A Match Made at Christmas - Courtney Walsh Page 0,19
and pushed her plate away. “Other than the rumor she was engaged once, I don’t know that much about her. She’s on the committee for the Festival of Trees, though.”
“So, she’ll be at the preview party?” he asked.
She nodded.
“The one where they’re honoring you?”
Another nod.
“Perfect.”
She frowned. “Why perfect?”
“You can talk to her.”
“Me?” She didn’t like the sound of that. When it came to people, Hayes was much better at conversation.
“Sure, you’re both single women, you’ll have a lot to chat about.” He ate his last bite. “You can swap stories about soulmates and meaningful relationships.”
She narrowed her gaze. “You are the matchmaker here. I’m not doing all the work for you.”
“I will scout out potential male prospects,” he said. “I’ll wait for that tingly, magical feeling. I’m sure it’s like a radar or something.”
“I don’t know if that’s how it works.” She stood, picked up her plate, and reached for his.
He held up a hand. “Nope. Sit. You cooked, so I’ll clean.”
“You’re my guest,” she said.
He rolled his eyes. “I’m practically family. Sit down.”
She did as she was told, begrudging the fact that he’d reminded her that he thought of her like another sister.
“So, we have a plan?” he said, pulling her attention.
“I guess so,” she said. “Though I don’t know how sound it is.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “Why don’t we go out and see if we can observe Peggy in her natural habitat?”
She laughed. “Fine. Let’s go see if we can find her.”
Chapter 7
Gut Feelings
They arrived at the Nantucket Whaling Museum after a short drive from Pru’s little cottage. He was grateful she let him drive her SUV this time—she still remembered how much he hated to be the passenger.
Hayes liked to be the one behind the wheel. In control. Which was probably why he was still so bothered by his last freelance assignment. So bothered he’d yet to accept another one. At some point, he was going to have to face that. Sure, he’d found a number of various income streams, but they wouldn’t last forever. Eventually, the guy who’d built a whole brand around travel was going to have to travel again.
“You think she’s here?” he asked as they got out of the car and walked toward the entrance.
Pru shrugged. “It’s the only place I know to look. She’s pretty involved on the committee, and I know they’ve got a lot of work to do before the festival next weekend.”
He pulled the door open and followed her inside. In just a few days, the preview party would be held here, and Hayes would return to Nantucket society after an extended absence. Odd that it had been only a few short months since summer. With all that had happened, it felt like a lifetime had gone by.
They walked up the stairs and into the room that was being decorated for Thursday’s event.
In true Prudence fashion, she’d agreed to not only decorate the twenty-foot tall talking tree on Main Street, but also a smaller version of the same thing here in the whaling museum as part of the Festival of Trees. She’d finished her trees days ago. Unlike everyone else he knew, Pru didn’t procrastinate, except, it seemed, when it came to finding a meaningful relationship.
As they walked toward the back where he assumed her tree was located, he watched the way she moved. Graceful, yet strong, which was an interesting combination. Interesting and unique. He was pretty sure that when it came to Prudence Sutton, he’d been let in to a very small inner circle.
How many people knew she’d grown up in a trailer park with a mother who worked as a waitress in a local dive bar and a stepfather who turned mean and handsy when he got drunk? How many people knew she’d come here the summer after she graduated high school, found a job at the surf shop, and never went back?
How many people knew she never touched alcohol or that she blasted eighties music and danced around her living room to try and shake her sadness off?
“So, what would you say is your most meaningful relationship?” he asked, aware that his smirk would keep things light between them. That’s where the magic of their friendship seemed to exist—in this familiar flirtatious chitchat they both excelled at.
“Are you still on this?” she asked, weaving around partially decorated Christmas trees.
“I mean, I’m curious,” he said.
“Are you asking me present tense what my most meaningful relationship is?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Sure, I guess.”
She squinted, as if trying