The Merry Matchmaker, page 23
For a moment, in the coffee shop, he’d had a glimpse of possibility. What a joke. The hottie from the coffee shop had turned out to be the pill from the paper. Ugh.
He took a swig from his bottle, shut his eyes and relived their afternoon encounter. He could clearly see the flash of anger in those pretty hazel eyes of hers, could almost hear again the scorn in her voice.
He could definitely remember the scorn in his sister’s voice when she’d said, “Way to go, Scrooge.”
Just because he’d let Stefanie Ludlow know how wrong she was, that made him a Scrooge?
A text came in from his sister. You know, Scrooge changed.
He ignored it.
His phone rang. It was his mother’s ringtone. He could ignore his sister, but he knew better than to ignore his mom.
“Hi, Mom,” he answered, schooling his voice to sound pleasant. Nothing wrong here in Scrooge Land.
“How was Corky’s visit with Santa?” Mom asked.
Griff wished he hadn’t told her they were going to the Santa Walk. The last thing he wanted was to relive the day. “We got it done,” he said.
“I’m glad you went ahead and took him.”
“I’m not. He’s still convinced he’s going to get a mom. It doesn’t matter what I say or do. He’s going to be disappointed.”
“For a minute. Until he gets distracted playing with his toys.”
“Yeah, every kid will take toys over a mom.”
“We’ll get him through,” Mom promised.
His son’s disappointment would be short-lived, and yes, they’d all keep him busy and distracted. But the longing would return. Griff knew. You could move away from those longings, but in the end they always caught up with you. How did you outrun them?
He said goodbye to his mother, and misery came crashing down on him. An unmanly sob escaped before he could catch it. Was this what the rest of his life was going to feel like?
He wanted to move on with the memories but without the pain. That probably wasn’t possible, but was it possible to at least bring the pain down to a more manageable level so he wouldn’t feel so bitter and frustrated? So he wouldn’t lash out at people who really didn’t deserve it?
His behavior earlier had been over the top. What would Kaitlyn have had to say about that? Moot point. If she was still with him, he wouldn’t have behaved like that. He’d have been happy.
Stefanie Ludlow had told him to go back to his Krampus cage. He was living in a cage. How had she known?
How could he break out?
He texted his sister. How did Scrooge change?
The answer came back. He got up the next morning and did something different.
Hmm.
* * *
Frankie was still feeling grumpy when she opened the shop on Sunday. Neither church nor a good helping of Christmas cookies during the social hour after the service had helped. Neither did entering her little Christmas kingdom.
Natalie was off, spending the day with her in-laws, which was fine. Frankie didn’t expect many customers and probably didn’t need both her mother and Elinor. She wished she’d given Elinor the day off as well, as Frankie wasn’t in a proper frame of mind to deal with her employee.
“No one’s going to come out today,” she grumbled as she came in from spreading ice-melting compound on the sidewalk.
“Okay, spill. What is wrong with you?” Adele demanded.
“Nothing,” she said.
“I always know when there’s something. Don’t make me drag it out of you.”
“Okay, if you must know, it’s Elinor.”
“Elinor? What did she do wrong?”
“She’s late.”
“All of ten minutes. After the snow we got last night, she’s probably taking her time on the road. Or she’s dragging from her big day.”
“That’s no excuse. It was only a couple of inches. And you made it in fine.”
Adele frowned at Frankie. “All right, what’s really bugging you?”
Frankie ignored the question. “Do you think Elinor and Mitch are a match?”
Adele blinked in surprise. “Elinor and Mitch? Does Mitch know?”
“Funny, Mom.”
“What happened yesterday?”
“Elinor latched on to him like a little Christmas leech and wouldn’t let go. That’s what happened.”
“You were wanting Mitch to find someone,” pointed out Adele. “You should be all puffed up like a toad over this.”
If one more person told her what she’d wanted for Mitch, Frankie’s head was going to blow off. “I wanted William to find Elinor, not Mitch.”
“I guess she didn’t get the memo.”
Frankie ignored the crack. “Everything I did for her—helping her with a makeover, campaigning for her for Mrs. Claus. Now she thinks she is Mrs. Claus. She thinks she’s me!” Frankie fumed.
“So, you’ve spent all this time helping Elinor come out of her shell and look her best, and now that she’s out, you’re dissatisfied with her and want to put her back. Good luck with that. Looks like you’ve created a monster, Frankiestein.”
That she had. “It’s not that I don’t want her to be happy.”
“You just don’t want her to be happy with Mitch,” Adele suggested.
“She’s living my life!”
“No, she’s living hers. Maybe not the way you want her to, but we don’t get to decide how other people live their lives. The only life you have any control at all over is your own.”
“I don’t like the way my own is going,” Frankie grumbled.
“Then what are you going to do?”
Good question.
Adele put an arm around Frankie’s shoulders. “I had a dream last night.”
Frankie rolled her eyes. “Oh no. Here we go.”
“This is serious. It was about you.”
“Me? What did you dream?”
“You were at some kind of fair, standing next to a merry-go-round. It was slowing down, and people were calling to you to get on, but you wouldn’t. In fact, you were backing away. They gave up, and it started going faster. Everyone was laughing and having fun. You finally tried to get on, but it was going too fast and it bucked you off and sent you flying.”
“Yikes. What kind of dream is that?” Frankie protested.
“You tell me,” said Adele.
The bell over the door jingled, and in rushed Elinor, her cheeks rosy from the cold. She was smiling, wearing the lipstick Frankie had bought for her. Frankie had felt like a fairy godmother when she’d helped Elinor with her makeup. This morning she felt more like Maleficent.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Elinor said breathlessly. “I had two cars almost skid into me.”
“See? Told you,” Adele said to Frankie.
“It’s all right,” Frankie said, determined not to sound like Scrooge. “We probably won’t get a lot of customers in today after how busy we were yesterday.”
“You were busy. How did you like being Mrs. Claus?” Adele asked Elinor.
Elinor beamed. “It was wonderful. Mitch is wonderful.”
Okay, enough already. Elinor needed to be reminded of who she was supposed to be with. “Now, how would William Sharp feel if he heard you raving about Mitch?” Frankie said, keeping her voice light.
Elinor looked at her, puzzled. “I don’t know. Why would that matter?”
“Elinor, we’ve talked about that special someone you were interested in,” Frankie reminded her.
Elinor’s rosy cheeks turned scarlet. “Yes. And I hope he’s interested, too. Mitch is the sweetest man in Carol.”
“But what about William?” Frankie pressed. William’s your man.
“He’s nice,” Elinor said with a shrug, “but I was never into him. I’d better get my apron on and get to work.” She hurried to the back room to shed her coat.
Shocked, Frankie looked to her mother.
Adele merely shrugged. “Looks like you’ve succeeded in finding a match for Mitch.”
A match for Mitch—it sounded like a bad book title. Frankie had to force the scowl from her face when a customer walked through the door.
She spent the whole day fighting off that scowl and was glad when the day was over and she could finally turn the sign on the door to Closed. Spending time with her family for their usual Sunday get-together would, hopefully, improve her mood.
“I’m off to heat up the lasagna. See you in an hour,” Adele said to Frankie. “What are you up to, Elinor?”
“I’m going to go home and bake. I have my grandmother’s brownie recipe.”
“Sounds good. I hope you’ll share some,” Adele said.
“I’ll make another batch and bring it in on Tuesday,” Elinor promised, then hurried out the door.
“At least you know she’s not with Mitch if she’s home baking brownies,” Adele said to Frankie. “See you at the house.”
And then she was gone.
Frankie locked the door and slowly made her way to her car. The temperature was dropping, and the streets were turning icy. If it kept up, she’d have to throw out a ton of rock salt when she came back in on Tuesday.
She drove home, avoiding the occasional parked car stranded at an angle on the street. Even though snow was becoming more common, people in the Pacific Northwest still hadn’t figured out how to drive in it.
She changed into her favorite leggings and comfy red sweatshirt. She took the garlic bread she’d bought to take to her mother’s from the pantry, along with the bag of her daughter’s chocolates, then she pulled on her coat and her snow boots and made her way down the street.
Surprise, surprise, Mr. Bellagamba’s car was parked out front right along with Stef’s, and Frankie entered to find everyone already celebrating with eggnog. A nice bit of bling was glinting from Adele’s finger, proof that she’d decided not to wait until Christmas Eve to make her big announcement.
“Did you know about this?” Stef greeted Frankie.
Adele’s warning look informed Frankie that she was not to blab how she’d learned about the new man in their mother’s life. “Wow, really?” she said, doing an excellent job of faking surprise. “Congratulations, you two.” She set down her goodies and went to take hold of her mother’s hand for a closer look. “That’s gorgeous. And what a great Christmas surprise.” She hugged her mom and future stepfather.
“Natalie’s going to be mad that she missed out on this,” Stef predicted.
“She’ll learn soon enough,” said Adele.
“When’s the wedding, Mr. B?” Frankie asked.
“Call me Mario,” he said before adding, “Soon, I hope.”
“Fourth of July,” Adele decided. “That way, no matter how senile we get, we’ll never forget our anniversary. Plus, we’ll always have fireworks.”
“Good idea,” he said approvingly, and grinned.
“I hope one of you girls is next,” Adele said to her daughters.
“Don’t hold your breath for me,” Stef said, opening the silverware drawer. “I really think I’m through with men. Let’s get the table set and eat.”
“I’ll help you,” said Mario, and opened the dish cupboard.
“He sure knows his way around your kitchen,” Frankie said to her mom as the other two went to the dining room table. “Good thing he had honorable intentions.”
“Don’t get smart,” Adele scolded. “And speaking of intentions, what do you intend to do about your future? Did you figure out the symbolism of my dream?”
“Mom, even Freud couldn’t figure out the symbolism of your dreams.”
“I think this one is pretty easy,” Adele said softly, and gave Frankie’s arm an encouraging rub. “It’s time to quit stalling and get on the ride. If Ike were here, he’d say, ‘What are you waiting for?’”
“A guarantee?” Frankie ventured. Although, look where that had gotten her. Mitch was now pub crawling with someone else.
“You know there’s no such thing. Stop worrying about what might happen down the road and let something good happen right now. When a certain someone comes over tonight to watch that cop show, get out some handcuffs and go for it.”
“Mom! As if I have any.”
Adele shrugged. “I don’t have any, either. I guess you’ll have to improvise. Seriously, daughter dear, you two are natural together. The man’s crazy about you. Don’t wait around. He might get sane and go looking somewhere else.”
Frankie got the message. It was her turn to host Cop Stop, so after they ate, she hurried home, then got busy lighting candles, turning on her tree lights and setting out Mitch’s favorite Chex Mix munchies. And redoing her makeup and hair and spritzing on that perfume she hadn’t worn in a long time.
At ten to eight, she was perched on the couch, trying not to watch out the window for his truck. At five till, she was looking out the door to see if she could spot it coming down the street. No sign of him. Where was he?
She grabbed her phone and texted. Almost Cop Time. Where are you?
There came the dancing bubbles. Hopefully, he was letting her know he was on his way.
Words appeared. Sorry. Something came up.
Nothing ever came up on Cop Stop night. What??? she texted.
Got drop-in company.
Company! On Cop Stop night? Who trumped Cop Stop night?
Anybody I know?
Elinor.
Elinor and her brownies!
Catch you tomorrow? he texted.
Not even an invitation to come over and join them.
Clobber you tomorrow. But Frankie deleted her reply before she sent it. She threw her phone onto the sofa with a growl, then marched to the kitchen and dumped the Chex Mix in the garbage.
Then she returned to the sofa, grabbed the phone and called her mother. “Elinor’s over at his place.”
“Well, Frankiestein, what are you going to do about it?”
What, indeed?
17
Since the shop was closed on Monday, it was the perfect time to invite Mitch out to lunch and get to the bottom of what was going on with Elinor. She’d better have tied him to the couch and held him captive. It was the only excuse Frankie would accept for standing her up.
Don’t be bitchy, she lectured herself as she toasted her English muffin. She’d brought this on herself by remaking Elinor and then pushing her into being Mrs. Claus.
She and Mitch often met for lunch on Mondays, so inviting him out wouldn’t look suspicious. She’d find a way to extend lunch into spending the afternoon together and use that time to explain to him why Elinor wasn’t right for him. Brock could manage the hardware store just fine in his absence.
Lunch? she texted.
No reply.
Hellooo.
It was eight in the morning. He practically lived at the store. He should be up and at work. Why wasn’t he replying?
Okay, maybe he was meeting with his staff. She’d give him some time to answer. She gave him an hour. More than enough time. She abandoned texting and called.
It took several rings before he answered with a sleepy, “Hello.”
“Were you still asleep?” Frankie asked in surprise.
“Yeah, I’m in bed. I feel like shit. I think I picked up some kind of stomach bug. Was up half the night.”
Probably the result of eating Elinor’s brownies, Frankie decided. Served him right.
“Can I bring you anything? Chicken soup?”
“No food,” he said firmly. “I’ll sleep this off and be fine. Did you need something?”
Other than to have a serious talk with him. “No, no, that’s okay. I’ll catch you when you’re better.”
“Okay,” he said, and ended the call before she could even say goodbye.
At least he hadn’t been ignoring her texts because he was with a certain someone. Tomorrow Frankie would get this all sorted out.
Meanwhile, she had a post-event meeting with the Santa Walk committee. She made sure she got an eggnog latte on her way to the chamber of commerce office. She knew she’d need a stiff shot of caffeine to face a gloating Barbara. The woman would, of course, be basking in the glow of success, hogging all the credit in spite of having a hardworking committee doing all the heavy lifting.
Frankie entered along with Theresia, who was happy with the volume of business the bakery had done on Saturday. “We sold out of everything,” she told Frankie. “There wasn’t so much as a crumb left behind. And, of course, our gingerbread Mrs. Clauses were the first to go. That was such a great suggestion. Thank you.”
“I’m glad, and you’re welcome,” Frankie said.
“You come up with so many cool ideas. I swear, you’re a regular idea factory.”
“Always thinking of ways to make the Santa Walk better,” Frankie said.
Theresia stopped before they entered the meeting room. “So, what did you think of the pageant? Really? Are you okay with someone else being Mrs. Claus?”
“It was hard to give up,” Frankie admitted. But it looked like a new tradition had begun and she suspected her reign as Mrs. Claus was over. “But that’s okay. It was someone else’s turn.”
Theresia lowered her voice. “I feel like Barbara sort of took over. How would you feel about chairing the committee again?”
Like I’d be back where I’m supposed to be. “I’d love to take on that responsibility,” Frankie said.
Theresia nodded decisively. “I’m going to nominate you. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t burned out.”
“I was never burned out,” Frankie said, and Theresia gave a knowing nod.
The others were already in the meeting room, and just as Frankie had predicted, Barbara was all smiles and pontificating on how well the event had gone. “I’ve heard lots of good feedback on our Dickens Carolers,” she said, “and I think the pageant was a huge success.”
