Page 32 of A Match Made at Christmas

She rolled her eyes and turned away, mostly to keep him from noticing she was blushing. “If you think I’m going to feed you again, you’re crazy.”

“Nah, I’m taking you to breakfast. I have a plan.”

She frowned. “What kind of plan? And it’s too early for food.”

He shrugged the coat off and plopped down on the couch. “Sit.”

She did as she was told, not because she was prone to obedience but because she was too tired to find a witty retort.

“Pru, I know this is going to sound crazy, but I felt it.”

She took a sip of the hot coffee—peppermint mocha, her favorite. “Felt what?”

“The magic. It was like a zinger—no way I could ignore it.”

Her heart sank. What was he talking about? Had he met someone? She must not have done a good job of hiding her concern because his smile faded into a frown.

“What’s wrong?”

She took another drink, a silly attempt to hide at least a portion of her face. She shook her head. “Nothing. Did you meet someone?” Did that sound nonchalant?

His brow furrowed. “I’m talking about Peggy. The matchmaking.”

Oh, thank God.

“Oh, right,” she said.

He stared at her. “You okay?”

“Just tired.” She rubbed her temples for effect, then slowly closed and opened her eyes.

“I can go?” He started to move. “Come back later?”

“It’s fine,” she said. “You’re here, and now I need to hear about this magic.”

He inched back on the couch and paused, as if for effect. “I found Peggy’s match.”

She lifted her brows to encourage him to continue, aware that his mouth had spread into a slow smile.

“Howie.”

She set her cup down. “My Howie?”

“One and the same.”

And then he launched into a crazy theory about Peggy having loved Howie a million years ago.

“I think he’s the reason she never got married.”

“You think Howie and . . . Peggy?”

“The magic says yes.”

She almost laughed. “What’s gotten into you? Yesterday you thought this was the dumbest thing ever.”

He shrugged, then met her eyes, but only for a moment.

“What is it?”

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