Page 18 of A Match Made at Christmas

“So, what are the rules?” she asked now as they rounded the corner onto her street.

He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and wished he’d brought a pair of gloves. It was stupid of him not to. A chill raced down his back. “The rules of what?”

“Noni Rose,” she said with a knowing smile.

“You’re gonna help me?”

She shrugged. “I gave it some thought in between the fifth and sixth verses of ‘Silent Night.’”

He grinned at her. “I knew you couldn’t resist.”

“I can’t leave poor Peggy Swinton in your hands. I don’t know what Aunt Nellie was thinking, you’re the least romantic person I know.”

“Thank God,” he said. “I could kiss you right now.” Oh, heck. Where had that come from? “I mean, I’m thankful. Very thankful.”

Her eyes had widened when he said it. It was barely detectable, but he’d noticed. It was there. That was such a stupid thing to say. A great way to make things awkward and run her off.

Idiot!

“And I resent the fact that you think I’m not romantic,” he said. “I’m plenty romantic.”

She looked straight ahead and muttered a nearly silent, “Uh-huh.”

They reached her front door, and she pulled out her key, opened the lock, and led him inside. The box sat on the table where they’d left it. Inside was his future as amatchmaker.

If Hollis or his dad or any of his friends ever found out about this . . .

“The first thing we need is an oath of silence,” he said.

She stood at the stove, where he only now realized she’d put a kettle on to boil. He’d forgotten how much she loved hot cocoa. Even in the summer, she drank it extra hot with a dollop of whipped cream.

“I see you eyeing my kettle,” she said.

“I was doing no such thing.”

She raised a brow. “So many lies tonight, Mr. McGuire. I know how you feel about my hot cocoa.”

He took off his coat. “I feel absolutely indifferent about this drink.”

“Lies.”

He plopped down on the couch. “I’m not sleeping very well.”

From behind him, he heard her clinking around in the kitchen, pulling the whipped cream from the fridge, finding mugs and spoons. She stopped. “Yeah?”

He started to remember, and in seconds, he was back there—a world away. A heartbeat away.

“How long’s it been since you had a good night of sleep?”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. “Months.” The nightmares always woke him, and once he was awake, he didn’t go back to sleep. Usually, that meant the hours of 3:00 a.m. to 6:00 a.m. were spent staring at the ceiling.

She handed him a mug of hot chocolate, filled to the rim with whipped cream, crushed peppermint sprinkled on top, then sat on the opposite end of the couch.

“Ooh, the peppermint is new,” he said.

“What can I say? I do it up fancy.” She waggled her eyebrows. Man, she was pretty.

He took a drink, letting it warm him from the inside out. “That’s so good.”

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