The Merry Matchmaker, page 1
Praise for the novels of Sheila Roberts
“With this neatly wrapped, sweetly charming treat, Roberts once again proves her mastery of uplifting, heartwarming love stories.”
—Booklist on A Little Christmas Spirit
“Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without a Sheila Roberts story. This can’t-miss author has a singular talent for touching the heart and the funnybone.”
—Susan Wiggs on A Little Christmas Spirit
“A tender story guaranteed to warm your heart this holiday season. When I read anything from Sheila Roberts, I know I will laugh, cry and close the book with a happy sigh.”
—RaeAnne Thayne on A Little Christmas Spirit
“Family, friendship, love, and loss all play their part in the perfectly executed plot of this stellar standalone from Roberts, whose gift for distinctively bringing to life each character in her diverse cast is truly commendable.”
—Booklist on One Charmed Christmas
“[Roberts] creates characters with flaws and challenges, characters like us, human and imperfect. But also, characters who grow, evolve, and learn from life’s lessons.”
—The Romance Dish on One Charmed Christmas
“No one is better at expertly fusing small-town charm and holiday cheer than Roberts, and her latest sweetly satisfying holiday romance so perfectly captures the warmth and good will of Christmas, it is the literary equivalent of watching It’s a Wonderful Life with a mug of hot chocolate and a plate of cookies.”
—The Booklist Reader on Christmas from the Heart
Sheila Roberts lives on a lake in Washington State, where most of her novels are set. Her books have been published in several languages. On Strike for Christmas was made into a movie for the Lifetime Movie Network, and her novel The Nine Lives of Christmas was made into a movie for Hallmark. You can visit Sheila on X and Facebook, or at her website (www.sheilasplace.com).
SheilasPlace.com
The Merry Matchmaker
Sheila Roberts
To Jamie
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
One Year Later
Acknowledgments
Frankie’s Favorite Recipes
Pasties
Peppermint Pie
Frankie’s Easy Candy Treats
1
Who knew that the word help could turn into a whole other four-letter word? Not Frankie Lane, that was for sure.
Although it wasn’t help that her friend Viola muttered when the two women stood looking at the pile of wallpaper that had slid down the wall and onto the floor in the dining room of Viola’s fixer-upper Victorian. The section Frankie had put up, not Viola’s.
“I don’t understand what happened,” Frankie said, gaping at it.
Viola heaved a sigh.
Everything had looked fine before they’d stepped into the kitchen in search of wine to celebrate the completed job. By the time they were back in the dining room to toast to their success, the wallpaper was toast. Soggy toast. Frankie had to get back to her shop, and here was...this. Obviously, she couldn’t leave her friend with such a mess.
“I’ll just put this back up again,” Frankie said, hurrying over to the sodden pile.
Viola rushed after her. “No! Don’t touch anything. I know you want to help.”
“I do!”
“But please don’t.”
Ouch. That hurt.
This had all been Frankie’s great idea. “You have to have wallpaper in an old Victorian,” she’d said. “It will look so cute with the wainscoting,” she’d said as she showed her friend what she’d found online.
“I don’t think wallpapering is your forte,” Viola said in an attempt to remove the sting. “Anyway, you should get back to the shop. We can drink our wine this evening. Terrill won’t be home until late.”
“Are you sure? I can get it right this time, and I hate to leave you with this mess. It won’t work for your blog.”
“Sure, it will. Every home improvement project has setbacks. This will make my finished project look more impressive. Anyway, your mom’s probably ready to throttle you by now for leaving her in charge for so long.”
“Are you kidding? Mom loves being in charge, and I haven’t been gone that long. But you’re right. I should get back. How about I make this up to you by picking up a pizza for us?”
“Excellent idea,” Viola approved. “And ask Adele not to hate me for stealing you on Small Business Saturday. I forgot about that when Terrill deserted me to go to work.”
“It’s okay. We weren’t that busy. Yesterday was our big day.” But Viola was right. Frankie had a business to run, and she needed to get back to it.
She got into her Prius and headed off to beautiful downtown Carol, where she had her shop, Holiday Happiness. Thanksgiving was over, and the shop, which featured all manner of Christmas decor, had done a whopping business the day before with customers crowding in to take advantage of the Black Friday sale, check out the latest Christopher Radko ornament or pick up an Advent calendar. Or simply chat.
Downtown was now decorated for Christmas, thanks to all the shop owners and the chamber of commerce getting busy early Friday morning. The lampposts were ringed with red plastic ribbon tied in bows. Swags of greenery and fat old-fashioned lights hung over shop windows, and the big banner strung across Main Street announced A Carol Christmas—Santa Walk December 21.
The Santa Walk had been Frankie’s brainchild, and this would be its third year. All the downtown shops would be offering coupons and special discounts and passing out treats. Santa would come to town and set up in the town square gazebo. Mrs. Claus would be on hand to accompany him during the Santa parade and to help greet the children who were excited to see him as well as their parents.
Frankie had been Mrs. Claus both previous years and was looking forward to a repeat performance. After all, she was Mrs. Holiday Happiness.
She didn’t go right into her shop. Instead, she walked next door to Handy’s Hardware, which would be the perfect place to get an apology prezzie for Viola. With all the work she and her policeman husband, Terrill, were doing on their house, the hardware store had become their home away from home.
Terrill happened to be cruising by in his patrol car. He stopped and let down his window and called, “How’d it go? Am I still Mr. DooDoo?”
Frankie snickered. “Maybe. She wound up calling me to help her finish.”
“Did you?”
“Sort of but not really. I’m on pizza patrol.”
“All the works?” he asked.
“Of course,” she replied. “If you’re lucky, we’ll save you some.”
He gave her a thumbs-up and cruised on down the street.
Pizza would go a long way toward making up for the wallpaper mess she’d left her friend with. Hopefully a Handy’s Hardware gift card would do the rest.
The hardware store was ready for Christmas. Someone had made fresh popcorn in the circus popcorn cart, and the aroma made her mouth water. No popcorn for her today, though. She was on a mission.
She moved past the display of artificial trees and the shelves of Christmas lights and garlands and went straight to the checkout, where she selected a card with a hammer on it and Handy Holidays written above it in red. She spotted her pal Mitch Howard in the paint section and, after purchasing the card, went over to say a quick hi.
A hefty fiftysomething man in Carhartts ogled her as she walked past. She wasn’t dressed to inspire ogles in her jeans and boots and the old letterman jacket that had belonged to her husband, Ike, but she was still good-looking enough to attract attention. And she appreciated an occasional ogle (as long as it didn’t turn into a leer).
Fifty had been a hard birthday. Even though she was fit and her hair was still a rich auburn thanks to her hairdresser, she felt the passing of time like an insult with those tiny wrinkles digging into her face and the gray hairs that were constantly multiplying and kept her going to the salon. When it came to aging, Mother Nature was not very nice to her daughters.
But oh well. What did it matter, really? Frankie wasn’t in the market for anyone to replace Ike. He was irreplaceable, and it had broken her heart and shredded her world when she lost him four years earlier. The kid who’d taken him out had been texting and driving and had felt terrible, but feeling terrible after you’ve killed someone wasn’t enough to bring the person back.
The community had come alongside her, offering sympathy, hugs, meals and cards, and her family and friends had checked in on her often. She’d felt their love, but nothing could replace the love she’d lost. She soldiered on, keeping the shop going, keeping her life going, reminding herself to be thankful for the people she still had left—her mother, her sister, her daughter, Natalie, and Natalie’s l
And Mitch Howard, who owned Handy’s. He had been there for her both when she first started her business and again during that awful time after Ike died.
“You’ve got this,” he’d said seven years earlier after she’d signed the lease for her shop and then instantly experienced a confidence crisis. He’d said it again when he stopped by Holiday Happiness a month after Ike’s memorial and she’d confessed that she didn’t think she could go on.
“Yes, you can,” he’d assured her. “You’re a strong woman.” He kept stopping in, often with a latte from The Coffee Stop just a couple doors down from their businesses. Next thing she knew, she was returning the favor.
It was only natural they would become close. They already were friends. She and Ike had known Mitch before she’d opened her shop and become business neighbors with him. Of course, everyone with a house knew Mitch.
He’d taken over the hardware store after his father retired and his parents moved to Arizona. Mitch himself had moved away for a while, but he had returned and settled right back in, working again in the same store that had employed him as a teenager. Eventually he’d become the owner.
He was Frankie’s favorite pal, always up for helping her test out a new cop show or watching a Seahawks game together. Like her, he was single; unlike her, he was divorced with an ex-wife who was ancient history. He was a great guy—fun-loving and kind and easygoing. And handsome—slim but broad-shouldered, with a perfect square jaw and dark hair turning to salt and pepper at the temples. Then there was that lopsided smile that her mother once said made her think of Harrison Ford. When he was young...oh, baby!
(Mom had been in touch with her inner cougar for years.)
Mitch was probably the fittest fifty-eight-year-old man in town. Him being single was a waste of man, if you asked Frankie. Not that he had.
“Leave the poor man alone,” Ike had said whenever she’d talked about finding someone for Mitch. “He’s smart enough to figure out what he wants and go for it.”
Still, she’d persisted in trying to set Mitch up because Frankie was convinced that, when it came to love, very few men were smart.
“You’re a fine one to talk,” her mother had said. This was after Frankie had shared her profound observation a few months earlier, after her latest attempt to help Mitch had failed.
“It’s different for me,” Frankie said.
Unlike Mitch and his ex, there had been no parting by mutual consent. Frankie didn’t need to try again and do better. She’d had a great marriage only to have her man snatched violently from her. One minute Ike had been off to go for a run and the next he was gone. His death had left a hole in her heart that refused to completely close. She doubted it ever would, and even if it did, she had no desire to put herself in a position of facing such a loss again.
“Hey there,” Mitch greeted her as she joined him. “How’s the wallpapering going?”
“Hers or mine?”
He cocked his head, studied her. “Let me guess. Something went wrong.”
“Only on my side of the wall. Doing penance.” She held up the gift card, and he chuckled. “And I’m taking pizza over after I close up.”
“Can’t screw that up,” he said.
She frowned. “I hope not. I suck.”
“Nah, you don’t. It’s not easy to hang wallpaper. Anyway, you have other talents.”
“Like?”
“Helping people.”
The way she’d helped Viola. Frankie gave a snort.
“You’re good at making things happen.” He pointed out the window to where the banner hung. “The Santa Walk’s been a big success. People love you, Frankie. Not everyone can say that.”
“It’s nice of you to say it.”
“Just speakin’ the truth.”
“Thanks for making me feel better.”
“Call it an early Christmas present. We still on for Cop Stop tomorrow night?”
“Absolutely,” she said. “I’ve already got the chips and salsa.”
“Good,” he said with a nod. “I’ll bring the beer.”
A blonde in black leggings, thigh-high boots and a pink wool coat strolled over. “Hi, Mitch,” she purred. “Can you help me pick out some paint for my bedroom?”
Gack, thought Frankie in disgust.
“Be right with you,” Mitch said with a smile.
“You can do better than that,” Frankie said as the woman sashayed away.
“Yeah? How?”
She could tell by that lopsided grin that he was teasing her. She pointed a finger at him. “You need help.”
“There’s a lot of things I need, Frankie, but you helping my love life isn’t one of them. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better go help my customer,” he added with a wink. “Try not to be jealous.”
“You should be so lucky,” she said to his retreating back. “Stubborn man,” she muttered, and left to go next door to her shop.
Honestly, Mitch could have his pick of women. He shouldn’t be living alone, eating takeout and tuna fish sandwiches. Getting hounded by predators in pink coats. What if one of them succeeded? Mitch needed someone special, someone with some depth to her, someone who would see him as more than a big slice of beefcake. He really needed a guiding hand. Hers.
Of course, whoever he wound up with would have to share because Frankie had no intention of giving up her best buddy. All the more reason to help him find his perfect Mrs. Claus.
Walking into her shop always lifted Frankie’s spirits. Always dressed for the holidays, Holiday Happiness was a treasure house of artificial trees of varying species, both green and flocked, decked out in different styles and colors with glowing lights and every imaginable kind of ornament to tempt lookers into becoming buyers. Then there were the ceramic village displays, nativity sets, Santas and nutcrackers in varying sizes, Advent calendars and stuffed bears wearing Santa hats. Come January, those bears would make way for ones bearing satin hearts with I Love You stamped on them. Holiday Happiness celebrated every holiday.
Except for Halloween. Frankie put out very few decorations for that one, opting instead to focus on fall and Thanksgiving items. After losing Ike, she’d lost her taste for skeletons and fake grave markers.
Her twenty-nine-year-old daughter, Natalie, who worked part-time in the shop, was ringing up a customer’s purchase as Frankie walked in. In addition to being pretty with her father’s green eyes and light brown hair, Natalie was also sweet and impressively creative. She was her mother’s pride and joy.
At the second cash register next to her, Frankie’s full-time employee, Elinor Ingles, was also ringing up a sale for someone. Barbara Fielding.
Theoretically, Frankie and Barbara should have been friends. They were close in age, with Barbara only a couple of years older than Frankie, and both owned businesses.
But Frankie wasn’t a fan of Barbara, and Barbara didn’t like Frankie. She’d never said so or done anything overtly hostile, but Frankie could tell by the frosty smile the woman reserved only for her. Barbara’s long nose had been out of joint ever since Frankie had beaten her to the punch and taken the space for Holiday Happiness that Barbara had wanted for her yarn shop. She also hadn’t been happy the year Frankie had been elected president of the chamber of commerce instead of her. She’d been especially irritated when she learned that her on-and-off boyfriend Ned Boreman, who had turned the old Roxy Theater back into a movie house, had voted for Frankie instead of her.
Frankie was no longer president, but the old rivalry continued, and Barbara and Frankie remained frenemies.
Barbara had raised objections when Frankie first proposed the Santa Walk. The downtown shops already gave out candy for Halloween, merchants were always being hit up to donate merchandise to various events for door prizes, the holidays were a busy time and shop owners would be stressed. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. She’d been voted down, and Frankie had been given free rein.
This year Barbara was the head of the Santa Walk committee, thanks to a coup d’état where she ousted Frankie from the chair position that she’d held for the last two years.
Barbara didn’t deserve to get anything from Santa.
