A Match Made at Christmas - Courtney Walsh Page 0,26

about faraway places. Now, he’d visited many of those places, wrote about distant, far-off lands, and thrived on discovering cultures that weren’t his own.

Well, he had anyway. Somehow, since his last trip, that had changed. Now it almost seemed like the joy of exploring had been stolen from him. Just thinking of pitching a new story idea or traveling to a new place turned his insides. He hadn’t updated his website in over a month. He knew he had to get over this.

He picked up Pru’s feet and set them in his lap, settling into the opposite end of the couch the same way she had. “Should we look them up?”

“Mm-hmm.” Pru nodded and closed her eyes—what had kept her up last night? She looked exhausted.

“My laptop is on the table next to you,” she said.

He picked it up and navigated to the Atheneum’s website, then found the digital directory chronicling newspaper articles that dated all the way back to the 1800s. He was accustomed to doing research for work, so he found his way around the website quickly and within minutes had located a write-up on the marriage of Howie Basford to Tamela Smith.

“Here it is,” he said.

Pru’s eyes opened. She had stunning blue eyes. It was a rare combination—dark hair and blue eyes—but then, she was a rare woman. After only a few days back in Nantucket, he couldn’t deny there was something magnetic between them. True friends were like that though, weren’t they? And while Hayes had never met a stranger, he didn’t have a lot of close friends.

He wanted the very best for Pru, and he prayed she found it. But as soon as that thought popped in his head, something else twisted in his belly. He wanted Pru to be happy, of course, but the thought of her with a serious boyfriend—or worse, a husband—made him instantly jealous.

“And?” She sat up slightly but didn’t pull her feet from his lap.

He quickly shook the thought away, forcing himself back to the matter at hand. “And I was right. The maid of honor, Peggy Swinton, wore a peach taffeta dress and matching shoes. She carried a small bouquet of white tulips.”

Pru scrunched up her face. “Tammy never did have any taste.”

Hayes laughed. “So, that settles it. Peggy was in love with Howie.” He closed the laptop and set it aside, then thoughtlessly massaged Pru’s feet. She wore red-and-white-striped fuzzy socks that matched her turquoise and red Santa pajamas, and she looked adorable.

Good grief. What was wrong with him? This was Prudence. Off-limits-to-him Prudence. Friends-and-nothing-more Prudence. Way-too-good-for-him Prudence.

“Peggy was in love with Howie,” she repeated, but with more disbelief in her voice.

After a moment, Hayes said, “What a weird couple.”

Pru laughed. “But you said it yourself—there was magic.”

He couldn’t deny that. Whatever spell Aunt Nellie had cast over him when she gave him that box, it was obviously doing its job. He’d even begun to think of his own love life—or the lack of one. But those thoughts were fleeting. He knew he was no good for another person right now, not when he had so many issues to work through.

The early morning sun shone through the windows of Pru’s little cottage, bathing the entire space in a golden hue.

Hayes settled into the sofa, still holding her feet. Moments later, he noticed Pru’s rhythmic breathing as her chest rose and fell in a long, drawn-out pattern. She’d fallen asleep. He took a moment to admire her smooth skin, and that buzzing feeling that seemed to accompany him daily ever since his trip home from his last assignment in the war-torn Middle East, began to settle.

He purposely set his breathing in time with hers, concentrating on the rise and fall of his own chest, thinking about how safe he felt, how peaceful, and then everything turned to black.

Pru awoke to the sun in her face and it took a moment to get her bearings. She felt groggy and out of sorts, and where was she?

She looked around and discovered she was on the couch in the middle of the living room, and Hayes was asleep on the other end. She glanced at the clock on the wall, piecing together the events of that morning—her long, sleepless night, Hayes knocking on her door before dawn, the coffee, looking up Howie’s wedding announcement, realizing Hayes was right about her old friend and Peggy Swinton.

She found the clock on the wall. Eleven o’clock. Wow, she hadn’t slept in that late in ages.