Chapter 1

1

Who knew that the word help could turn into a whole other four-let ter 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 little family.

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.

"I'm surprised you could leave today," Barbara greeted Frankie, as if Frankie had abandoned her shop. "Business must not have been that good."

You wish, Barbara. The Holiday Happiness ship had sailed along just fine for a short while without its captain. "Business has been fine," Frankie said. "And I have a great staff to handle things if I have to step away. I'm surprised you're out and about. Nobody at your shop today?" she fired back.

"We've been busy," Barbara said with a lift of her chin.

Probably not as busy as Frankie's shop. Location, location, location. He-he.

"I just stopped in to tell you that we now have Dickens Carolers lined up to stroll the sidewalks and sing during the Santa Walk."

And gloat over her latest accomplishment as chairman of the committee.

"That's a great idea," Frankie said, and meant it. Why hadn't she thought of that?

Barbara gave her a superior smile. "I thought so. The committee has some other ideas...for a few changes. But I won't bore you with that now. You're probably ready to get back to work." She took in Frankie's outfit. "Or maybe not."

Frankie was not a match with her daughter and Elinor, who were wearing their red Holiday Happiness aprons and Santa hats.

"Oh, I am. Just had to step away. But not for long. We're always busy here. It's such a good location," Frankie couldn't resist adding.

Barbara frowned, deepening the lines on both sides of her mouth. She ran a hand along the side of her sleek black hair, smoothing it out. As if so much as one strand would dare get out of line.

"I need to get back to work, myself. We're always busy, too." Barbara changed gears, shifting to a smile for Natalie. "Natalie, my salesclerk tells me you're contributing your fabulous Christmas bonbons to the teacher appreciation lunch. That is so nice of you."

"Just doing my part," Natalie said humbly.

"I know it's appreciated."

"Thank you. And I hope your granddaughter enjoys the Advent calendar," Natalie said.

"It's important to support our local businesses," said Barbara.

This was said for Frankie's benefit, of course. "Someday I'm going to learn to knit," she promised.

Now, why had she said that? The crafting gene had skipped a generation in her family, and she wasn't any better at creating confections like her daughter or crocheting like her mother than she was at wallpapering. Anyway, Mom spent a small fortune at Some Kind of Yarn, and that should be enough business to give the entire family brownie points.

Barbara merely rolled her eyes and made for the door.

The other customer, who had been following the exchange, took her bagged ornament and asked, "What's the Santa Walk? We're new in town."

"It's our yearly holiday festival," said Natalie. "All the stores participate and offer bargains and door prize drawings, and there's a parade with Santa. Then, later at night, there's a Santa pub crawl where the men dress up like Santa and the women like elves or Mrs. Claus."

"Or Santa," put in Frankie, thinking of what a fun Santa Cindy Carlson had turned herself into, wearing long red underwear and a long shirt that said Off Duty, Buy Me a Drink.

"We'll have to check it out," said the woman. "And your candy sounds wonderful," she told Natalie.

"It is," said Frankie. "She'll be making another batch soon, so be sure to check back."

"Maybe," added Natalie.

"I will," said the woman.

Frankie turned to Natalie as the woman went out the door. "See? We could sell twice as much of your candy."

"If I had twice as much time," Natalie said. "But I don't. Gotta go, Mom." And she took off her apron, ending a discussion that they'd had on more than one occasion. "Jonathan and Warner are back from his mom's, and I need to get home."

"Okay, fine," Frankie said, sounding mildly grumpy. "Thanks for putting in the extra hours," she added, opting to lose the grumpy mom tone once Natalie had donned her coat and was headed for the door. "Kiss my boy for me."

"Will do. See you tomorrow at Gram Gram's," Natalie said, then left.

Frankie sighed. Another business pep talk aborted. Why on earth her daughter balked at taking Frankie's advice and turning her candy-making hobby into something lucrative was a mystery to Frankie. Natalie's bonbons were wonderful, with fillings ranging from nutmeg to peppermint mocha, and always decorated with tiny royal icing fir trees or candy canes. Come Easter, they would turn into eggs.

"Why are some people so blind to what's good for them?" Frankie muttered. She walked around to the other side of the counter to dig out a small red gift bag for Viola's Handy's Hardware card. "I swear, nobody listens to me."

"Natalie?" Elinor interpreted.

"Yes. I know she's got a six-year-old, and she's working here. But still, this isn't really where her heart lies. She should be developing her gift. People can be so stubborn."

"People?"

Frankie couldn't help but think of Mitch, who never took her advice and was at that very moment flirting with a predator in a pink coat. Frankie had been able to tell instantly that woman was wrong for him.

"Take Mitch for example. He should be dating. He's such a gem."

"And so handsome. I'll be forever grateful to him for coming over on Thanksgiving and helping me when that pipe broke and flooded my kitchen."

"Have Shop-Vac, will travel," joked Frankie. "Seriously, a man like Mitch single? It's wrong."

"Maybe some people are meant to be single," Elinor said wistfully.

Elinor had moved to Carol a year earlier and was still finding her feet. They hadn't talked a lot about her past. All Frankie knew was that she was single, that she loved to read and that the local library and the bookstore were her favorite haunts. She tended to be on the shy side, and she didn't dress to impress. With her fair skin and quiet demeanor, she was the human equivalent of...white paint. Present but not noticed. Frankie had assumed she wasn't really looking for anyone. Maybe she'd assumed wrong.

"I bet there's a perfect man for you somewhere right here in Carol," Frankie said.

"Do you think so?" Elinor didn't sound convinced.

"I'll keep my eyes peeled," Frankie promised.

"Keep your eyes peeled for what?" asked her mother, Adele, who'd just come up from the back of the shop.

Adele worked in the shop, partly to be supportive of her daughter and partly because she liked being at the center of things. Which, thanks to their steady flow of customers, was exactly where Holiday Happiness put her. With her white hair and soft-pillow figure, Adele looked like the quintessential grandmother, all sweet and cozy...until she opened her mouth.

"For a perfect man for Elinor," Frankie replied.

Adele gave a bark. "There is no such thing as a perfect man. Not even your father, God rest his irritating soul."

"Mine was close," Frankie said, and Adele lost her cheeky smile and came over to hug her.

"Yes, he was." Happily, for Frankie, Adele didn't add, And he'd be the first one to tell you not to get stuck in the past .

They'd had this conversation more than once. "I'm not stuck, and I don't mind being alone," Frankie always said. Only at night when she went to bed. Or when she and Viola watched a great rom-com. Or when she was scrolling on her phone and saw a recipe Ike would have loved.

"You don't need to be meddling in other people's lives," Adele said. "Let Elinor handle her own love life. I'm sure she's perfectly capable. Aren't you, Elinor?"

Elinor looked dubious, but she said, "Yes."

"There you have it," said Adele. "And now, I'm going home to watch the end of Blue Bloods . Wish that show had gone longer. Tom Selleck is hot." She began to fan her face. "Every time I see that man, I—"

Frankie held up a hand. "I don't want to hear. Come on, Elinor, let's get out of here. I have a pizza to pick up and a present to deliver."

As she followed her mother and Elinor out the door, she saw Miss Pink Coat leaving the hardware store. The woman carried a bunch of paint chips in her hand and was frowning. It looked like Mitch would not be going over to help her pick out paint for her bedroom. Lucky escape for Mitch.

She couldn't resist texting him. No hot paint date?

Ha ha , came the reply.

Cheer up. Maybe Santa will bring you a cute elf for Christmas.

Elves are creepy.

What a thing to say!

I like Mrs. Claus better , he texted. Think she'll ever be interested?

Only if you leave her a plate of chocolate.

I'd buy her a sleighful.

She sent him a laughing emoji, but then got to thinking. Was that crack about Mrs. Claus a subtle cry for help in spite of his insistence that he didn't need any? Could she find a Mrs. Claus for Mitch? He hadn't done well finding someone on his own. Maybe she should give him a helping hand. Maybe she would.