Page 13 of A Match Made at Christmas

She should be grateful. Not every girl had another family on standby, ready and waiting with open arms. Pru’s real parents lived in New Jersey. Or Ohio now. She couldn’t remember. She’d come to Nantucket for a job one summer after high school and never left.

And they’d never come to visit.

Needless to say, it wasn’t a great relationship.

But the McGuires had shown her that families could be wonderful. Every misconception she had about mothers and fathers and their kids had been disproven because of Hayes and his family. They got into each other’s business. They teased each other. They were there for each other. They were friends. So, for them to practically adopt her was a gift.

And she should be grateful. Not sad that their middle son didn’t view her as anything other than a good buddy.

Tonight, Prudence had curled her long dark hair, letting it fall in waves down her back. She wore a pair of dark jeans, a cream cowl neck sweater, and brown boots. Did the outfit sayI’m not trying to impress you?She considered changing for the thirty-seventh time, but the knock on the door told her she was out of time.

She raced down from her bedroom, which overlooked the main living area of the small cottage. The house was tiny, but she’d worked hard to turn it into something she was proud of. The wood floors had been refinished and now had a natural, elegant feel to them. The walls were white shiplap, but she’d found a lot of ways to infuse the space with color. Pillows, rugs, artwork—all explosions of creativity—and, of course, there was a custom turquoise and pink surfboard hanging on the wall above the sofa.

She pulled the door open and found Hayes standing there, looking like he’d just swallowed a goldfish. “What’s wrong with you?”

He stared at her.

“Are you sweating? It’s freezing outside. Why are you sweating?” She pulled him by the arm, tugging him across the threshold and into her cottage.

He looked around. “It looks completely different in here.”

“Yeah, well, it’s been over a year and a half since you’ve been inside.”

“And you’re a famous surfboard artist now,” he said.

She frowned. “Why do you look flushed? Are you sick?”

“Can I have some water?”

Only then did she realize he had a box tucked under his arm. “What’s that?”

“Water, please.”

She eyed him for a second, then motioned for him to sit down on the couch. She grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and walked it back into the living room. One big, open floor plan made the cottage feel a lot more spacious. Never mind that her lofted bedroom was also in plain view.

The cottage suited her. And it was rare that she had company. Especially male company.

She sat down in the armchair across from him. “Do you want to skip the tree lighting? This really isn’t that important.”

“No,” he said. He chugged half the bottle of water. “I just need a minute. And it is a big deal. They’re lighting the tree you designed.”

She glanced at the box. “You gonna tell me what’s in there?”

He didn’t look at her. “I don’t think I’m supposed to.”

She frowned. “Then why did you bring it?”

He found her eyes. “Because maybe I want you to accidentally open it?”

“Is there something dead inside there?”

“What? No.” He stared at her for long enough to make her insides quake.

Which infuriated her because she knew better. She knewthisman, of all men, was not going to ever—ever—look at her as anything other than a friend.

But he was her person. And she was grateful he was in her life, in whatever capacity she could have him. In the only capacity she could have him.

Her mind began to wander, probably because she was thinking the words “have him” after an already heightened awareness that he was practically in her bedroom, which inadvertently led her thoughts down a very long and winding road from which she wasn’t sure she wanted to return.

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