Mail-Order Brides For Christmas - Frankie Love Page 0,60

my grandma and himself. “We’re just glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad, too,” I say honestly. “I really missed you guys.” My grandparents beam at me.

“Oh that’s sweet honey, but you’re home now. So tell us more about the tour,” Grandma Carrie invites after we’ve taken our first few bites of dinner. “How did it go? Did you and the other Lolly Popz girls have fun?”

I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “It was really great,” I say. “We were in six different states over the span of a few weeks. Most of the venues were pretty nice, and all the crowds were amazing!”

“Were the concerts well-attended?” my grandpa asks.

I nod.

“We’re not hitting the Billboard 200 anytime soon,” I say with a smile, “but we’re doing pretty damn--sorry, darn--well. I’m really proud of us.” As the lead singer and co-founder of Lolly Popz, I feel largely responsible for our success. If we fail, I consider it my fault. I really do wish we were achieving some more renown, and I do feel a little burnt-out after this tour, but I’m still proud of the success we’ve achieved after six years.

“We’re proud of you,” Grandpa Peter says. I smile. I’m so grateful for their support.

“So what happens next for Lolly Popz?” Grandma Carrie asks. “Will you be going on the road again?”

I shrug. “No idea,” I say truthfully.

Grandma and Grandpa exchange glances, and I notice it, raising a brow. “What?” I ask.

“Well,” Grandma says, exchanging another glance with my grandfather, “we’re just a little worried about you, Jenna, that’s all. You know how much we support your dreams, but it’s a little concerning that you’re twenty-five and still gallivanting around the world. Don’t you want to settle down?”

I laugh. “The last thing I want is to settle down,” I say. “My freedom is way too important to me.”

Grandpa Peter suddenly looks worried. He looks to Grandma Carrie, who reaches across the table to take my hand.

“Jenna,” she says, and I realize, very suddenly, that I’m in big trouble.

“What’s up?” I ask, nervously.

Grandma Carrie smiles. “It’s not just about settling down in one city. You’re getting older, and you know how men tend to prefer younger ladies. We think it would be beneficial for you to meet someone, sweetie, because you deserve some stability in your life. All this gallivanting around makes it impossible to meet a man.”

I stare at them.

“But twenty-five isn’t old!” I protest weakly. “It’s really quite young. Women don’t get married until forty these days.”

That only makes my grandparents even more concerned. Carrie reaches forward to take my hand with her soft, wrinkled one.

“That’s exactly why we’re concerned for you, sweetheart. Forty is too old. How will you meet a suitable husband? How will you have children? I had your mother at seventeen, and it was the best thing that ever happened to me,” Carrie says, wiping away a tear.

I don’t know what to say. I know what my grandparents mean, but in this day and age, some women never even tie the knot. They stay single and ready to mingle forever. However, I know if I mention that, my grandparents will probably go into paroxysms.

Grandpa smiles at me then.

“We’re worried about you, Jenna. Maybe it’s time to take a break from your career. We’ve taken the initiative and signed you up for a service called Mail-Order Brides for Christmas.”

My mouth drops open, and my fork stops in mid-air, halfway to my mouth. I’m not sure what part of this statement offends me more: the “mail-order” part, or the “brides” part. Aren’t mail-order brides a thing of the past? And why the hell am I suddenly going to be married?!

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say, holding up my hands. “It’s July right now. What’s this thing about mail-order brides, and why Christmas? Aren’t we jumping the gun a bit?”

Grandma Carrie shakes her head sadly.

“Jenna, please. I know it sounds a little extreme, but we wouldn’t have done it if we didn’t believe it would be good for you.”

I squint at her. “You’re kidding, right?”

My grandma shakes her head. “This isn’t a joke, Jenna. We even already bought you a ticket to Snow Valley, Montana to meet your future husband.”

“Montana?!” My fork clatters to my plate. “Future husband? Come on, don’t you realize how crazy this is?”

Grandma Carrie’s smile wavers but still stays on her face. “Trust us, Jenna. The owner of this mail order bride service says she has a bachelor who’s perfect for you. He’s an upstanding lawyer named Matt.”

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