Page 68 of The Merry Matchmaker

Frankie’s face caught fire. She knew Brock heard it, too, because he frowned.

“They’re right, you know,” Frankie said to him.

“They’re drunk,” he said.

They hadn’t gotten any drinks yet. They were sober, and they knew exactly what they were doing.

“Drunk or sober, it doesn’t change the fact that we have a big age gap.” Not to mention an experience gap.

“That’s ridiculous,” he scoffed. “You look better than some forty-year-olds.”

Some, not most. She wondered if he even realized what he’d said. “For now.”

Actually, even now wasn’t all that good. She was getting creases at the sides of her eyes. And she didn’t like to think about the direction her boobs were starting to lean. It happened. Gravity got everyone in the end. Anyway, she was more than what people saw on the outside, right?

“It’s just a number, Frankie.”

“It’s more than that. It’s...stages.”

Hadn’t she already tried to explain this to him? He was determined to be dense. Or he simply couldn’t see that far into the future. How farsighted had she been at forty? Stages.

“We will always be at different ones in our lives,” she said. “Right now, you don’t see it, but down the road, you will. I’ll age before you will. I’ll get tired at night and want to go to bed with a book...”

“And me.”

She ignored him and went on. “You’ll start noticing younger women. Thinking maybe you’d like to have kids after all.” Notice their breasts riding higher, take in their smoother skin. It would be simple biology in action. “And then you’ll want to move on,” she continued. “You’ll feel guilty. I’ll feel heartbroken and humiliated...”

“Why do you think that?” he argued. “I’ll be getting old, too, you know.”

“But not at the same rate.” Why was he making this so hard? She took another big gulp of her drink. “Brock, I’m sorry. I really do like you, but we’re just not a fit. I can tell.”

“We were fitting pretty good last time we were out,” he said, reaching for her hand.

She slid it away before he could catch it. “You really know how to kiss, but I’m not the one you’re supposed to be kissing. There is someone out there who you are supposed to be.”

“Frankie,” said a female voice.

Frankie gave a start and turned to see Barbara Fielding, elegantly gaunt in a black dress and matching heels, topped with a red suit jacket. She looked very corporate and slightly green-eyed.

“Barbara, what are you doing here?” Frankie asked.

Oops. That sounded like Barbara couldn’t possibly have a social life. Obviously, she could.

Barbara’s eyes narrowed. “I’m meeting some friends. Speaking of, who’s yours?” The sour smile turned sweet, and the sour voice picked up honey.

“This is Mitch’s new manager, Brock Adams.”

“I’m going to have to go to the hardware store more often,” said Barbara. “I’m sure I need a new...screwdriver.”

Oh brother.Don’t roll, Frankie commanded her eyeballs.

Brock grinned. “Good to meet you, Barbara. We’ve got just about anything you’ll need at Handy’s, and I’ll be happy to help you find it.”

“Good,” Barbara said. An older couple walked in, and she waved to them. “Well, I’ll let you two enjoy your drinks. See you soon, Brock.”

He nodded. “Sure.” Barbara left, and he turned his attention back to Frankie. “Frankie, there’s no other woman in this whole town who’s as fine and fun as you. I’m never going to change my mind about that.”

Oh, the things people said so sincerely, believing every word. “You say that now, but you hardly know anyone in town yet. And really, you hardly know me. You can’t know how you’ll feel in ten years,” she added, circling back to her main argument.

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