Page 93 of The Merry Matchmaker

She drove to Adele’s house. The same SUV Frankie had seen several times before was parked outside on the curb, a little way down from the house. Somebody had company.

Not Adele. Her living room was dark, and the tree lights were off. So much for a cozy chat over a glass of wine or hot chocolate.

But if Adele was in bed this early, she needed her rest. Frankie used her key and slipped inside. She’d leave the phone on the hall table. She didn’t bother to turn on the hall light. No need. The table was only a few steps away and...

Whoa! She tripped over something and went crashing into the table with a yelp, knocking off the pewter bowl where Adele kept her keys. It landed with a metallicboing.

What the heck? She felt around on the floor for it and found...a shoe? Since when did her mother leave shoes in the hallway? She stumbled over another on her way to the light switch. Flipping on the switch, she saw two very big shoes lying on the floor.

Wait a minute. What was going on here?

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The upstairs light switched on, and there stood Adele in her fuzzypink bathrobe, smoothing down her hair and frowning. “What on earth are you doing?” she called down to Frankie.

“Bringing you your phone, which you left behind,” Frankie replied. She grabbed a shoe and held it up. “And what areyoudoing?”

Adele’s chin lifted. “None of your business.”

“I come in here and trip over a shoe twice as big as yours, and it’s none of my business?” Frankie demanded. “What’s going on, Mom?”

“I have company,” Adele replied stiffly.

Mr. Bellagamba appeared behind Adele looking red-faced. His sparse dark hair was mussed, and his hefty stomach was hanging over red reindeer-dotted pajama bottoms like a giant mushroom cap.

Frankie dropped the shoe. “Mr. Bellagamba, um, Merry Christmas?” she tried. It was the best she could come up with.

“Oh, go home,” Adele said irritably.

“I want to marry your mother,” Mr. Bellagamba assured Frankie, and put an arm around Adele’s shoulders. His expression begged Frankie for absolution.

Adele was right. Frankie needed to go home. She managed a nod, then left.

This was... She couldn’t even find the right word. Weird? Unexpected? Naughty? Nice? Where did Adele’s behavior fall on Santa’s list?

Naughty. Adele should have told her family she was seeing someone—a lot of someone in this case, more than Frankie had wanted to see, for sure—instead of sneaking around like a misbehaving teenager. Or at least hung a Do Not Disturb sign on the front door.

Once home, Frankie called Stef. Stef needed to know what their mother was up to.

She could hear voices and music in the background as Stef answered, “Heyyyy.” She was obviously enjoying her night out with the girls. Everyone except Frankie was enjoying the night with someone. The thought didn’t improve her mood.

Stef was in no condition to digest this news, so instead of sharing it, Frankie demanded, “Do you have a designated driver?”

“Calling Uber,” Stef assured her, clearly buzzed. “Why don’t you come join us? I can crash at your house afterward.”

“I have too much to do tomorrow. And you do, too. Don’t stay out all night,” Frankie snapped, and then ended the call.

Okay, that had been bossy. But somebody needed to watch over Stef, and obviously their own mother was too busy to. Sheesh. Frankie wandered into the kitchen, found some leftover scraps of gingerbread from her earlier baking and wolfed them down. Then she went upstairs to take a long, hot bath.

The woman staring back at her from the bathroom mirror looked downright cranky.

“Shame on you,” she scolded her reflection. “You have no reason to be cranky.”

It took her a long while to settle down for sleep. Concern for her mother eclipsed self-pity, and she began to worry that Adele had rushed into this relationship and would wind up getting hurt. Mr. Bellagamba was a widower, had been for several years, and he seemed nice enough. But would this last? Wouldhelast? In spite of all that walking around the neighborhood, delivering letters, he wasn’t in the best of shape. What was Adele thinking?

Every time Frankie closed her eyes she either saw that big shoe or Mr. Bellagamba’s reindeer pajama bottoms.

If Mitch had been around, she’d have discussed her feelings with him. The thought of Mitch not being around had her punching her pillow.

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