Title: The Merry Matchmaker
Author: Sheila Roberts
Publisher: MIRA
Pages: 336
Genre: Women's Fiction/Romance
Inspired by Jane Austen’s Emma,
this joyful Christmas romp tells the story of a woman who can’t stop
trying to help everyone around her find their happily-ever-after—even
when her help leads to disaster.
Frankie Lane knows
what’s best for just about everyone but herself. Her divorced sister,
Stef, who is too young to give up on love; her shy employee, Elinor; and
her daughter, Natalie, who works in Frankie’s shop, Holiday Happiness,
and really needs to start her own business selling the delectable
chocolates she makes at home; even her best friend, Viola, who is trying
to renovate her old Victorian. Frankie knows she could help all of
them, if they’d just let her—and if all of her help didn’t end in utter
disaster.
Then there’s Mitch Howard, the owner of the local
hardware store. They’ve been friends ever since Frankie opened her
store, nine years earlier. He got her through the nightmare when she
lost her husband in a freak accident, and he’s her favorite shoulder to
cry on. He’s been divorced for years, and it’s such a waste of man!
Mitch is the fittest, finest man Frankie knows. He’s easygoing, wise and
kindhearted. Mitch needs someone. And she’s determined to help him find
that someone—whether he likes it or not.
WHO KNEW THAT THE WORD HELP COULD TURN INTO A whole other four-letter word? Not Frankie Lane, that was for sure.
Although it wasn’t help that her friend Viola muttered when the two women stood looking at the pile of wallpaper that had slid down the wall and onto the floor in the dining room of Viola’s fixer-upper Victorian. The section Frankie had put up, not Viola’s.
“I don’t understand what happened,” Frankie said, gaping at it.
Viola heaved a sigh.
Everything had looked fine before they’d stepped into the kitchen in search of wine to celebrate the completed job. By the time they were back in the dining room to toast, the wall-
paper was toast. Soggy toast. Frankie had to get back to her shop, and here was…this. Obviously, she couldn’t leave her friend with such a mess.
“I’ll just put this back up again,” Frankie said, hurrying over to the sodden pile.
Viola rushed after her. “No! Don’t touch anything. I know you want to help.”
“I do!”
“But please don’t.”
Ouch. That hurt.
This had all been Frankie’s great idea. “You have to have wallpaper in an old Victorian,” she’d said. “It will look so cute with the wainscoting,” she’d said as she showed her friend
what she’d found online.
“I don’t think wallpapering is your forte,” Viola said in an attempt to remove the sting. “Anyway, you should get back to the shop. We can drink our wine this evening. Terrill won’t
be home until the wee hours.”
“Are you sure? I can get it right this time, and I hate to leave you with this mess. It won’t work for your blog.”
“Sure, it will. Every home improvement project has set-backs. This will make my finished project look more impressive. Anyway, your mom’s probably ready to throttle you by
now for leaving her in charge for so long.”
“Are you kidding? Mom loves being in charge, and I haven’t been gone that long. But you’re right. I should get back. How about I make this up to you by picking up a pizza for us?”
“Excellent idea,” Viola approved. “And ask Adele not to hate me for stealing you on Small Business Saturday. I forgot about that when Terrill deserted me to go to work.”
“It’s okay. We weren’t that busy. Yesterday was our big day.”
But Viola was right. Frankie had a business to run, and she needed to get back to it.
She got into her Prius and headed off to beautiful downtown Carol, where she had her shop, Holiday Happiness.
Thanksgiving was over, and the shop, which featured all manner of Christmas decor, had done a whopping business the day before with customers crowding in to take advantage of
the Black Friday sale, check out the latest Christopher Radko ornament or pick up an Advent calendar. Or simply chat.
Downtown was now decorated for Christmas, thanks to all the shop owners and the chamber of commerce getting busy Friday morning. The lampposts were ringed with red plastic ribbon tied in bows. Swags of greenery and fat old-fashioned lights hung over shop windows, and the big banner strung across Main Street announced A Carol Christmas—Santa Walk December 21.
The Santa Walk had been Frankie’s brainchild, and this would be its third year. All the downtown shops would be offering coupons and special discounts and passing out treats.
Santa would come to town and set up in the town square gazebo. Mrs. Claus would be on hand to accompany him during the Santa parade and to help greet the children who were
excited to see him as well as their parents.
Frankie had been Mrs. Claus both previous years and was looking forward to a repeat performance. After all, she was Mrs. Holiday Happiness.
She didn’t go right into her shop. Instead, she walked next door to Handy’s Hardware, which would be the perfect place to get an apology prezzie for Viola. With all the work she and
her policeman husband, Terrill, were doing on their house, the hardware store had become their home away from home.
Terrill happened to be cruising by in his patrol car. He stopped and let down his window and called, “How’d it go?
Am I still Mr. DooDoo?”
Frankie snickered. “Maybe. She wound up calling me to help her finish.”
“Did you?”
“Sort of but not really. I’m on pizza patrol.”
“All the works?” he asked.
“Of course,” she replied. “If you’re lucky, we’ll save you some.”
He gave her a thumbs-up and cruised on down the street. Pizza would go a long way in making up for the wallpaper mess she’d left her friend with. Hopefully a Handy’s Hardware gift card would do the rest.
The hardware store was ready for Christmas. Someone had made fresh popcorn in the circus popcorn cart, and the aroma made her mouth water. No popcorn for her today, though.
She was on a mission.
She moved past the display of artificial trees and the shelves of Christmas lights and garlands and went straight to the checkout, where she selected a card with a hammer on it and Handy Holidays written above it in red. She spotted her pal Mitch Howard in the paint section and, after purchasing the card, went over to say a quick hi.
A hefty fifty something man in Carhartts ogled her as she walked past. She wasn’t dressed to inspire ogles in her jeans and boots and the old letterman jacket that had belonged to her husband, Ike, but she was still good-looking enough to attract attention. And she appreciated an occasional ogle (as long as it didn’t turn into a leer).
Fifty had been a hard birthday. Even though she was fit and her hair was still a rich auburn thanks to her hairdresser, she felt the passing of time like an insult with those tiny wrinkles
digging into her face and the gray hairs that were constantly multiplying and kept her going to the salon. When it came to aging, Mother Nature was not very nice to her daughters.
But oh well. What did it matter, really? Frankie wasn’t in the market for anyone to replace Ike. He was irreplaceable, and it had broken her heart and shredded her world when she
lost him four years earlier. The kid who’d taken him out had been texting and driving and had felt terrible, but feeling terrible after you’ve killed someone wasn’t enough to bring the
person back.
The community had come alongside her, offering sympathy, hugs, meals and cards, and her family and friends had checked in on her often. She’d felt their love, but nothing could replace the love she’d lost. She soldiered on, keeping the shop going, keeping her life going, reminding herself to be thankful for the people she still had left—her mother, her sister, her
daughter, Natalie, and Natalie’s little family.
And Mitch Howard, who owned Handy’s. He had been there for her both when she first started her business and again during that awful time after Ike died.
“You’ve got this,” he’d said seven years earlier after she’d signed the lease for her shop and then instantly experienced a confidence crisis. He’d said it again when he stopped by Holiday Happiness a month after Ike’s memorial and she’d confessed that she didn’t think she could go on.
“Yes, you can,” he’d assured her. “You’re a strong woman.”
He kept stopping in, often with a latte from The Coffee Stop just a couple doors down from their businesses. Next thing she knew, she was returning the favor.
It was only natural they would become close. They already were friends. She and Ike had known Mitch before she’d opened her shop and become business neighbors with him.
Of course, everyone with a house knew Mitch.
He’d taken over the hardware store after his father retired and his parents moved to Arizona. Mitch himself had moved away for a while, but he returned and settled right back in,
working again in the same store that had employed him as a teenager. Eventually he became the owner.
He was Frankie’s favorite pal, always up for helping her test out a new cop show or watching a Seahawks game together.
Like her, he was single; unlike her, he was divorced with an ex- wife who was ancient history. He was a great guy—fun-loving and kind and easygoing. And handsome—slim but broad-shouldered, with a perfect square jaw and dark hair turning to salt and pepper at the temples. Then there was that lopsided smile that her mother once said made her think of Harrison Ford. When he was young…oh, baby!
(Mom had been in touch with her inner cougar for years.)
Mitch was probably the fittest fifty-eight-year-old man in town. Him being single was a waste of man, if you asked Frankie. Not that he had.
“Leave the poor man alone,” Ike had said whenever she’d talked about finding someone for Mitch. “He’s smart enough to figure out what he wants and go for it.”
Still, she’d persisted in trying to set Mitch up because Frankie was convinced that, when it came to love, very few men were smart.
“You’re a fine one to talk,” her mother had said. This was after Frankie had shared her profound observation a few months earlier, after her latest attempt to help Mitch had failed.
“It’s different for me,” Frankie said.
Unlike Mitch and his ex, there had been no parting by mutual consent. Frankie didn’t need to try again and do better. She’d had a great marriage only to have her man snatched violently from her. One minute Ike had been off to go for a run and the next he was gone. His death had left a hole in her heart that refused to completely close. She doubted it ever
would, and even if it did, she had no desire to put herself in a position of facing such a loss again.
“Hey there,” Mitch greeted her as she joined him. “How’s the wallpapering going?”
“Hers or mine?”
He cocked his head, studied her. “Let me guess. Something went wrong.”
“Only on my side of the wall. Doing penance.” She held up the gift card, and he chuckled. “And I’m taking pizza over after I close up.”
“Can’t screw that up,” he said.
She frowned. “I hope not. I suck.”
“Nah, you don’t. It’s not easy to hang wallpaper. Anyway, you have other talents.”
“Like?”
“Helping people.”
The way she’d helped Viola. Frankie gave a snort.
“You’re good at making things happen.” He pointed out the window to where the banner hung. “The Santa Walk’s been a big success. People love you, Frankie. Not everyone
can say that.”
“It’s nice of you to say it.”
“Just speakin’ the truth.”
“Thanks for making me feel better.”
“Call it an early Christmas present. We still on for Cop Stop tomorrow night?”
“Absolutely,” she said. “I’ve already got the chips and salsa.”
“Good,” he said with a nod. “I’ll bring the beer.”
A blonde in black leggings, thigh-high boots and a pink wool coat strolled over. “Hi, Mitch,” she purred. “Can you help me pick out some paint for my bedroom?”
Gack, thought Frankie in disgust.
“Be right with you,” Mitch said with a smile.
“You can do better than that,” Frankie said as the woman sashayed away.
“Yeah? How?”
She could tell by that lopsided grin that he was teasing her.
She pointed a finger at him. “You need help.”
“There’s a lot of things I need, Frankie, but you helping my love life isn’t one of them. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better go help my customer,” he added with a wink. “Try not to be jealous.”
“You should be so lucky,” she said to his retreating back.
“Stubborn man,” she muttered, and left to go next door to her shop.
Honestly, Mitch could have his pick of women. He shouldn’t be living alone, eating takeout and tuna fish sandwiches. Getting hounded by predators in pink coats. What if one of them
succeeded? Mitch needed someone special, someone with some depth to her, someone who would see him as more than a big slice of beefcake. He really needed a guiding hand. Hers.
Of course, whoever he wound up with would have to share because Frankie had no intention of giving up her best buddy.
All the more reason to help him find his perfect Mrs. Claus.
USA Today and Publisher’s Weekly best-selling author and fan favorite, Sheila Roberts has over fifty books to her credit. Under different names she’s written Regency romance novels as well as devotionals and personal development books. She has seen her novels made into movies for the Lifetime, Hallmark, and Great American Family channels.
Website ➜ https://sheilasplace.com
Facebook ➜ https://www.facebook.com/funwithsheila/
Instagram ➜ https://www.instagram.com/sheilarobertswriter/
