Chapter 4

4

Mitch frowned at the sight of the flowers Brock had brought. Brock didn't notice.

Frankie did. "Great minds think alike," she said, and set it on the counter next to Mitch's offering. "You two are the perfect guests."

"Never show up empty-handed, my mom always said," Brock told her.

Stef joined them. "Your mom sounds like a smart woman," she said.

He nodded. "She was."

Was. One short word that said so much. "Your mom's no longer alive?" guessed Frankie.

Brock shook his head. "She was only fifty."

Frankie's age. Yikes!

"Didn't even live to see me graduate from college."

"That's rough," said Frankie. "It's hard to lose a parent."

He nodded. "I miss her every day."

Frankie handed him a drink. "I bet you do. Is your dad still alive?"

"Oh yeah. Still working his butt off at the factory. Waiting for my little bro or me to grow up, get married and give him a grandson who'll make it to the NFL."

"You look pretty grown up to me," said Stef in her silkiest voice.

"Forty come February," he said.

Stef was thirty-eight. Perfect.

"But Dad says we're still kids in big bodies."

This particular kid had a very nice body. If he and Stef got together, they would have gorgeous children.

"There comes a time," said Mitch. "Even though my marriage didn't last, I got two great sons out of the deal."

Brock shrugged. "I don't know if I want kids."

Stef did. She'd change his mind.

"Kids are the best," said Mitch.

"Yes, they are," Frankie agreed.

"Something sure smells good," said Brock, changing the subject.

"Pasties. Miners in England used to take them to work for their lunch," Frankie explained.

"You'll love 'em," said Mitch. "Nobody's better in the kitchen than Frankie."

"My mom was a good cook," said Brock, "but she only got as far as teaching me how to make an omelet and French toast. And grilled cheese sandwiches."

"That's all you can make?" Stef asked in surprise.

"I can grill meat," he said, looking mildly offended. "I wouldn't mind learning how to make some more stuff in the kitchen."

"Stef's good in the kitchen," Frankie said, and Stef tried to look modest.

The doorbell rang, and Frankie went to let in Elinor so Stef could have the opportunity to brag about her culinary skills. She wasn't as much of a foodie as Frankie, but she made an awesome Crock-Pot stew.

Elinor stepped in bearing two bottles of sparkling cider. "I hope this is enough," she said as she handed them to Frankie.

"This is perfect," Frankie assured her, and Elinor's cheeks turned rosy.

The pink got deeper once she had her coat off and joined the others in the kitchen. "Hello, Mitch."

"Hi, Elinor. You're looking nice tonight," he said.

Nice was such a bland word, the kind of compliment you paid when you had to say something. It fit Elinor perfectly. She was hiding under a bulky cream-colored sweater worn over tan pants, and she had on brown boots that said, Yes, we are part of the whole boring vibe . With her light blond hair and fair complexion and pale pink lipstick, she could have been a ghost. A slightly darker shade of lipstick and brow liner would have made a big difference. She wasn't bad-looking, but she definitely hid her assets. She needed someone to take her in hand.

Elinor smiled at Mitch's compliment and dropped her gaze. "Thank you."

"Elinor, I don't think you've met Brock," said Frankie.

He gave her a nod and a friendly hello and she said a soft hello back.

Elinor needed to look men in the eye. No wonder she was single. She had to get in the game and quit sitting on the sidelines. The woman obviously needed a life coach.

"So, Brock, where did you move here from?" asked Stef.

"California," he said.

"That's where my ex was from," Stef said. "I sure got Californicated."

Seriously? thought Frankie, and frowned at her. "Everyone moves here from California. I just wish you all would bring us more of that sun in the winter."

"I wouldn't mind that myself," Brock said.

"Anyway, we're glad you're here. I'm sure Mitch is, too," Frankie said.

"I hope he's not ready to fire me yet," joked Brock.

"You're too good to fire," said Mitch. Then he'd clearly had enough of talking about Brock. "How are those pasties coming?"

Oh yes, them. Frankie took the sheet of little meat pies out of the oven. Piping hot and golden brown. Perfect.

"I guess we're ready to eat," she said.

"Those look amazing," said Brock.

"They are," said Frankie. "They're a lot of work, but they're worth it. Just make sure you save room for dessert. We have peppermint pie. Have you got a sweet tooth, Brock?"

"Oh yeah, I like sweet things," he said, and grinned at Frankie, raising his glass to her.

Stef frowned.

So did Mitch.

This was becoming...awkward. Frankie put the meat pies on a platter and handed it to Stef. "Let's get these pasties on the table before they get cold. Brock, sit down and make yourself at home," she said to him as Stef took their main course to the table. "And, Elinor, how about you take out our drinks?" Frankie suggested, and Elinor followed the others to the table with her sparkling cider.

That left Mitch. She handed him the bowl of salad. "Let's eat."

"What's he doing bringing you flowers?" Mitch demanded in a low voice.

"Being a good guest. Like you."

"I guess," said Mitch.

Dinner did not go as planned. Elinor's sparkling cider was ignored in favor of another round of sidecars, followed by the wine Mitch had brought, and she gave up asking if anyone would like some. Stef threw a couple of flirty compliments to Brock, which he acknowledged politely without throwing anything back. He raved over Frankie's pasties but merely pronounced Stef's salad good. After being prompted by Frankie.

Mitch, at least, was more enthusiastic. "I'll have some more of that salad," he said, and helped himself to a second serving. "What are these red seeds, Stef?"

"Pomegranate," she said.

"Well, they give it a nice kick," he told her, which brought out a smile.

"More salad, Brock?" Frankie prompted.

"No, that's okay," he said.

Mitch forked up a bite. "You know what Popeye said. ‘Strong to the finish 'cause I eats me spinach.'"

"I'm already strong. I bet I could take down Popeye," joked Brock.

"I bet you could," Frankie said. The man looked like he could push over a brick wall with his pinky finger.

She'd said it unthinkingly but realized the minute the words were out of her mouth that it sounded like flattery. Brock appeared pleased. Mitch didn't.

Time for dessert!

Frankie brought out the pie, along with coffee, and both men vacuumed theirs up.

"I could eat that entire pie," said Mitch.

"Me, too," said Brock. "Frankie, you could have your own cooking show."

The way he grinned at her, it was...nothing. No more than a sugar-induced sappy grin.

"Cougars in the Kitchen," quipped Stef.

She'd said it lightly, but it came off snotty, and no one so much as chuckled. Way to put your best foot forward , Frankie thought, irritated.

"Nothing wrong with those big cats," said Brock. "Cougars are sexy."

Brock was definitely under the influence of sugar.

The way Mitch's eyebrows were dipping into a V, Frankie could tell he was under the influence of something else. He was obviously not enjoying the company of his new manager.

"More pie, Mitch?" she offered.

His expression fell back into polite lines. "Absolutely," he said.

"I'll take some more, too," Brock said. "This is the best thing I've had in a long time."

Frankie set out more pie for the men. Everyone stayed at the table, drinking coffee and talking.

Actually, mostly Brock was talking...about everything from his college football days to his new truck. Stef threw out compliments where she could. Mitch turned into a clam about his own life although he certainly could have bragged about his own accomplishments. Frankie knew that, like Brock, he'd played football in college—had gotten a full-ride scholarship. Earlier in the year, he'd picked up his third Ironman medal. Instead of chiming in, he simply sat, eyeballing Brock.

Elinor wasn't eyeballing anyone. She was simply looking at her coffee cup.

Frankie switched topics, hoping to pull in all her guests by polling them for their favorite movies. Sports and action movies topped the list for the men. Stef mentioned a favorite rom-com, and Frankie threw in a couple of serious movies that had stuck with her.

"Although I love all those classic sports movies, like The Blind Side ," she finished.

"Can't go wrong with football," said Brock.

Frankie turned to Elinor. "How about you, Elinor?"

"I'm not much into movies," Elinor said apologetically. Then added, "The books are always better."

Conversation faltered as the others all nodded politely.

"It's always better to be out living life than watching it," Frankie tried.

"Yeah, but it's hard to pass up Die Hard at Christmas," Brock joked.

"True," Frankie agreed. She and Mitch had watched it the year before with one of his sons who'd come up for the holidays.

"My ex loved to watch that movie," Stef muttered. "I always thought it was too far-fetched." Then she frowned and took a gulp of what was left of her coffee.

"I guess everyone's got an ex," Brock said. "But I learn from my past mistakes and move on."

"Oh, I've moved on," Stef insisted. Her scowl and tone of voice implied that in the process she'd trampled Richard with the highest spike heels she could find.

"Good. 'Cause you never know what you might find right around the corner. Or in a new town," Brock said, and grinned at Frankie. Which didn't have Stef looking happy.

"I should be going," Elinor said.

"Already?" protested Frankie. Not that Elinor was adding much sparkle to the evening, but Frankie hated to see her give up and run off.

"We do have work tomorrow," Elinor said.

It was only nine. How much sleep did the woman need?

But Elinor hadn't exactly been having fun. Frankie needed to let the poor woman escape.

"Okay," she said, and walked Elinor to the door where she fetched Elinor's coat from the coat closet.

"I'm glad you came," Frankie said.

"Thank you for having me." No mention of having had a good time. No surprise.

Poor Elinor. It couldn't be fun being a human shadow. Frankie was going to have to find a way to help her get out there and get a life.

She returned to find the two men at the table, talking about the Seahawks while Stef was in the kitchen, shoving dishes into the dishwasher.

"There, you're good to go," she said curtly to Frankie as she inserted the last dinner plate. "And now I'm going."

"What? You, too?" Frankie demanded.

"I'm not wanted here," Stef hissed. "Good of you to invite me over to meet someone you've already latched on to," she finished in disgust.

Good grief. Weren't they a little old for sibling rivalry?

"I haven't latched on to anyone," Frankie protested in a whisper. "You're being ridiculous."

"Whatever." Stef left the kitchen, gave both men a smile and announced, "The dishes are done. It's time for the help to leave."

Mitch looked surprised. "Already? Thought you'd want to stay and play some cards."

"I've got another stop to make tonight," Stef said brightly.

You do not , Frankie thought, irritated.

Stef gave Mitch a hug, then turned to Brock. "Welcome to Carol."

"Thanks," he said. "I think I'm gonna like it here." He looked at Frankie.

"I bet you are," Stef said sourly.

Frankie followed her to the door. Stef already had the coat closet door open and was pulling out her down coat.

"You are being difficult," Frankie whispered, exasperated.

Stef ignored her, concentrating instead on holding her empty bowl while shrugging into her coat. "Good night," she said.

Then she was gone, and Frankie came back to the table to join her two remaining supper guests. "I imagine you guys need to get going, too," she said.

"I'm in no hurry," said Brock.

Mitch leaned his arms on the table and looked across at him. "Me, either."

So, what to do now?

"Ever played To Hell and Back?" asked Brock.

"Sure. Bring it on," said Mitch. "Get the cards, Frankie."

Oh, why didn't they both go home?

"What a waste of a Friday night," Stef grumbled as she drove back to her condo. "Come on over, sister. I've got the perfect man for you. Only he's not interested in you. He's interested in me. Ha ha."

And why? Stef wasn't bad-looking. She knew she had nice eyes. Even Richard the narcissist had told her so. She had great hair—thick with the smallest amount of wave to give it body. A symmetrical face, which, she'd read somewhere online, was supposed to be the ultimate in beauty. She was also in great shape—Richard had constantly goaded her into that. Plus, she was younger than her sister by twelve years, for crying out loud. What did Frankie have that Stef didn't?

Wrinkles.

Okay, they were laugh lines around her eyes. And Frankie did have a great laugh. She had great eyes, too. Bigger boobs. Maybe that was the lure. What else could it be? Unless Brock was into older women. Maybe he was looking for a mommy replacement. If he was... Eeew, Frankie could have him.

But he was hot, and he was nice, and Stef had expected him to, if not fall for her, at least show some passing interest. Getting shown up by your older sister—how humiliating. Especially when your older sister was trying to match you up with the guy, for crying out loud. And honestly, all that raving over the peppermint pie.

You should have brought dessert instead of spinach salad. What man wants salad when he can have pie?

It was as if Richard the Dick was standing at her shoulder, whispering in her ear. It sounded like the kind of thing he'd have said.

In fact, it was exactly what he'd have said. He always had a put-down handy to dole out.

Not at first, though. He'd had to win her before he could stomp on her. He'd pulled out all the stops when they were dating, living the high life like he could afford it—nice restaurants, flowers, a surprise trip to Vegas, where he'd proposed.

Boy, had she bet on the wrong man.

He'd said a lot of snide things over the course of their seven-year marriage, and when he wasn't disrespecting her, getting on her for whatever latest thing she'd done wrong, he was ignoring her.

That actually hurt the worst, but in retrospect, it was hardly surprising. Once you'd dangled the bait and caught the fish and mounted it, why bother to spend time with it? It was just a dead fish on the wall.

He'd done so much to rattle her and make her doubt her worth that it still surprised her she'd been able to walk away and rediscover her self-confidence. She didn't have to go groveling for any man to pay attention to her.

So Frankie could have her boy toy. It was fine with Stef.

Three games of cards later, Frankie's two remaining guests looked ready to stay for three more, but Frankie had had enough of cards. And of the men. Between Brock's flirting and Mitch's scowling, she was on man overload.

"Well, that was fun," she said. "And now, I'm going to quit while I'm ahead."

"You won the last two games. You're not going to give us a chance to get even?" Brock protested.

"Afraid not. I have to be in the shop bright and early tomorrow, and I need my beauty sleep."

"That's something you definitely don't need," Brock told her.

"You're right, she doesn't," said Mitch, not to be outdone. "But she does need to recharge. Saturdays are always busy downtown this time of year, especially in Frankie's shop."

"Then I guess we'd better go," Brock said.

Once at the door with coats on, both men stood there, each one trying to outwait the other.

No, no, we are not going to stand here all night.

"Okay, you two. I'll see you both tomorrow," Frankie said, and swung the door wide.

There was nothing for them to do but walk out.

As soon as they were gone, she called Stef. It was half past eleven, but Frankie knew her sister would still be awake. Stef was a night owl. Plus, her feathers were ruffled. She'd be too stirred up to go to bed.

Sure enough, she answered on the second ring. "What?"

"What, indeed?" Frankie said irritably. "What is wrong with you? Here I go to all the trouble to plan a dinner..." which had not gone according to plan, but that was beside the point "...and you turn into a lemon, say obnoxious things and then leave early. And that ‘cougars in the kitchen' crack. Really? That showed you in a good light."

"There was no light left thanks to you, and there was no point in staying. Brock wasn't interested in me."

"He might have been if you'd gotten in touch with your inner Sugar Plum Fairy instead of acting like the Grinch in drag," snapped Frankie.

"Okay, so I got a little sour."

"A little?"

"But really, watching you two flirting was enough to sour anyone."

"I was not flirting!"

Stef talked right over her. "It was obvious he wasn't into me, and I refuse to grovel for a man's attention. I'm through bending over backward for men. You can have him."

"I don't want him," Frankie protested.

"Well, he wants you."

"Oh please. He does not. He's way too young. I could have been his babysitter, for crying out loud."

"He's no baby now. Honestly, Frankie, if you were trying to set us up, you could at least stay out of the way. You and your peppermint pie," Stef grumbled.

"You love my peppermint pie!" Frankie protested.

This was met with an exasperated exhale. "I do. And I love you. But right now, I'm pissed at you, and I need to get some work done on the Letters to Santa page. So good night and ho, ho, ho." With that, Stef ended the call.

The Letters to Santa page on the newspaper's website had been Frankie's idea. She'd suggested it to Stef's editor the year before, putting in a good word for Stef (just a little nepotism). Camille had liked the idea and offered Stef the chance to run the page. It had been a big hit, and Frankie had been delighted. There wasn't anything she wouldn't do for her sister.

Including making sure Stef found a truly good man this second time around. Brock and Stef could be good together. He just needed a nudge in the right direction, and if there was one thing Frankie was good at, it was nudging.

"Thank you again for last night," Elinor said to Frankie the next morning as they got to work in the shop.

"I'm glad you could come," Frankie said. She opened a box of blown-glass ornaments to add to their blue-and-silver artificial tree and got to work. People loved the blue-and-silver combination, and the decorations on that tree went as fast as she could put them up. "I hope you had fun." Frankie seriously doubted Elinor had, so that was a silly thing to say. Still, she wanted Elinor to understand that she'd had her best interests at heart when she'd invited her.

"It was nice. I guess I'm not much of a party person," Elinor added.

"Everyone's a party person," said Frankie. "Although we all have a different definition of what that looks like."

"It's not that I don't like people," Elinor said. "I love working here. It's just that I seem to...disappear in groups."

"I think you need to advertise more," said Frankie.

"Advertise?"

"You know, add a little window dressing."

"Window dressing." Elinor frowned. She obviously wasn't getting the message.

"These days, whether it's a product or a person, we have to do things to stand out," Frankie explained. "You really have a nice face, but with the right makeup you could be..." not stunning. She wasn't that pretty, but "...really lovely. Eye-catching. I bet there's someone whose eye you'd like to catch, someone you've taken an interest in."

"Well, there is someone," Elinor admitted.

So Brock had made an impression on her. She hadn't made one on him, though. At the rate she was going, Elinor was never going to make an impression on anyone. Still, she had potential.

"Why not let me treat you with a makeover? We could go shopping, check out the makeup counter at Macy's in the mall. Have lunch."

"That's really kind of you. Thanks." Frankie was about to suggest a day when Elinor added, "I'll think about it."

"Thinking and doing are not the same," Frankie cautioned.

At that moment William Sharp, who owned Carol Reads, the bookstore around the corner, came in, ending the conversation. He'd become a regular visitor over the last several weeks, popping in to buy presents for his mother or his sister or his little niece. So far, he'd bought a glass pumpkin, two Fitz and Floyd candlesticks shaped like turkeys, an illuminated hand-painted cornucopia and three blown-glass tree ornaments shaped like pilgrims. One purchase at a time, which added up to quite a few visits.

William was probably somewhere in his forties and still single. He was tall and long-faced, with stilt-like legs that made Frankie think of the famous character Ichabod Crane.

But his lack of looks was offset by a kind smile and a kind heart. He was one of the biggest contributors to the chamber of commerce's Help Santa fund, which offered financial aid to parents who were struggling to pay their bills and provide presents for their children. Any organization looking for donations for their fundraiser could always count on William to donate books.

"Good morning, William," Frankie called. "How are things at the bookstore?"

"A little slow," he said, "but we'll get busier this afternoon."

"Are the streets still icy? They were when I got here, and I'm half thinking of calling Mom and telling her not to come in until later," Frankie said.

"It's starting to thaw," he said. "She should be fine as long as she drives carefully." He joined Elinor at the nearby tree she was restocking. "It looks like you got in some new ornaments."

She held up a Christopher Radko. "I love this one."

"That is nice. May I see it?" he asked.

Of course, he'd end up buying it.

Frankie's mom blew in, bundled up in her favorite puffy black coat, a red scarf around her neck, a stocking cap on her head and red mittens on her hands.

"It's freezing out there," she announced. "I feel like I've been groped by Frosty the Snowman."

"Eww, Mom," Frankie said, shaking her head at her mother.

"That was kind of funny," said William as Adele made her way to the office to shed her coat.

"Don't say that to her. You'll only encourage her," said Frankie.

She followed her mother to the back room. It housed a desk complete with a computer and a chair to go under it, a cart with a microwave and a stack of cups—which no one used as they all frequented the coffee shop—along with a couple of ancient straight-backed chairs. It also held a filing cabinet with supplier invoices and three stacked boxes of merchandise that had recently arrived and hadn't yet made it up to their storage space on the second floor.

"Okay, let's hear the excuse," Frankie teased as Adele hung her coat on one of the many hooks on the wall. "Besides icy streets. I was about to call and tell you to wait to come in."

"The streets were fine. It took me a while to get going this morning. I had a terrible night's sleep."

Adele always had an excuse for sailing in late. Which she did frequently. Considering how much she did for so little, Frankie would never complain. Frankie was more than willing to pay her more, in fact, but every time she tried to give her mother a raise, Adele turned it down, saying, "I don't need to be robbing you of your retirement money."

So she pretty much came and went as she pleased, joked with the customers, sold people things they hadn't realized they wanted and made outlandish statements. Everyone loved her.

No one more than Frankie. Adele had always been her best friend, her biggest fan, the rock she'd leaned on when she lost Ike.

"Did your terrible night have anything to do with drinking too much wine with the Bunco Babes?" Frankie teased.

Adele ignored her teasing. "I had this awful dream and then I couldn't get back to sleep. I dreamed Fuzzy was alive, and he was all emaciated and trying to eat my arm."

"Our long-departed cat was chewing on your arm?"

Adele was famous for her crazy dreams, and she was always sure they had meaning. "Yes, I think it's a message."

"From Fuzzy?"

"No," Adele said in disgust. "From on high. I need to make a hefty donation to PAWS."

"I think that's an excellent idea," Frankie approved.

"I think you and Stef are supposed to make donations, too."

"Even though Fuzzy wasn't chewing on my arm."

"He might if you don't heed my warning."

"I can do that."

"Speaking of Stef. What happened at dinner last night? I called her before I came here to see how it went, and she said I should ask you."

"Things didn't go according to plan," said Frankie.

"They rarely do, and you should know that by now."

"Well, Stef didn't do anything to help. I had the perfect man there."

"Perfect, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. Anyway, I'm not sure she's ready for another relationship yet, even if she is dating."

"Well, then she should quit looking and quit whining."

Adele pointed a finger at Frankie. "And you should quit trying to meddle."

"I wasn't meddling. I was helping. She wanted me to, and then when it didn't work out, she blamed me."

"Darling, I know you've always been a caring big sister, sometimes even second mother, and there have been times when Stef really needed help."

"Yeah, like rescuing her from Richard." Getting Stef deprogramed and away from that garbage can with legs had been a team effort involving not only Frankie, but Adele and Stef's editor, Camille, as well.

"But she's a grown woman, and she can sort out her own love life."

"So far she's not doing a very good job of it."

"When the time is right, and she's ready, she will," Adele said, and left the back room, ending the conversation.

Frankie followed her out to see that Natalie had arrived. She'd ditched her coat behind the counter and was ringing up a sale. Natalie sometimes came in a little late, also, but Frankie cut her lots of slack. Getting a child ready for school while getting ready for work was no easy feat, especially when part of that involved carefully boxing and loading specially made candy.

Two new customers were browsing the shelves, and Elinor was handing over the ornament she'd shown William, now nestled safely in a cute little red box inside a small Holiday Happiness shopping bag.

"It will look great on your tree," Elinor said to him.

"It will look great on someone's," he said as he took the bag from her.

"William, I think we're going to have to come up with some kind of loyalty rewards program just for you," Frankie said to him, and his cheeks turned russet.

"No need. I'm happy to be loyal. Anyway, your mother gives me plenty of business. By the way, I'm saving a copy of the new holiday rom-com by Melissa Ferguson for you, Natalie."

"How about my book?" asked Adele.

He nodded, and Frankie could have sworn that russet turned a little darker. "Got that, too."

"What book is that, Gram Gram?" Natalie asked as William hurried out the door.

" Santa's Naughty List. It got four hot peppers on the Red Hot Reads site."

"Sorry I asked," said Natalie.

"Romance is good at any age, and the young don't have a corner on love," Adele informed her. "Or hunks," she said as the bell over the door jingled and Brock walked in.

"Looking for something?" Adele called.

"More like someone," he replied, and came over.

Frankie made the introductions, then, hoping to prime the pump (but not meddling), said, "I bet I know why you're here." He'd obviously decided he wanted to get to know Stef better. Good.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Got your phone ready? I'll give you my sister's number."

He looked puzzled. "Your sister?"

"I thought maybe..."

He nodded, getting where the conversation was going. "Yeah, Stef's great. She's probably got a ton of men after her."

"She can always use a ton and one," Frankie quipped.

"She's nice, but I'm not really interested in her. I didn't feel a connection."

Hard to connect when someone stomped around the kitchen and then left early. Darn her silly sister anyway. But all right, so he and Stef hadn't clicked. There was still Elinor. Once Frankie got her polished up she was going to be a real gem.

"Actually, I stopped in to see if you'd like to get something to eat after work," he said.

"Me?" she squeaked.

"Well, yeah."

"Sure, she'd love to," said Natalie, who had better hearing than most dogs.

"You don't have plans for tonight," Adele informed Frankie.

Frankie scowled at both of them, then took Brock's arm and led him a little ways away. "Look, that's really sweet of you, but you don't need to pay me back for last night."

"This isn't payback. Just hoping to keep a good thing going."

A good thing going. What did that mean?

"Do you like Italian? I hear La Bella Vita has great food."

"Um, Brock. You may not be aware of this..." how could he not? "...but I'm a bit older than you." A big bit.

"Not that much," he said. "Anyway, what does age matter if two people like hanging out together? There's an age difference between you and Mitch."

"True, but we're just friends. We've known each other for years."

"So, let's go out to dinner as friends," Brock said.

He wasn't giving off casual-friend vibes. That smile, that tilt of the head, they both said, Casual is the starting gate, then we're off to the races . She was not about to go racing off with a man ten years younger than her.

"You don't have any objection to being friends, do you?" he added.

"Well, no."

"Great. How does seven work? I can pick you up," he offered.

No, no picking up. Then this would feel like a date, and it was not going to be a date.

"I'll meet you there," she said firmly. And we will have a serious discussion where I make it clear to you that friendship is as far as we go.

"Okay, see you there," he said, and sauntered back out the door.

Frankie marched over to where her mother, her daughter and Elinor were all standing. Elinor looked at the expression on Frankie's face and seemed to realize she needed to go stock some shelves on the store's upper level.

"What did you think you were doing?" Frankie demanded of Natalie.

Natalie looked back at her, wide-eyed. "What?"

"You know what."

"I'm just getting in touch with my inner mom and interfering in your life. You do it to me all the time."

"Don't feel special, dear, she does that to everyone," joked Adele.

"And you, Mom," Frankie said in disgust.

"There's nothing wrong with getting out and having some fun," Adele said.

"And you need to," Natalie continued gently. "It's time."

"I already have plenty of fun," Frankie insisted.

"Not the kind of fun she's talking about," said Adele. "If you need inspiration, I'll loan you my book when I'm done with it."

"Very funny," Frankie said, frowning at her. "The man's way too young."

"Age is just a number," Adele said with a flick of her hand. "And since you don't go for the hunks with the high numbers like Mitch, maybe someone younger will do it for you."

No one was going to do it for Frankie, no matter what his age. She couldn't, wouldn't fall in love again. The risk was too great.

Tonight at La Bella Vita, it would be anchovies and arrivederci.