the house, Griff was in a sour mood. This Santa thing was out of control. What would the saint whose identity got stolen by an old fat guy with a fake beard who everyone practically worshipped think about what modern culture had done to him?

Griff should never have allowed the whole thing to start. He should have told Corky the first time he saw one that Santa was only pretend, that there was no such guy, that those extra presents under the tree were from his hardworking dad who loved him more than anything in the world.

But who couldn’t give him what he wanted the most.

Back home, Griff found a snack for his son—the lone apple left in the fridge, starting to get mushy. Time to go shopping. Maybe he’d do that while Corky and Jenn were baking. Corky took one bite and pronounced it yucky. Griff dug out the last remaining snack bag of nacho-flavored corn chips from the cupboard and handed it over.

Then they set up Griff’s laptop and made contact with the grandparents. “I got a A on my spelling test,” Corky announced, holding up his test for Grandma and Grandpa to see.

“Smart boy, just like his grandpa,” said Griff’s dad.

“What words did you learn to spell?” asked his mom, and Corky happily rattled them off.

“Teacher says I’m getting good at spelling.”

“I should say so, if you got an A,” said Grandma. “And what are you boys going to do tonight to celebrate?”

“We’re making cookies!” Corky answered.

“You gonna bake some for Santa?” asked Grandpa, and Griff swore under his breath.

“It’s too soon to bake cookies for Santa,” he hurried to say.

“I wrote a letter to Santa,” Corky announced, and it was all Griff could do not to groan.

“Did you? What did you ask for?” Grandpa wanted to know.

“A mommy.”

Griff’s dad suddenly looked like he’d encountered a hornets’ nest and wasn’t sure what to do about it. Griff’s mom’s pleasant smile faded.

“Well, now,” she said, stalling.

“I told him Santa doesn’t bring mommies,” Griff said.

“True,” agreed his father. “Santa specializes in toys. I bet he’s going to bring you some good ones.”

“I only want a mommy,” Corky said, and pouted.

“Well, uh,” Grandpa said, and scratched his head. “You’ve got a grandma, and I know she’s got some fun stuff planned for when you visit Christmas Day.”

“Oh, yes,” chimed in Griff’s mom. “We’re going to have a birthday cake for Jesus, and you’ll get to blow out the candles. And Grandpa has a fun new game to play with you.”

“And we’ve got some special presents under the tree,” added Griff’s dad.

“I just want a mommy,” Corky grumbled.

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