A Match Made at Christmas - Courtney Walsh Page 0,15

fridge, finding mugs and spoons. She stopped. “Yeah?”

He started to remember, and in seconds, he was back there—a world away. A heartbeat away.

“How long’s it been since you had a good night of sleep?”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. “Months.” The nightmares always woke him, and once he was awake, he didn’t go back to sleep. Usually, that meant the hours of 3:00 a.m. to 6:00 a.m. were spent staring at the ceiling.

She handed him a mug of hot chocolate, filled to the rim with whipped cream, crushed peppermint sprinkled on top, then sat on the opposite end of the couch.

“Ooh, the peppermint is new,” he said.

“What can I say? I do it up fancy.” She waggled her eyebrows. Man, she was pretty.

He took a drink, letting it warm him from the inside out. “That’s so good.”

She set her mug on the table, pulled her legs up underneath her, and spread a blanket over her lap. Then, she took her mug, settled it between her hands, and looked at him as if to say, You have my full attention.

And yet, she said nothing. It was as if she wanted him to know she was there without forcing herself on him. He loved her for that.

“Anyway,” he said. “Noni Rose.”

Disappointment skittered across her face, but she quickly recovered. He knew he was letting her down by keeping it all bottled up, but he just wasn’t ready—not yet.

He set his drink down and picked up the box. “Let’s go over the rules. Maybe then we can come up with a plan.”

Inside the box, right on top, was a small notebook. Aunt Nellie had gone over most of it with him, but already, he could use a refresher. Truth be told, he was only half-listening because at the time, he expected his aunt to realize what a crazy idea this was and tell him to forget the whole thing.

How had things gotten so turned around?

He opened the old, discolored notebook and read: “Rule Number One: The matchmaker must never reveal that she is making a match.”

He stopped and looked at Pru. “Already, I have evidence that this is not a man’s job.”

Pru smiled, took another sip of her drink, and nodded toward the book.

“Rule Number Two: The matchmaker cannot force a match. She may see what she thinks is a perfect pairing, but matchmakers are human, and sometimes humanity gets in the way of the magic.” Hayes looked at Pru, wearing his best you’ve got to be kidding me expression.

“You’re really not selling this,” she said.

“No? I thought I was basically a walking infomercial over here.” He tossed her an eye roll, and she snatched the notebook out of his hand.

“Okay, it goes on to say that once a matchmaker selects her target, she should take time to observe the target in his or her natural habitat.”

“Are we zoologists now?” He shook his head. “Do I need to write a report on the feeding and sleeping habits of Peggy Swinton?”

She laughed. “It says, ‘Do not dream up a wish list of potential matches. Rather, go where the target is and wait for the magic to reveal itself to you.’”

When Prudence looked up from the notebook, Hayes made a point to roll his eyes again. “This is insane.”

She shrugged. “I mean, you saw the book with all the success stories in it. Maybe the rules work.”

“Don’t tell me you’re buying in to all of this.”

She ignored him and gave her attention back to the notebook. “Rule Number Three,” she said. “The matchmaker must never attempt to match someone whose heart has already been given away.” Her eyes darted up over the notebook and she found him watching her.

A strange, awkward moment passed between them, and then she tossed the notebook on the couch. “You’re right. They take this really seriously.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Hayes said. “Are we really going to go stalk Peggy until some magical man materializes out of nowhere?”

Pru stilled.

“What is it?”

She shrugged. “I know you don’t live here, but do you know Peggy Swinton?”

“Not really,” he said. “I mean, I’ve talked to her a couple of times over the years.”

The look on Pru’s face turned thoughtful. “I think she’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. Inherently kind, you know, not someone who has to try to be nice. She’s really involved in the Nantucket Historical Society, and she’s taught third grade for over thirty years.”

“Never married?”

Pru shook her head. “There was a rumor a