Page 27 of A Match Made at Christmas

She nodded, then glanced at Howie. “Shall we?”

And as much as Hayes didn’t want to be Nantucket’s matchmaker, he had a gut feeling he couldn’t ignore.

Peggy Swinton was about to be matched.

Chapter 8

That Ship Has Sailed

“Still carrying that torch, I see.” Howie leaned back in the sprawling booth of a quiet Nantucket bistro right downtown.

Pru scoffed. “What are you talking about?”

Howie quirked a brow in her direction, and she knew there was no point pretending with him. He’d always been able to read her like a book.

“Is it that obvious?”

The waitress brought their drinks and Pru stuck a straw in her Cherry Coke and took a drink.

“Those straws are killing the turtles.” Howie nodded toward her drink.

She glanced up and found him watching her, his unwrapped straw still sitting on the table. She pulled the straw out and set it on her napkin. “Happy?”

“Indeed.”

Howie talked a lot like the surfers who came in from California. Not a drawl, but a slow cadence that would’ve likely lulled her to sleep if she weren’t on high alert thanks to his unwanted observations.

“And to answer your question,” he said, “yes, it is that obvious. At least to me. He seems oblivious though.”

She sighed. “Or he knows, and he pretends not to. Probably doesn’t want to have to let me down easy.”

“Maybe,” Howie said. “At least he knows a good thing when he sees it.”

She rolled her eyes. Hayes might know a good thing, but he didn’t want it—not for himself.

“Have you told him how you feel?” He picked up his glass and took a drink.

She shook her head. “I can’t risk losing him. He’s my—”

“Best friend,” he interrupted. “I know. You’ve been saying that for a lot of years.”

“Well, it’s true.”

“It’s also a great excuse not to put yourself out there.”

She narrowed her gaze, thinking it felt strange to see him in anything other than an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and board shorts. He was out of place in his full-length pants and gray sweater. Somehow, he was still that same bronze color he was in the summer. She supposed that’s what happened when you spent your retirement hopping around various sun-filled islands.

“What about you?” she asked.

“What about me?”

“You put yourself out there?”

He sighed. The waitress reappeared, sliding loaded plates on the table. When they told her they didn’t need anything else, she disappeared. Pru’s question and Howie’s sigh still hung in the air.

“Well?” She picked up her sandwich, aware that there was no way she would finish this meal after such a large breakfast. And for a fleeting moment, she wondered what Hayes was doing right now.

“You know I put myself out there plenty,” he said. “Bit me in the keister. I’m happy on my own.”

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