Page 36 of Merry Little Midlife Matchmaker

I straightened. “I… I mean, I’m… It’s not…”

A laugh trilled out of her and she shook her head. “Don’t worry about it, Sean. Thank you for a nice evening. Say hi to Lizzie for me.”

“Will do,” I said, and waved at her as she drove away.

My shoulders dropped with an exhale when I stood alone in the parking lot. There would be no sleepover. No awkward morning after. No need to ring Lizzie’s doorbell knowing I’d been with another woman the night before.

And I was glad.

SEVENTEEN

LIZZIE

I almost didn’t hearthe knock. Frowning, I glanced toward the hallway as if I’d suddenly developed X-ray vision and could see through walls and doors to figure out who had just rapped on my door. Then my phone buzzed, and a name popped up on my screen.

Sean

It’s me.

My heart gave a lurch. I stepped down the hallway and pulled the door open, half-expecting to see someone else on the other side.

“What are you doing here?”

“Kids still awake?”

“Just went down,” I said, then checked my watch. A few minutes past ten. “Did the date not go well?”

“It went fine,” Sean said, brushing past me as he walked in.

I frowned as he kicked his shoes off and ambled down the hallway like he owned the damn place. Closing and locking the door with a quick flick of my fingers, I hurried after him. “So what are you doing here? Did you not like her?”

“I liked her just fine. You want a drink?” He grabbed an opened bottle of white from my fridge door and lifted it toward me.

“Did I just hit my head and forget that this is actually your house and not mine?” I planted my hands on my hips and glared at him. “What are you doing here?”

He dangled the bottle so the wine sloshed, brows raised.

I relented. “I use that for cooking. It’s old. Open one of those.” I waved my hand at the wine rack in the corner where I kept my stash. If he wanted to treat this place as his own, he could open the bottle and pour the drinks.

Long fingers curled around the bottle in the bottom slot of the rack, and Sean pulled it out and tilted it toward the light to read the label. His jaw was sharp, the shadow of his cheekbone stark. He was all angles, and he made no sense.

“You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

“Figured I’d check in on you and the kids.”

“The kids and I are fine.”

He twisted the top of the bottle off—I wasn’t some sort of cork-only purist—and poured two glasses. “Did Mikey behave himself?”

“Mikey is a dream,” I said as I accepted the glass he pushed across the island toward me. “We made gingerbread. I hope you don’t mind, I told Mikey he could help us decorate them tomorrow if you agreed.” I walked to the corner of the kitchen, where the slabs of gingerbread were cooling on wire racks.

Sean wandered over, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body next to my shoulder. “I don’t mind,” he said quietly. “I really appreciate how generous you are with your time. How easily you include Mikey. It means a lot, Lizzie. Really.”

The compliment made me want to squirm, but not in a bad way. It was rare for someone to see all the work I did and actually appreciate it. I was the designated babysitter in the family, andmost of the time I enjoyed spending time with the kids. But there were times—like this year’s Thanksgiving—when I wished people saw me as more than just the built-in, default childcare. Times that my family’s treatment felt uncomfortably close to Isaac’s. I’d been invisible to my ex-husband for years, and I sometimes wondered if I was invisible to everyone else too.

But not to Sean. He stood in my kitchen, looking at me like a few batches of gingerbread meant the world to him.

“It’s nothing,” I said, and waved a hand. “Tell me about your date. Are you going to see Laurel again?”

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