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Oh no. It couldn’t be.
3
“Mitch,” the woman called as she approached the table. “It’s so goodto finally get to meet you!”
Both of Mitch’s eyebrows flew up to his hairline.
“It’s me, Wilhelmina Fritz,” said the woman, plunking down at the table and smiling at Mitch. “Ho, ho, ho,” she said, and held out her wrist, jiggling the holiday charm bracelet on it.
Mitch stared at it, shook his head slowly. “Uh...”
“Christmas. Get it? It’s my favorite holiday, too.”
He nodded and shot a look at Frankie.Help!
“I know I look a little different than my Best for You profile,” Wilhelmina said.
A little? She could have been her own mother. If Wilhelmina was in her fifties, Frankie would eat her Santa hat. Where was the fit-looking outdoorsy woman Frankie had hoped would be a match for Mitch and become her new friend as well? The woman who bragged about the marathons she’d run? The only thing that looked the same about her was her hair color, and Frankie could see gray roots lurking under the brown. Not that she had a problem with a woman keeping the same hair color as long as she wanted. And she didn’t have a problem with someone’s weight. But she did have a problem with a woman passing herself off as completely different. She frowned.
Wilhelmina didn’t see. She was too busy giving her sales pitch to Mitch. “I’ve gained a few pounds since that picture I posted was taken.”
And a few years.
“But I’m in much better shape than I look. And my bones are perfect. My teeth are great, too. I brought my dental records to prove it.” Wilhelmina smiled and gave the folder a tap.
Mitch was still a step behind. “Best for You?” he repeated.
“It’s so hard to find a good man these days,” Wilhelmina said. “There are so many losers and cheaters out there. When I read your profile, I could tell you were special, and so genuine.”
“My profile.” He looked at Frankie again, this time with narrowed eyes.
“I promised I’d get a latte for Mom, and I need to get back to the shop,” Frankie said, and began to rise.
Mitch caught her arm and pulled her back down onto her seat. “Stay a little longer.” It wasn’t a request.
“Is this your sister?” Wilhelmina guessed. She almost smiled at Frankie.
“No, this is my wife,” Mitch lied. “We’re getting back together.”
Wilhelmina pulled back as if he’d slapped her. Then she glared at him. “Of all the rotten fakes,” she snarled, picking up her folder. “You should have taken your profile down. And you sure shouldn’t have been flirting online with me!” She stood and pushed away from the table, almost knocking over her chair. “Men like you are scum. Scum!”
“Want to explain what just happened?” Mitch said to Frankie as Wilhelmina marched out of the coffee shop. “You are behind this, aren’t you?”
“Well, um, I just got to thinking.”
“Is that what you call it?”
“After your text. It sounded like you wanted a Mrs. Claus.”
He let out a frustrated breath and shook his head. “I was referring to you, you goof.”
“Me!”
“Were you or were you not Mrs. Claus at the Santa Walk the last two years?”
Frankie’s heart missed a beat and her face felt hot enough to roast chestnuts. Mitch and her—that wouldn’t work. They were pals, that was all.
Her thoughts must have raced across her face because he veered away from the topic of them and returned to scolding her. “Is that the kind of woman you think I need?”
