Chapter 3

3

"Mitch," the woman called as she approached the table. "It's so good to finally get to meet you!"

Both of Mitch's eyebrows flew up to his hairline.

"It's me, Wilhelmina Fritz," said the woman, plunking down at the table and smiling at Mitch. "Ho, ho, ho," she said, and held out her wrist, jiggling the holiday charm bracelet on it.

Mitch stared at it, shook his head slowly. "Uh..."

"Christmas. Get it? It's my favorite holiday, too."

He nodded and shot a look at Frankie. Help!

"I know I look a little different than my Best for You profile," Wilhelmina said.

A little? She could have been her own mother. If Wilhelmina was in her fifties, Frankie would eat her Santa hat. Where was the fit-looking outdoorsy woman Frankie had hoped would be a match for Mitch and become her new friend as well? The woman who bragged about the marathons she'd run? The only thing that looked the same about her was her hair color, and Frankie could see gray roots lurking under the brown. Not that she had a problem with a woman keeping the same hair color as long as she wanted. And she didn't have a problem with someone's weight. But she did have a problem with a woman passing herself off as completely different. She frowned.

Wilhelmina didn't see. She was too busy giving her sales pitch to Mitch. "I've gained a few pounds since that picture I posted was taken."

And a few years.

"But I'm in much better shape than I look. And my bones are perfect. My teeth are great, too. I brought my dental records to prove it." Wilhelmina smiled and gave the folder a tap.

Mitch was still a step behind. "Best for You?" he repeated.

"It's so hard to find a good man these days," Wilhelmina said. "There are so many losers and cheaters out there. When I read your profile, I could tell you were special, and so genuine."

"My profile." He looked at Frankie again, this time with narrowed eyes.

"I promised I'd get a latte for Mom, and I need to get back to the shop," Frankie said, and began to rise.

Mitch caught her arm and pulled her back down onto her seat. "Stay a little longer." It wasn't a request.

"Is this your sister?" Wilhelmina guessed. She almost smiled at Frankie.

"No, this is my wife," Mitch lied. "We're getting back together."

Wilhelmina pulled back as if he'd slapped her. Then she glared at him. "Of all the rotten fakes," she snarled, picking up her folder. "You should have taken your profile down. And you sure shouldn't have been flirting online with me!" She stood and pushed away from the table, almost knocking over her chair. "Men like you are scum. Scum!"

"Want to explain what just happened?" Mitch said to Frankie as Wilhelmina marched out of the coffee shop. "You are behind this, aren't you?"

"Well, um, I just got to thinking."

"Is that what you call it?"

"After your text. It sounded like you wanted a Mrs. Claus."

He let out a frustrated breath and shook his head. "I was referring to you, you goof."

"Me!"

"Were you or were you not Mrs. Claus at the Santa Walk the last two years?"

Frankie's heart missed a beat and her face felt hot enough to roast chestnuts. Mitch and her—that wouldn't work. They were pals, that was all.

Her thoughts must have raced across her face because he veered away from the topic of them and returned to scolding her. "Is that the kind of woman you think I need?"

"She looked totally different in her profile picture," Frankie explained. "In fact, she looked great. And she likes to hike and camp. And she loves Christmas."

"Is my picture still up on that site?" he demanded.

"It won't be. I'll take it down right away."

"See that you do," he said shortly. He stood, raised his cup to her. No smile. "Thanks for the coffee." With that, he made for the door as fast as Wilhelmina had.

"Mitch, wait. I'll walk back with you," Frankie called, jumping up.

He didn't turn around, just held up a stay-away hand and kept going, shoving the door open with enough force to almost pull it off its hinges.

This was awful. She and Mitch never fought. They were besties, always there for each other.

She ordered her mother's latte, pretending she didn't see Suzie the barista's curious stare, and then walked back to her shop, feeling like she was carrying all of Marley's chains on her shoulders. Except unlike Scrooge's old business partner, she hadn't done anything bad.

She had done something stupid, though. She should have listened to that little poke from her better sense when she first created his profile. Deciding to surprise Mitch with the perfect woman had been a bad idea.

But her motives had been good. Surely, he could see that.

Holiday Happiness had no customers at the moment, which was just as well, since Adele greeted her with, "What the heck happened with you and Mitch? He just walked past the window looking ready to lynch Santa."

"I happened," Frankie confessed, handing over the drink. "I was only trying to help," she was quick to add.

"What have you done?"

There was no point hiding it. "I signed him up on a dating site."

"Oh no. You didn't."

"I thought he was looking for someone," Frankie said in her own defense.

"And he can't do that without you?"

Frankie frowned and put her Holiday Happiness apron back on. "We've got it taken care of."

"I can tell. He certainly looked mollified," Adele said.

A little sarcasm, just what Frankie needed for Christmas. She frowned at her mother.

Adele shook her head. "You'd better go over there on your knees and beg for forgiveness."

"I will."

"I'd suggest now," Adele said. "Elinor's here, and all is quiet for the moment. Perfect time. Cry a little. That always helps."

"Manipulative," Frankie muttered.

"It always worked for me," said Adele, refusing to see anything wrong with her suggestion. "Let this be a lesson to you. Meddling in people's lives will only blow up in your face. Oh, and while you're there, pick up some light bulbs for me."

Frankie sighed, took her apron back off and left to beg forgiveness.

She was on her way when Stef texted to see if she wanted to grab an early lunch at The Salad Bowl. Anything to stall talking with Mitch.

The popular restaurant was housed in a low brick building one street over from Main Street. It followed its theme with planters overflowing with plants and herbs perched behind booths. Many of those plants had grown out of control and liked to reach out and tickle necks of unsuspecting diners. The place always smelled like curry and roasting chicken, thanks to one of its popular menu items, the Curried Clucker, a curry chicken salad loaded with celery, onions and sprouts.

Stefanie Ludlow, ace reporter for the paper's lifestyle section, had already staked out a table. She was twelve years younger than Frankie, with the same hazel eyes and even features, but her hair was a different color, a light brown with golden highlights. She was a little slimmer, too, something Frankie was fond of advising her to enjoy while it lasted. "Just wait till menopause," Frankie liked to tell her. It had sure taken its toll on her the year before. She'd had so many hot flashes the previous Christmas she could have powered half the houses on her block. At least that had simmered down.

"Hey there. You look stressed," Stef said as Frankie slid into the booth.

"Mildly. Mitch is mad at me, and Mom is in full lecture mode."

"Uh-oh." Stef leaned both elbows on the table, ready for the gory details. "What have you done, sissy?"

Frankie looked over her shoulder.

"Don't worry. Angie's out sick today," said Stef.

"Okay, good," said Frankie.

Not that she didn't appreciate their favorite server, but Angie fell on juicy tidbits the way most women fell on chocolate. She had the largest Christmas village in town and was one of the shop's best customers every Black Friday. Her own village complete, she was now starting one for her newly married daughter. Angie came into Holiday Happiness so often, she considered herself a good family friend and, as such, entitled to knowing everything that was going on with the family. And sometimes she also felt entitled to share with others what was going on.

"So spill," said Stef.

Frankie was filling her in on the whole fiasco in between bites of salad when Viola texted to see how the meetup went. Don't ask , Frankie texted. Which, of course, prompted Viola to call her instantly.

"I'm at The Salad Bowl with Stef," Frankie answered.

"Enjoying a Toss Your Tacos?"

"Of course." They made a better taco salad than the Mexican restaurant.

"Was Mitch mad?"

"Yes. Wilhelmina was a faker."

"Oh boy. Sorry. I'll let you get back to your lunch. Say hi to Stef for me."

"If you're going to be looking for perfect matches, you could at least look for one for me," said Stef after Frankie ended the call. "Oh wait. Never mind. I've seen how that turns out, and the last thing I need is another Dick."

Richard Swineburn, Stef's ex of two years, had never liked it when people used the outdated nickname, for obvious reasons. Although he lived up to it. The man had been a narcissist. Sadly, Stef hadn't seen it until it was too late. She'd been too impressed with his good looks and his good job as a CEO of a seafood distributer in Seattle.

Adele had had one of her famous prophetic dreams when Stef first started dating him. Stef had only laughed when Adele had reported she'd dreamed that Stef was caught in a net with a school of tuna and Richard was on the tuna boat pulling in the net, dressed in a Dracula cloak and cackling, "Gotcha now."

Frankie hadn't been a fan of Richard, either, and had tried to persuade Stef to slow down. She hadn't. Until after she married. The marriage dragged on for seven years before Stef got free of him.

She deserved better. It had been two years since her divorce, and so far she hadn't found it. Not that she'd been looking until the past few months, and that search had been hampered by cynicism thanks to how badly she'd been hurt.

"Every online match isn't a fail," said Frankie.

"You gonna tell that to Mitch?" Stef teased.

"Uh, no, and I'm removing him from the site."

She did that while they waited for their desserts—lavender cupcakes, the restaurant's specialty.

"Too bad Mitch is too old for me," said Stef as she watched his profile disappear. "I'd take him in a heartbeat."

"You're right. He's not the one for you. But I know there is someone. He might even be here in Carol."

"I doubt it. I think I've dated every single man within a twenty-mile radius. Love shouldn't be so hard," Stef said with a sigh. "Trying to find the right person is like looking for a needle in a haystack."

"Or finding a needle in a Christmas tree," quipped Frankie.

Although it really wasn't funny. There were a lot of good people out there looking for someone with whom they could share a life. It didn't seem right that it was so hard to do.

"Maybe I'll write a feature about dating for the Clarion ," mused Stef. "I'll title it ‘Looking for a Needle in a Christmas Tree.'"

"Or ‘Where's Santa When You Need Him?'" Frankie suggested.

"‘Cupid Takes a Holiday'?"

The sisters snickered until Stef turned serious. "I swear, I've met every loser in Carol and Pine Valley in the last few months." The server brought their cupcakes. "Consolation cupcakes," she cracked with a frown, and took a big bite of hers.

"Maybe Santa thinks you need more time to heal," Frankie suggested.

"Maybe I'll be healing for the rest of my life," Stef said. She shook her head. "I should never have stayed so long."

"At least you left."

Stef picked up the rest of her cupcake and crumbled it onto her plate. "Love is a crapshoot. At least you got lucky."

Yes, Frankie had. Ike had been a good man with a big heart. They'd both been big on family—she because she had one, he because his had been fractured and he'd always wanted a solid one. They'd enjoyed sports and entertaining, especially during the holidays. Super Bowl parties had always been a highlight of the new year. So much in common, so much in love. How she missed him!

"Oh, well, no point resurrecting the past. All you get is zombies," said Stef, bringing Frankie back to the present. "This time around, I'm looking for a man who will give me credit for having some brains and who won't spend every dime we have as well as ones we don't on himself."

"If at first you don't succeed, date, date again," said Frankie.

Eventually Stef was sure to find someone who deserved her. And Frankie was going to be watching carefully to make sure she got exactly that.

They finished their dessert, and Stef announced she had to get back to work. "Got to get the first batch of letters to Santa up online before end of day."

That meant Frankie had to quit stalling and go to Handy's Hardware and apologize to Mitch. She picked up the tab, then followed her sister out of the restaurant and dawdled her way to the hardware store.

She found Mitch at the help island, showing a customer a YouTube video on his phone about replacing a garbage disposal.

"This sounds like a pain," said the man, who was dressed in designer jeans and an expensive-looking suede jacket.

"You can do it," Mitch assured him. "You've got everything you need." He pointed to the pile of tools and parts assembled on the countertop. "But if you get stuck, give me a call."

"Will do. Thanks, Mitch," said the man as he gathered up his purchases to take to the checkout register.

"No problem," said Mitch with a smile. The smile fell away as Frankie approached. "Need something?" he asked politely.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. I need you to not be mad at me."

He made a face, sighed. "Shit, Frankie."

"I know, I know. I should have asked you first."

"It would have been nice."

"I'm sorry I didn't. I won't do it again, I promise. Let me make it up to you. Come on over for dinner tomorrow night. I'll invite Stef, and we'll make it a party. And Elinor. She needs to get out more. You can have a regular harem."

"Just what I don't need." He leaned on the counter. "What are you planning on serving?"

"How about pasties? Your fav." If those little meat and potato pies didn't do the trick, nothing would.

He shrugged. "What else?"

"Sidecars?" she added to seal the deal.

"I like that drink. What's for dessert?"

"What would you like?"

"Humble pie."

"I thought I just ate a big helping of that now," she said, and ventured a smile. "How about peppermint pie?"

He nodded and gave the counter a tap. "Okay, deal."

"Good. And now I need to get some light bulbs for Adele."

She forgot about the light bulbs at the sight of the man who came around the corner of the plumbing supplies aisle.

Mitch summoned him. "Brock, come on over and meet Frankie."

He was taller than Mitch and had Jack Reacher–size shoulders and pecs that filled out his brown Handy's Hardware polo shirt beautifully. Brown hair, gorgeous brown eyes, and bonus, he looked about Stef's age. Was this a gift from Santa or what?

"Hi, Frankie. Brock Adams," he said with a high wattage smile, and shook her hand with his big one. Big hands, big...heart. Stef would love this man.

"Hi," she said. "I hear you're new to Carol."

He nodded. "Yep."

"Lucky us. You look like a great addition. I hope you're liking it here."

"I am now," he said. "Mitch, you didn't tell me you knew a model."

The man had a gift for making a woman feel good. Was he as nice as he seemed? She smiled at him. "Flattery, what everyone wants for Christmas."

"Just speaking the truth."

"Oh, you are good," she said. "Say, I'm having Mitch and a couple other people over for dinner tomorrow. How'd you like to join us? I make amazing pasties."

"I'd like that. Whatever they are."

"Trust me, you'll like them," Frankie assured him.

"I'm sure I will," Brock said, and his smile got bigger.

"You sure you don't have plans?" asked Mitch.

"Nope. Don't know anybody to make plans with. Yet," Brock added, still smiling at Frankie.

"Well, after tomorrow you will," she said. "We'll make sure of that. Mitch can tell you where I live. Both of you come over at seven."

"Seven," Brock confirmed. "Thanks for the invite."

"Glad to have you," she said.

She texted Stef as she headed for the door. Don't make plans for tomorrow. Dinner at my house with a new hunk. You will love him.

New hunk????

Mitch's manager. Perfect for you.

You've seen him in person?

Just talked to him. Trust me.

Not after your mess with Mitch. Stef added a laughing emoticon.

Ha ha , Frankie texted back, then put her phone in her jacket pocket.

When Frankie walked back in the store, Elinor was handing a customer her purchase in a bright red Holiday Happiness bag. Adele was on the other side of the shop, demonstrating a mechanical musical bear in a Santa hat to a little girl who looked to be around five.

The little girl clapped and jumped up and down as the bear played "We Wish You a Merry Christmas."

"Maybe Santa will bring that to you for Christmas," said the child's mother. "Can I come back?" she asked Adele.

"They're going fast, but I'll save this one for you," Adele promised.

They weren't going all that fast, but Adele never let details get in the way of merchandizing hype.

"How'd it go?" she asked Frankie as their shoppers left the store.

"We're good. He's coming over for dinner and bringing his new manager, who happens to be single. Stef's coming, too."

Adele gave Frankie a suspicious look. "Meddling again?"

"No, helping," Frankie corrected her. "Want to join us?"

"And witness the train wreck? No, thanks."

"There will be no train wreck," Frankie said irritably.

"So you say. Anyway, I can't. My bunco girls are having their Christmas party."

"Oh, that's right. I forgot. Elinor, join us," Frankie said to Elinor. "It will be fun."

Elinor's cheeks turned pink. "That's really nice of you, but I don't want to intrude."

"Who said you'd be intruding? It's a party. Anyway, I already told Mitch I was inviting you."

Elinor smiled. "What can I bring?"

"Nothing but your smile," said Frankie.

"I could bring something to drink," Elinor ventured.

"Whatever makes you happy."

"Did you remember to get my light bulbs?" Adele asked.

"Snotballs! I forgot."

Adele shook her head. "I know. You had more important things on your mind than your poor old mother's needs. Never mind. I'll pick them up later."

"Daughter guilting does not become you," Frankie said, and turned back around.

Brock was nowhere in sight when she reentered the hardware store. Mitch was in the lighting section, helping an older man select the proper switch box.

"I forgot to get Mom's light bulbs," she said, and grabbed a box.

"Distracted by my manager?" It sounded like teasing, but it was accompanied by a rather stingy smile.

She frowned at Mitch. "Oh, you are funny."

As if she was interested in someone who was probably ten years younger than her. As if she was interested in anyone.

Come Friday evening, Frankie's house smelled like balsam fir and good food and looked ready for a magazine shoot. Her tree was up, all done in pink and silver this year. Greens ran along her mantel, with mercury glass candle holders in between, the lit candles inside them glowing softly. Pillar candles decorated her coffee table and the ceramic nativity set Adele had made for her years ago was proudly displayed on the dining room buffet. Her table was set with her favorite Christmas plates, Holiday Gatherings by Lenox. Red cloth napkins matched the centerpiece: red ribbon and, nestled in the greens, three candles in small hurricane lamps.

She'd made her pasties the night before and had them heating in the oven. The peppermint pie, also made ahead of time, was ready and waiting in the refrigerator, and the makings for the drinks were set out on the counter. Stef had promised to put together a spinach salad with pomegranate and feta cheese. It would be a stellar meal.

Stef showed up with her salad, looking adorable in jeans and a soft red sweater and faux fur–trimmed green suede boots on her feet in honor of the light snow starting to dust the sidewalk outside. Her hair hung in a perfect cascade almost to her shoulders, and her makeup was perfect. Like Frankie, she wore red lipstick because, well, why not? It was a good choice. Who didn't love red lipstick? Brock would go crazy for her.

Five minutes after Stef, the doorbell rang again. Mitch had arrived. He wore boots, jeans and his favorite old peacoat that had been his grandfather's. He looked rugged and handsome.

Looking at him, Frankie wished she could cut part of their coffee shop conversation from the day before out of her mind—it seemed to be stuck in there like a thorn, taunting her with possibilities she had no intention of exploring.

She wasn't going to give her heart to another man and then lose half of it to the grave. With the age difference between Mitch and her, it was a given that would happen.

"Hi, ladies," Mitch said as he stepped into the entry, brushing snow off his shoulders. "It's starting to come down out there."

Stef was doing door patrol. "Give me your coat," she commanded, and he shrugged out of his. He wore a plain blue shirt that matched his eyes. How on earth had he stayed single for the last fifteen years?

"Once burned," he'd answered when Frankie had asked him several years ago. It must have been a bad burn.

He never elaborated. Mitch wasn't one to talk about his past. "No point in it," he liked to say. "You move on and make the most of now."

Which he was doing. Everyone in town liked him, and he seemed to have a good relationship with his two sons, young men in their early thirties, both married, who checked in with him regularly from different parts of the country and came out to visit him at his lake house on their summer vacations. Frankie had met the sons, and they seemed nice. One had a boy who was the apple of Mitch's eye and video-chatted regularly with him. As for the ex-wife...who knew where she was? Or what she was? Undeserving, if you asked Frankie.

Even though dinner was her way of apologizing, Mitch had brought wine and flowers. He joined her in the kitchen, where she had a cinnamon-scented candle burning, handing over an arrangement of red carnations and white roses in a miniature sleigh. She'd seen it in the window of Flora's Flower Shoppe and commented on it when they were passing by one day.

"You didn't have to do that," she said, setting it on the counter.

He shrugged. "I know. I knew you liked it."

She smiled at him. "I do. Thanks. Does this mean I'm truly forgiven?"

He smiled back. "Depends on how good the pasties are."

"You know they'll be good." She couldn't hang wallpaper, and she couldn't crochet like her mom or create candies that were works of art like her daughter, and she couldn't pull words together like Stef, but she could cook. And make cocktails.

She had just made Mitch his promised sidecar and handed it to him when the doorbell rang, announcing her next guest. Again, Stef did door patrol, letting in Brock.

There stood Holiday Hunk Number Two, wearing jeans and boots and a black parka. Stef was looking up at him as if he was one giant candy cane. Yep, it could end up being a very Merry Christmas for Stef.

"Hi there," she chirped. "I'm Stefanie Ludlow, Frankie's sister. May I take your coat?"

"Sure, thanks," he said with a polite smile. He looked to where Frankie stood in the kitchen with Mitch, and the smile grew wider. "Hi, Frankie!" he called, and Stef's shoulders stiffened.

A little premonition that things weren't going to go as planned wriggled into Frankie's mind as Brock strode toward the kitchen, a red-and-white floral arrangement like the one Mitch had brought in his hand.

She pushed the uneasy feeling out. This dinner was going to be a success.