Page 40 of Merry Little Midlife Matchmaker

“I brought stuff,” I said, presenting her with the candy and the coffee.

“You’re so thoughtful,” she replied, and beamed at me. Her hand came up to squeeze my bicep before helping me with the tray of coffee and bag. I felt her touch through my sweater, remembered how soft she was when I had her pinned beneath me.

“Dad! Look! We made these last night. First we got templates off the internet, and then we made the gingerbread mix. We burned the first batch so we had to make more but now we’re ready to assemble. Me and Zach are gonna make one together.”

“And I’m making my own,” Hazel announced.

I wandered over to where the kids were set up on the dining table, the pieces of their gingerbread houses laid out before them like a puzzle.

“Who’s making this one?” I pointed to the third station and lifted my head in time to see Lizzie blush.

“Can’t let the kids have all the fun, can we?” she quipped. “If you’re nice, I’ll let you help me decorate it.”

“I can be nice,” I answered with a grin.

Her eyes were dark over the rim of her coffee cup, glowing like hot coals. She looked a little bit wicked like that, like there was a drop of fae blood coursing through her veins, and I wondered just how many sides of herself she kept hidden behind the Suzy Homemaker exterior.

“Okay. Let’s assemble.” I watched her spoon icing into piping bags and hand them to the kids, who went to work gluing the pieces of the house together. Hazel looked determined and a little uncoordinated, leaving globs of icing all over her house as she huffed in frustration at herself. The boys were serious and focused within seconds of starting. I liked watching Mikey’s head bend toward Zach and the way Lizzie’s son turned to mine for advice and help without hesitation.

“Here,” Lizzie said. “Hold these together and I’ll glue.”

She propped a wall against the front of the house, and I put my fingers where she motioned. Her shoulder brushed my arm as she navigated the piping bag in place, and a neat line of white icing secured the two pieces together.

When she pulled away and smiled at me, I was a little dazed. “That wasn’t too hard,” I noted, then jerked when Lizzie cried out in dismay.

The two pieces of gingerbread fell flat on the cake board.

“I’ll hold them until they stick,” I said, and we tried again.

“Mom, can you help me?” Hazel asked, frowning.

“Of course, honey.”

With my hands holding the two pieces of gingerbread together, I watched Lizzie circle the table and go to her daughter. She was patient and warm, and Hazel beamed when they got four walls up in no time. I managed to get another wall on by myself, but my eyes kept being drawn to Lizzie and then over to the boys.

My heart was calm. Here I was, engaging in a Christmas-themed activity, surrounded by a truckload of decorations in every corner of Lizzie’s house, and I felt none of the discomfort that usually came with reminders of Christmas. There were no old memories of parents—or newer memories of exes and betrayals. There were just sticky fingers and happy children, the smell of gingerbread, and the soft laughter that seemed to come from Lizzie at every turn.

“Not bad,” Lizzie said with a nod, coming to stand beside me. “Let’s do the roof.”

She reached across me to grab the appropriate piece of gingerbread, and her breast pressed into my shoulder. She smelled sweet and spiced, just like the structures we were building. I sat very, very still and tried not to think about the feel of her body against mine.

“Sean,” she chided, and I jumped.

“What?”

“What the heck is this?”

I followed her gesture to the back wall of our gingerbread house, which had unfortunately suffered some structural damage that required extensive repairs. Icing was globbed along the walls and bottom, with another smear covering the big crack that went from the window to the ground. Truthfully, the kids were doing a better job than I was.

“I did my best,” I said, and was rewarded with a laugh. Her hand squeezed my shoulder, and a wash of warmth went through me. We put the roof on, fingers brushing each other, smiles stretching wide.

I felt a quiet kind of happiness, one that came from peace and contentment. When we finally opened up all the bags of candy to start decorating, I stole glances at Lizzie every time she snuck a treat between her lips. Her eyes glimmered in challenge until I reached over and popped a Fuzzy Peach of my own into my mouth. Then she grinned, and it was sweeter than the sugar melting on my tongue.

Later, when it was time to go, Lizzie slipped a piece of paper into my hand. “Astrid’s phone number,” she said. “I got in touch with her this morning, and she’d be happy to go out with you.”

“Oh,” I said, glancing down at the paper, all the sweetness of the day melting away. “Sure. Thanks.”

Mikey came trotting down the hallway holding his gingerbread house. He and Zach had negotiated an agreement where Mikey got to take it home as long as Zach was invited over to admire it after school. Seemed fair to me. My son smiled at me, then at Lizzie. “I had fun,” he announced.

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