Chapter 2

2

"I doubt Mitch is looking for a Mrs. Claus," Viola said as she helped herself to another slice of pizza. The wallpaper fail had been fixed, and Happiness for Beginners , one of their favorite rom-coms, was playing on Viola's TV in the background as they sat in the living room. At the moment, happiness for Mitch was taking top priority.

"You saw the text," Frankie said. "It's obvious he wants to be with someone. But he needs help. And protection. There are some skanky women out there."

"Men like skanky," Viola said, and took a bite of her pizza.

"Men like whiskey, also, but too much isn't good for them. Seriously, Vi, I think I can help him."

Viola laughed. "Just like you did when you introduced him to Laura Harding?"

Frankie waved away the Ghost of Mismatches Past. "That was last year."

"I bet it feels like yesterday to him. Then there was Delilah Norman."

"She was a mistake," Frankie admitted. "I had no idea she was so...needy."

"Needy? There's an understatement. The woman was practically a stalker."

"I introduced him to other women."

"Whom you then talked him out of dating," pointed out Viola. "Let's face it, you'll never find anyone for him who passes the Frankie test."

"I will," Frankie insisted. "But this needs to be done scientifically."

"Scientifically? You gonna use AI?"

"No, HI. Human intelligence, online dating."

"Oh, yeah, he won't find any skanks there," Viola said with an eye roll.

"Lots of people find their perfect match online."

"Not if you're involved," Viola teased.

Frankie ignored the crack. "This is a great time of year to get to know people. All that Christmas cheer, just waiting to be shared." She began thumbing the keys on her phone. "Hey, have you heard of this site?"

Viola leaned across the couch and looked over her shoulder. "Best for You," she read. "Hmm." She picked up her own phone and did some quick research. "Best for You is listed in the top ten dating sites. It's geared for people fifty and older."

"That's just what we want," said Frankie. "There's bound to be someone there who'll be a match."

"As long as you find someone who can keep up with Mr. Fitness," said Viola. "Call him and see what he thinks."

"I'm not going to call him. He'll balk. He's such a chicken."

"You're just going to sign him up?"

"Sure. I know everything I need to know to get him set up on here." Frankie scrolled through the pictures on her phone until she found one she'd taken at the chamber of commerce Fourth of July picnic. He was perched on the edge of a picnic table and wore a gray T-shirt that showed off his well-formed pecs along with Levi's encasing muscular thighs. Flip-flops on his feet. He had a beer bottle raised in a toast. Here's looking at you, kid. It was what he'd said to her right before she took the photo.

She showed it to Viola. "If you were single, would you date this man?"

"I don't do white," cracked Viola. "But yeah, that picture sells him. It oughta sell him to you."

Frankie gave a snort.

"Seriously, Frankie, why are you trying to give Mitch to someone else when you and he would be great together?"

"Because I don't need to be with someone." She didn't. She couldn't be.

"Ike wouldn't want you to give up on love," Viola said softly.

"I know. And I have plenty of love in my life. I've got Mom, I've got Stef..."

"Who will probably get married again and move away."

"She wouldn't leave her job at the paper. But if she did, I'd go visit her. And I have Natalie."

"Who has a life."

"Which I'm part of. And little Warner."

"Grandsons grow up and get girlfriends and ignore you."

"Who told you that?"

"Terrill's grandma."

"I'll still have you. You're not going anywhere, are you?"

"No."

"And we're still going to live in the same nursing home when we're old, right?"

"Probably. It's either that or end up on the ice floe my daughter's threatening to put me on."

"So, there you have it. Who needs a man?"

"You do."

"Not happening," Frankie said, and went back to the dating site. "Ha! Educated singles only. So, they're snobs."

"Looking for the cream of the crop."

"Mitch qualifies as that. He's got an MBA," Frankie said, and checked Man seeking woman , then got busy setting up his profile. It was easy to fill in interests—football, hiking, kayaking, nature. Likes to go glamping , she added.

"He does?" asked Viola.

"He does now," Frankie said, and Viola giggled.

I'm a small-town guy with big-city tastes and hometown values , Frankie typed.

"What the heck does that mean?" Viola demanded.

"It means he has good values, but he has sophisticated tastes."

"Unclear," Viola said.

"Fine. I'll add this. ‘Love my country, serve my community. Like playing Santa every year,'" Frankie said as she typed.

"That's better. You should have him ask a question. It'll make him more approachable."

What's your favorite holiday? Frankie typed. "Bonus points if she says Christmas."

"Not bad," Viola approved.

Frankie added more pertinent information and Mitch's picture. Okay, that was it. He was good to go.

She hesitated. "Maybe I shouldn't do this. Maybe Mitch won't appreciate it."

"Do ya think?"

"But he will if I bring him the perfect woman." Frankie gnawed on her lip, considering. "I do want him to be happy, and he obviously needs help getting there."

Viola washed her last bite of pizza down with her cola. "Most of us do, I guess. Just keep in mind, if you find him someone, it's going to change your relationship."

"Don't be silly," Frankie scoffed, then thought of the man-eater in the pink coat. Candidates needed to be screened.

So, online dating it was. She finished the process. "Okay, we're official. Let's see what kind of Mrs. Claus we find."

Frankie decided not to share about Operation Match Mitch when she joined her family at Adele's house for their usual late afternoon meal after the shop closed. It would only inspire her mother to give her a lecture about meddling. And this wasn't meddling. It was helping.

She also decided not to tell Mitch when they met up later that evening to watch their favorite reality TV police show. She'd checked earlier, and he'd already attracted plenty of interest. Hardly surprising, considering how good-looking he was.

Plus, she'd made him sound perfect. Saint Mitch. He could be stubborn. What man couldn't? Both his office at the store and his home tended toward clutter, but a good woman could help him organize that.

"My house next week," he offered after the show had ended.

"You going to have eggnog?"

"Of course."

"Then your house next week."

Although by the next week he could be out with someone.

No, not on Sunday night. That was Cop Stop night.

The shop was closed on Mondays, so Viola came over to Frankie's cozy two-bedroom cottage for brunch and joined her at the kitchen table to check out Mitch's prospects.

Babe Number One looked ready for an ugly Christmas sweater contest, wearing a bright green sweater overpopulated with reindeer and felt baby Santas dangling from the bottom like fringe. She was wearing a tiara on her head that said Queen. I love glamping! she declared. Do you cook? Love me a man who cooks. Uh, no.

Babe Number Two did not look even remotely fit enough to keep up with Mitch. I hate football , she confessed. But I love Super Bowl parties. Wait till you taste my Hawaiian sliders and Coca Cola cake! I'm about to join the gym. I could use a coach, by the way.

"Coca Cola cake," said Viola with a grin.

"Mitch would not have the patience to coach someone into fitness," said Frankie.

She moved on. One woman had put up a picture of herself and her "three fur babies"—ironically, hairless Sphinx cats, one perched on each shoulder and one in her lap. Do you love cats? she wanted to know.

No. Mitch was a dog man. His German shepherd, Whizzer, had recently crossed the rainbow bridge, and he was already considering taking in a rescue come the new year. Knowing Mitch, it would be a big dog, the kind that would eat all three cats for breakfast.

Yet another woman was pushing eighty and claimed she needed a younger man who could keep up with her. It wouldn't be Mitch.

Two more applicants sounded...desperate.

Another had a smile that Frankie pronounced fake. "There's a beyotch hiding behind that mask."

Next came a blonde wearing a business suit. "How about this one?" suggested Viola.

"She's not a fit."

"Why?"

"She's too...polished."

Viola raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Frankie demanded.

"You are being way too picky. I think, when it comes right down to it, you're having second thoughts. Admit it. You're too attached to Mitch to share."

"I am not," Frankie insisted. "What about this one? She looks good."

Wilhelmina Fritz proclaimed herself fit and fifty. Her profile picture showed a slender woman with brown shoulder-length hair and a pretty round face. She was on a hiking trail, posing surrounded by fir and maple trees, with a golden Labrador by her side. Love to hike , she wrote.

"Looks like you found a Mrs. Claus for Mitch," said Viola. "Let's start chatting."

And so "Mitch" began a correspondence with Wilhelmina. By Wednesday, Wilhelmina was ready to drive on over from nearby Cedarwood and meet him for coffee at The Coffee Stop. They made a date for the following day.

"Now I just have to get him over there," said Frankie when she called to report to Viola.

"What if he balks? Then it will be you wearing a Santa hat and meeting Wilhelmina."

"I'll make it happen," Frankie said.

"Let me know how it goes."

Hopefully, it would go smoothly.

Of course it would. If there was one thing Frankie was good at, it was organizing things—events, parties...meetups.

"Mind the shop, Mom," she said to Adele when it was time for the big moment.

Adele looked up from the nativity set she was putting back into place after a young visitor had scattered the shepherds and wise men every which way. "Where are you going?"

Elinor was in another part of the shop, unpacking a shipment of ornaments, and Natalie was at the grade school, helping with the teacher appreciation luncheon. Adele hated being on her own at the cash register.

"Just a quick coffee with Mitch," said Frankie.

"Santa Walk business?"

"Santa business," Frankie replied vaguely.

"Make it quick and bring me back an eggnog latte, okay?" Adele requested.

"Sure." As soon as she'd gotten Mitch and Wilhelmina squared away. Having to get coffee for her mom would make a good excuse to vacate the table. Her excuse for being at the table in the first place would be... Well, Frankie wasn't sure what that would be.

"Coffee break time," she greeted him as she poked her head in his office.

"Rain check?" he replied. He held up a sheaf of invoices. "I'm up to my eyeballs here."

"All the more reason you should take a break," she insisted. "Your eyeballs will thank you." He was about to say no, she knew it. "Come on. Just a few minutes. I need your advice on something."

That hadn't been the wisest thing to say. What on earth did she need advice on?

"Okay, then, a quick break," he said, and grabbed his Handy's Hardware windbreaker from a hook on the wall. "Brock, can you hold down the fort?" he called as they started out.

"I'm on it," came a disembodied voice from the other end of the store.

"Who's Brock?" asked Frankie. She knew everyone who worked for Mitch. She'd drafted all of them to help build Santa's sleigh for the first year's Santa Walk parade. "Oh, wait. Your new manager?"

"Yep. Just got here last week from California."

"You never said. Did he bring a family with him?"

"Nope. He's single."

Single. Hmm. "How old is he?"

"What? Are you in the market all of a sudden?" Mitch asked.

"No. I'm just wondering if he might like to meet Stef." It was past time for her sister to find someone.

Mitch shrugged. "He's about the right age."

"Stef could help him find his feet, introduce him around." Small-town newspaper reporters knew everyone.

"How about giving the poor guy a chance to catch his breath before you go hitching him up with someone?"

"You want him to feel at home in his new town, right? And stay."

"He might already have a woman."

"You don't know if he does?"

"He barely got here. I've been too busy bringing him up to speed in the store to get all the details of his love life. Now, how about instead of talking about my new manager, we talk about what you need help with," he said as they arrived at the coffee shop.

He opened the door for her and the aroma of coffee danced out to greet them. Morning rush hour was over and only a couple of tables were occupied, one with a senior man reading a copy of the Carol Clarion , and another had two young women, one with a baby in a stroller, visiting over their drinks. The place was ready for Christmas with gold tinsel strung along its windows. An instrumental arrangement of "I'll Be Home for Christmas" was playing.

"Let's get something to drink first," she said, stalling. "I'm buying. You want your usual Americano?"

"I can get my own drink," he said.

"This is on me," she insisted. "Consider it payment for your advice. How about you grab us a table?"

He gave in and settled at one of the small, scarred wood tables, stretching his long legs out in front of him. He was such a good man. He deserved a good woman. Wilhelmina fit the bill. Frankie hoped she was as nice as she'd sounded in their online conversations.

She picked up their orders, Americano for him and a peppermint blended drink for her, then made her way to the table.

"So, what do you need my advice on?" Mitch asked as she set his drink down in front of him.

She grabbed the first thing that came to mind. "How do I get Natalie to turn her candy-crafting hobby into a business?"

"Been on her about that again, huh?"

"Her bonbons are to die for. I know she could make a success of it."

"She's already selling them at the shop."

"Only small batches."

"She's not ready yet, so don't push her. Meanwhile, you've got a good worker."

"I do, but Holiday Happiness is my dream, not hers."

"She has time to work on her own dreams. Let her be, Frankie. You've got your hands full managing the shop and your own life. You don't have time to run everyone else's."

Frankie tried not to think what Mitch was going to say when he learned she was trying to run his. "Sometimes people need help," she argued. "I only want what's best for her. I want what's best for all the important people in my life."

He smiled. "I know you do. You've got a big heart."

And once she found the woman of his dreams he would be forever grateful for her big heart.

Speaking of the woman of his dreams, who was the woman marching into the coffee shop, stuffed into red leggings and a red coat, carrying a manila folder under her arms? The face looked vaguely familiar.

Oh no. It couldn't be.