Page 3 of Merry Little Midlife Matchmaker

There were shadows in his eyes that hadn’t been there twenty-five or so years ago. He didn’t look tired, exactly. He was closed off.

That didn’t change the fact that my brother’s oldest and best friend was the most attractive man I’d ever seen. And I was a greasy-haired, volunteer-T-shirt-wearing, ibuprofen-launching mess.

I gulped and forced my smile to brighten. “Sean, hi.” I clawed at the towel and shoved it back onto my head. Judging by the hair sticking to my cheeks and neck, I wasn’t doing a great job of containing it back in its microfiber prison.

“You okay?” His voice had a pleasant roughness to it, and when he dropped his hands from my arms, I missed them.

I needed to get a grip. Men who looked like him did not end up with women who looked like me.

Laurel, I thought. That’s who would fit next to him. One of the architects at the firm where I worked as an administrator would be the perfect match for a man like this. She was sassy and had a wonderful laugh, and she’d get him out of his shell. Or maybe one of the moms from school. Cindy Reynolds. She was tall and built like a model, with that gorgeous long hair. She’d started dating again recently. They’d make sense standing next to Sean.

Fast on the heels of those thoughts was a wave of bitterness. Because one person who wouldn’t fit next to him was a five-foot-three woman with curves that were a little too generous to be fashionable and a sense of style that had died when she’d pushed out her screaming babies.

But this was nonsense. I wasn’t trying to set him up with anyone, and I definitely wasn’t trying to date him myself. Forall I knew, he was happily married to a modelesque doctor from a blue-blooded family who had twittering birds and puppies following her around all day like some kind of Disney princess.

Besides, I had more important things to worry about.

“I’m great,” I lied. “Thanks for the save.”

“Sure.” He bent over to pick up one of the bottles of liquid electrolytes that was shoved under a metal shelf. I grabbed the other and eyed the third bottle still held in his other hand.

I nodded at him as he handed his two bottles over. Now to make a fast escape, because I needed to take care of my kids and not make an idiot of myself in front of the most beautiful man I’d seen in years. My mouth, evidently, had other ideas. It kept smiling as it said, “You in town for the holidays?”

Thanksgiving was coming up on Thursday, and the temperature outdoors was steadily dropping. Heart’s Cove was a small town in Northern California full of artists and eclectics, with gray, drizzly winters that usually got a smattering of snow come December. A great place to raise kids, but not so many career opportunities for divorced women who had left the workforce to care for their brood.

“Mikey and I just moved here, actually,” Sean responded. He cleared his throat, clearly not one to lean on false positivity to make it through awkward interactions. His gaze flicked from my hair to my shirt and down to my Crocs. “We, uh, somehow lost all of our toiletries on the trip over so we’re stocking up.”

My brows jumped. “Oh,” I said, searching my memory. My brother Aaron had been to Sean's wedding over a decade ago, but as far as I knew, Sean wasn’t on social media. I wasn’t sure what else had happened in the interim. Something in my memory told me there’d been a divorce, but maybe that was wishful thinking, so all I said was, “Mikey is…”

“My son,” Sean said, his gaze shifting over my shoulder. A boy of about ten or twelve shuffled past me and presentedhis father with toothpaste and two toothbrushes. “Thanks, bud. Mikey, this is Lizzie. She’s my friend Aaron’s sister. You remember Aaron?”

Mikey nodded at me. He had his father’s eyes and the same shade of dark-brown hair. “Nice to meet you.” He paused. “Your hair is really greasy.”

“Mikey,” Sean chided.

My smile stayed up through sheer force of will. “It’s an oil treatment,” I explained. “It’ll make it shiny when I wash it out.”

“Oh,” the kid said, looking unconvinced. I didn’t blame him.

“Sorry.” Sean rubbed the back of his neck, then nudged his son. “Be polite, Mikey.”

“I hope your hair looks nice after you wash it,” the boy offered.

“Thanks,” I told him. “And on that note, I need to scram. My own son has been vomiting.” I lifted the bottles of Pedialyte.

“I won’t keep you,” Sean replied. “Nice to see you again. I’m sure we’ll catch up at Aaron’s sometime.”

“Of course,” I said. Then, because my embarrassment was mounting with every second, I forced some extra cheer into my voice as I said, “Looking forward to it!”

Sean gave me a faint frown, and I took that as my cue to cut this delightful catch-up short. My Crocs squeaked on the tile floors, and as soon as I was out of sight, I ripped the stupid hair turban off my head and shoved it in my sweatpants pocket. Greasy, oil-infused hair clung to my head and drew the cashier’s gaze.

I scowled at her, which was rude, but I was feeling embarrassed and frumpy and dejected.

Sean's hands on my arms had turned me on. He was unbelievably attractive, and I was…me. There had been no electric spark between us that wasn’t entirely contained within my own body. And there never would be. Men like him didn’tend up with women like me. To be honest, I wasn’t exactly sure what kind of man ended up with a woman like me. So far all my attempts had ended in failure.

But hey—at least I’d have shiny hair by the end of the night. I hoped.

Sighing, I paid for my supplies and headed for my car. When I pulled up outside my ex-husband’s house, I squared my shoulders and put my brother’s high school best friend out of my mind. I had at least one sick kid to deal with, along with a useless man-child. Gorgeous men who evidently married beautiful women and made beautiful babies were none of my concern.

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