Page 1 of A Summer Mismatch
PROLOGUE
Winnie
Winniewasonherway out of her bungalow when her husband, Horace, stomped in, a frown pulling down the creases of his normally-smiling face.
“I can’t believe that man!” he grumbled as he stormed from the entryway to the kitchen. He pulled off his stiff golfer’s cap and ran a frustrated hand through his chin-length white hair.
Winnie peered from Horace to the front door. She was already running behind for her meeting, thanks to a sewing mishap that led to picking out stitches for the last thirty minutes. It wasn’t her first sewing mistake, and it wouldn’t be her last—a seam picker was a seamstress’s best friend—but she really wanted to have the darling, alligator-print dress done before their meeting.
Hermeeting.
Winnie’s heart fluttered—in a good way. At her age, a fluttering heart could be a sign of needing to go to the doctor, but she knew this was just good, old-fashioned excitement and nervousness all wrapped in one.
The Secret Seven were going to help her granddaughter find true love.
If she could get out of the house. She set her heavy purse on the entryway table, making sure the manila envelope was firmly tucked away from Horace’s sight.
“Who can’t you believe?” she asked Horace. The only way out of this house was through—and through, in this instance, meant talking Horace down from a ledge. Someone must have really gotten under his skin to have him returning from a round of golf in this agitated state.
“Smitty Byrd,” he fairly growled as he looked through the cupboards for something, closing each with too much force.
Smitty Byrd.She hadn’t heard that name in ages, and she had to admit, it had been lovely to not hear it, or hear Horace obsess over what latest innovation was coming out of Smitty’s construction company, Foundational Homes. The two men had been friends and business partners once, so long ago that it almost seemed like something they’d made up.
“What about Smitty?” Winnie walked into the kitchen and grabbed his water bottle from the fridge. He stopped slamming her cupboards and looked at her gratefully as he took a long drink of the cold water and then let out a long breath.
“Smitty and Lydia are moving to The Palms.”
Winnie clutched the counter for support.No. Absolutely not.
These were her retirement years. Her years of peace. She was going to help her grandchildren find love, and then relax on the beach with Horace for hopefully many, many years—she was only seventy-four after all—until her final sunset.
She did not want spend the rest of her life listening to Horace complain about his former business-partner turned rival. She’d spent enough of the last two and a half decades listening to it.
“I ran into him and Lydia and their grandson at community center after my round of golf. He was getting a tour of the amenities.” He took another long drink, finishing off the water and setting his water bottle behind the toaster for some reason. He was forever misplacing it. “All I need is to run into him at the pool or in the weight room, or heaven forbid, the golf course.” He shuddered.
She almost reminded him that he never went to the weight room, he avoided the pool when he could, and the golf course was enormous, but she knew that wasn’t the point.
The point was that Smitty had betrayed Horace, and having him close would be like swimming in an alligator-infested lake. Still, she tried to be calm. She didn’t have time to tackle this problem right now.
“I’m sorry you’ve had such a surprise.” She placed a hand on Horace’s arm, and he placed his hand over hers while he exhaled heavily. “I have a meeting I’m late for, but when I get home, we’ll go out to get dinner on the pier instead of eating at The Palms.”
He squeezed her hand and then opened the cupboard where he kept his soda crackers. “What meeting do you have?”
She waved at the air as if casually brushing away smoke.No big deal. Nothing to see here…“Just one of the clubs. Nothing you’d be interested in.” She hadn’t told Horace about The Secret Seven, an exclusive group of retirees living in The Palms who had come together with the goal of helping their grandchildren connect with their perfect match. It was one of the few secrets she’d kept from him in their fifty-four years of marriage, but she worried he wouldn’t agree with their mission—or worse, try to take over. He was a good man, one of the best, but he was used to running a business and being in charge, and for once, she wanted to be the one leading.
Though the timing for her to be leading really couldn’t have been worse.
“Have fun.” He absently kissed her on the cheek and went down the hall toward their shower, still muttering about Smitty Byrd and munching on his crackers.
With a guilty sigh, Winnie grabbed her purse and briskly walked to The Palms community center, grateful for all her years of daily walking that had kept her active. Usually she liked to inhale the salty ocean air as she strolled, and pause to chat with her neighbors, but today frustrated thoughts of the Byrd family—and being late—kept her focused on the five-minute walk.
Nearly out of breath when she arrived, she pushed the conference room door open to find her co-conspirators waiting for her. They swiveled in her direction, with various expressions on their faces—some irritated, some curious.
It wasn’t like Winnie to be late.
“Sorry… I’m… late,” she said between pants as she bustled to her seat next to Maria. She’d promised herself, after listening to a self-help book on being assertive, that she wasn’t going to apologize for anything and everything anymore, but this time it was warranted. She removed the envelope from her heavy purse and clutched it to her chest.
Polly’s eyes were wide. “What’s wrong?”
