Page 97 of The Merry Matchmaker

Here came the someone, right on cue, all rosy-cheeked and smiling. Stef looked properly adorable in black leggings and boots under a Christmas-red coat, and she wore a red stocking cap.

“Well, hello again,” she said to Griff.

“Hello again to you, too,” he replied, mirroring her smile, proving that he knew how.

Hello again?Frankie took a closer look and realized why this man looked familiar. Her sister had pointed him out only a few days earlier at Warner’s concert. This was the coffee shop mystery man. Well, well.

“Griff, do you two know each other?” Jenn asked her brother.

“Not really,” he said, still smiling at Stef. “I’m Griffin Marks. This is my sister, Jenn.”

Griffin Marks, what a great name. It sounded like a name out of the novels their mom loved to read.

“I’m Stefanie Ludlow,” said Stef, “and I think you might owe me a latte.”

“Stef works for theClarion,” Frankie bragged.

As they were speaking, Griff’s eyes got big, then narrowed to... Whoa, eyes really could narrow to slits. “Stefanie Ludlow?”

15

Elinor arrived on the scene. “Hello, everyone, Merry Christmas,” shechirped. “Are you ready to see Santa?” she asked the little boy.

“No,” said his father even as the boy hooted, “Yes!”

“Let’s follow Mrs. Claus, Corky,” said Jenn, and they led the boy away.

“You,” Griffin Marks snarled, pointing a finger at Stef even as his sister looked back over her shoulder at him in concern.

Frankie stepped in front of her and delivered a haughty, “Excuse me? What do you mean by that tone of voice?”

Stef stepped out from behind Frankie. She could fight her own battles. “Do we have a problem?” she demanded.

“You bet we do. You’re the one behind the letters to Santa. You’re the one who printed my son’s letter.”

It wasn’t said thankfully, and suddenly Stef knew why. She pointed a finger back at him. “You’re the Scrooge who had a fit because we printed your son’s letter, aren’t you?”

“I am not a Scrooge, and you shouldn’t have printed that letter. What were you thinking? Oh, that’s right. You weren’t.”

“You can’t talk to my sister like that,” Frankie said, taking a step toward him.

Stef held an arm in front of her. “I can handle this.” She turned her attention back to Griff. “It was sent to us. What was I supposed to do with it? All your little boy wanted was to talk to Santa and you... Grinched him. What is wrong with you anyway?”

“What is wrong withme?” he demanded, his voice doubling in volume. “A kid writes asking for a mother, and you print the letter and raise his hopes? Are you dead from the neck up?”

People were starting to stare, and Stef could feel a sizzle on her cheeks. What was with this jerk? Who had dubbed him Krampus the Second? Who cared? She didn’t have to take this kind of abuse.

“Santa did not promise your son a mother, and if you could read, you’d have seen that,” she snapped. It was all she could do not to kick him in the shins. But that kind of misbehavior at the Santa Walk would not be cool, especially from the reporter who was covering it, especially with the paper’s photographer standing right there, aiming his camera. Anyway, she was better than that. “I don’t know who invited you here, but you need to go back to your Krampus cage and write a letter to Santa yourself, apologizing for being such a jerk,” she finished.

His cheeks turned russet, and he clenched his jaw, standing there like an ice statue. Then he shook his head and growled, “You are something else, lady.”

“Yeah, well, nothing like you—something I sure don’t want to ever be,” Stef retorted, determined to have the last word.

She got it. He marched off to the other side of the gazebo to wait for his little boy, who was sitting on Santa Mitch’s lap, speed-talking his Christmas list.

“Good Lord, what was that?” Frankie said.

Stef gave a disgusted snort. “My dream man.”

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