Mistletoe Matchmaker. Lissa Manley

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       “Phoebe, this is Grant Roderick, Rose’s nephew.” Molly turned to Grant. “Grant, this is Phoebe Sellers. She owns the ice cream store up the street.”

       Grant extended his hand and smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

       “It’s mutual,” Phoebe said as she shook his hand, a decidedly speculative gleam in her blue eyes.

       Oooh. Gleamy eyes. Always a good sign.

       “How long have you owned the ice cream place?” Grant asked.

       His interest in Phoebe had Molly’s rapt attention.

       “About a year and a half,” Phoebe said, unwinding her fluffy black scarf from around her neck. “But I was born and raised in Moonlight Cove.”

       “Ah, a local girl,” Grant said. “Looks like you’ve put down roots. You must like it here.”

       Aha. Mention of roots. Wonderful.

       “I love it,” Phoebe replied. “How long will you be staying?”

      Interest, or just politeness? Phoebe had sworn off romance, too, but minds could be changed if need be. Maybe.

       “Aunt Rose and Benny will be back just before New Year’s Eve,” Grant said. “So I’ll be around for a while.”

       “Well, it’s good to have a new face around here.” Phoebe smiled. “Small towns tend to get a bit boring.”

       Molly watched the whole exchange with interest, taking mental notes. No giant sparks yet, but it was early. And the gleam in Phoebe’s eyes and Grant’s questions…well, it could bode fairly well for a tidy setup.

       Anticipation sparked; Molly couldn’t wait to sink her chops into a good matchmaking prospect. She delighted in helping others find the true love she would never have; if she couldn’t have a soul mate, well, then at least she could be a part of helping others find that special someone. It would be the closest she’d ever get to a happily ever after.

       She pushed away the sadness that thought caused and tuned back to the matchmaking opportunity at hand. True love was elusive, and it took skill to make good matches that lasted; she’d have to pay attention.

       “You two want to hang around awhile and just…talk?” Molly asked.

       Grant held up Jade’s leash. “Sorry, I can’t. I need to get going.” He gave a mock-salute. “Ladies, it’s been a pleasure.”

       Phoebe murmured her goodbye in unison with Molly, and Grant left, Jade trotting obediently at his side, her tail held high.

       Molly watched him go. Nice guy. Very appealing.

       If she were looking for a friendly, charming, all-work-and-no-play kind of guy. Which she definitely wasn’t. At least not for herself. But Phoebe? Now, that was a different story.

       Molly turned around to find her blonde friend standing right behind her, her arms crossed over her chest.

       “He’s very cute,” Phoebe said, one brow arched.

       Good sign. Physical attraction definitely played a part in who was meant to be together. Not the whole part, of course, but an important piece for sure.

       “You think so?” Molly asked, careful to hide her matchmaker’s eagerness by looking at a tiny green-and-red cable-knit dog sweater.

       “Definitely attractive,” she said, sounding amused.

       Molly looked up at Phoebe. Her friend had her lips curved into a smile that definitely held a sly edge. “Maybe he’s available,” Phoebe said.

       Molly peered at her friend more closely, her stomach flipping in a half circle. What was with Phoebe’s wily grin? “For who?” she asked, hoping her suspicions weren’t true.

       “For you, of course,” Phoebe said, shrugging.

       Molly’s tummy flipped all the way around. “For me?” She waved a finger in the air. “I’m not interested in him.” Which was true. Except as a match for Phoebe. Or anyone who wasn’t Molly. Rule number one of matchmaking: don’t let yourself get caught up in your prospects. Even if they were drop-dead gorgeous and charming to boot.

       Phoebe snorted. “Oh, right. I saw you getting all flustered when he bent down to hook the leash. I watched you stare at him when he walked away.” Phoebe drilled Molly with her all-seeing, sky blue gaze. “You were interested, all right.”

       Trust Phoebe to catch the details. She was one of the most observant people Molly knew.

       Molly put the sweater in its place and headed to the register, telling herself she shouldn’t be surprised by Phoebe’s statement. It was no secret she thought Molly should be dating, even though Phoebe wasn’t dating, either. She’d lost her fiancé, Justin, God bless his soul, in a firefighting accident one and a half years ago, and hadn’t dated since.

       Time to set the record straight. “I was interested in him because my matchmaker radar went off when I met him.”

       Phoebe frowned, pausing, then moved closer. “Because…you wanted to fix him up with me?”

       “Yup.” No use hiding the truth. “That’s what I do, Phoebs.”

       “You know I’m not looking for a romance,” Phoebe said.

       “Maybe this time it would be different.”

       “I doubt it. You of all people should know that.”

       Molly straightened some paperwork on the counter. She actually agreed with Phoebe about romance and its pitfalls. Molly was a romantic idealist at heart, and had always dreamed of falling in love, having a family and living a faith-based life. But since Jeff had dumped her three years ago—after Carl had dumped her a year before that—she’d given up on romance. Safer that way.

       “Things change,” Molly said softly. “Maybe it’s time.”

       Phoebe paused and drew in a heavy breath, pain shadowing her eyes. “My situation’s different than yours,” she said.

       Molly reached out and squeezed her arm. “Yes, it is, no doubt about it. What you went through when you lost Justin was awful, and much worse than what I went through. But do you really want to be alone forever?”

       “Do you?” Phoebe asked pointedly.

       Molly flushed. Trust Phoebe to turn this dating thing around by deflecting the tough questions back to Molly. But she’d asked an excellent question, one that heralded an impasse.

       But not a surrender.

       So she said, “I’m not sure.” Best to at least appear to leave her own possibilities open. No sense in reinforcing Phoebe’s love phobia with talk of her own. That would be counterproductive.

       Phoebe rolled her blue eyes. “You can say whatever you want, but you’re the one who’ll be seeing him again, not me,” Phoebe said.

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