Page 14 of Merry Little Midlife Matchmaker

“Sorry to come over unannounced,” I said, lifting the container in my hands. “I got your address from your mom. Figured you were owed from last night.”

Her hips swayed as she came down the hall, her hand moving to caress Hazel’s head as she reached us. “Owed? What do you mean?”

“Here.” I extended my arm and gave her the container.

Lizzie frowned at it, then at me. She grabbed the plastic tub from my hand and cracked it open, and emotion flashed across her features almost too fast for me to read. Surprise, or maybe shock. A jolt of delight. Then her expression shuttered and something that looked like embarrassment. I had the horrible feeling I’d just made a terrible mistake.

“You…you brought me stuffing?”

“We had another Thanksgiving meal at my aunt’s house today. Hamish’s stuffing isn’t as good as yours was, but I figured it might scratch the itch if you were still wanting some.”

The look on Lizzie’s face the day before had been like a punch in the solar plexus. I was so used to seeing her smiling that the raw emotion she’d shown when she saw that none of us had saved her the one thing she’d asked for…

I’d been ashamed. And just like the moment I’d seen her standing at the window with tenderness all over her features, it had made me sit up and take notice.

Lizzie had always been Aaron and Kyle’s little sister. She tagged along whenever we let her as kids and mostly left us alone when we grew into teenagers. I hadn’t paid much attention to her, other than to think she was a nice girl who wasn’t really all that interesting.

But I was interested now. Not—not likethat. Aaron was my oldest friend, and I couldn’t date his little sister. But between her unabashed positivity in the pharmacy and what happened on Thanksgiving at her family’s house, I was beginning to wonder if there was more to her than I’d previously thought.

She worked so hard for her family, and none of them seemed to notice it.

But I’d noticed.

Her throat bobbed. “This…” Her smile was shy, her red cheeks growing even redder. The dimple in her left cheek made an appearance. Had she always been this cute? “You didn’t have to do this.”

“We should have saved you some when you asked,” I admitted.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Hazel, evidently, was bored of our conversation. She looked at my son and asked, “Do you want to help us decorate our Christmas tree?”

Mikey, who’d been standing patiently beside me, glanced over with raised brows. I looked at Lizzie, whose face melted into one of those familiar sunny smiles. A real one. Both dimples on display.

“We put up our decorations the day after Thanksgiving,” she explained. “Family tradition.”

My instinctive refusal was on the tip of my lips. I wasn’t a Christmas person. The next month and a half was something to be endured, not celebrated. Until life went back to normal in the first or second week of January, I’d have to wear a mask and pretend I didn’t feel dead inside.

But Mikey had straightened beside me, and I could see him glancing curiously around Lizzie’s hip.

“I just made my first batch of Christmas cookies,” Lizzie added, grinning at Mikey. “I might need another taste tester.”

My son’s head whipped toward me, and there was nothing I could do but nod. How could I refuse the bald hope in his eyes? I wasn’t a monster. He and Hazel were off like a shot down the hallway, and my gaze was once again drawn to Lizzie. She wore that soft smile again, the container of stuffing clasped in both her hands. She turned and caught me staring, blinked, and stepped aside.

She closed the door behind me and gestured down the hallway, where Mariah had ceded to Frank Sinatra on the stereo. I shoved aside the discomfort at hearing the holiday tunes, choosing instead to glance around the room.

Lizzie’s house was on the older side, with a kitchen that looked like an original from the nineties. The wood cabinets had that distinctive orange tinge, combined with brushed brass hardware and an off-white tile floor.

The kitchen opened onto a living room that was dominated by a brick fireplace. On the wall, pictures of her kids as babies were mixed in with beautiful photos of local landscapes. The mantel was strung with a green garland that twinkled with lights, and three stockings embroidered with Hazel, Zach, and Mom hung from hooks over the fireplace. The couch was dotted with holiday-themed throw pillows. Even the curtains screamed Christmas, with red fabric dotted with a snowflake pattern.

And in the corner of the room, an artificial Christmas tree had been put together and strung with glowing golden lights.

It was the exact opposite of my home, where Christmas didn’t make it past the front door. Mikey went to his mother’s house for that, and it was exactly the way I liked it.

My throat tightened as I watched Mikey accept a box of red Christmas ornaments from Zach. He plucked one of them from its plastic casing and considered the tree before choosing a branch on which to hang it. Zach gave him an approving nod, and Mikey grinned.

When Melody and I had divorced, the custody arrangement had been fairly easy to work out. She wanted time to pursue her career, and I wanted my son. When it came to holidays, she knew exactly how I felt about them, and I was more than happy to let her have Christmas with Mikey in perpetuity.

Now, as I watched his smile widen as he helped the other kids decorate the tree, I wondered if I’d made a mistake. I hated Christmas, but he didn’t. Every time Melody came to pick him up for the holiday, it was a relief to have a week or two to myself. I didn’t decorate our home, and I didn’t cultivate traditions the way Lizzie seemed to. I’d get Mikey gifts, but that was the extent of it.

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