The Matchmaker's Plan. Karen Whittenburg Toller
on the other side. But the music drifted in, bright as tinsel, a melody on amphetamines, overorchestrated into a galloping, get-with-the-spirit-or-else intrusion. He was not in the mood to get in the spirit, not in the mood for the looming holidays, not in the mood to do much except stare out the window at the sputtering snowfall.
Instead, he took his seat behind the ornately carved wooden desk that had passed from one industrious Jonathan to the next for a couple of centuries. The leather chair sighed and creaked as it settled beneath his weight into a supple, familiar comfort. Heat shushed through the air register. “Jingle Bells” switched over to “Jingle Bell Rock” and somewhere out on the water a ship’s horn brayed. Matt tossed the phone slips aside and turned on his computer. A list of messages popped up on the screen almost instantly. A dozen Merry Christmas greetings. A dozen more generic Happy Holidays, one Happy Hanukkah, and two credit card offers. Scattered among the greetings were five interoffice messages—two marked with a flashing red urgent!—a forwarded joke, two unsolicited Thoughts for the Day, a reminder that he was expected at the Freemans’ annual Hijacked Holiday dinner party tomorrow evening and an invitation to yet another holiday get-together between Christmas and New Year’s Eve at the Stamfords’.
“Bah humbug,” he muttered and turned off the computer.
He picked up the phone messages again, sorting through them with misdirected irritation. Jessica. Jessica. Jessica. Ainsley. Miranda. And Ainsley, again. He didn’t want to talk to Jessica because he knew that, sooner or later, she’d turn the conversation toward some new or imagined grievance Peyton O’Reilly had caused. He didn’t want to talk to Ainsley because her conversation always included something especially funny or endearing her friend, Peyton O’Reilly, had done or said. Ainsley wasn’t giving up on her plan of making a match for him and Peyton, despite his attempts to discourage her. Ainsley blithely disregarded his resistance and continued to find ways to bring Peyton’s name into almost any conversation. Miranda didn’t talk about Peyton O’Reilly, but then he didn’t really want to hear about Nate’s two sets of twins, either. If Andy had called and left a message, Matt would have returned the call in a heartbeat. But wise Andrew had scheduled a trip to Utah and, at this very moment, was likely hiking up or skiing down some blessedly quiet mountain trail. Matt figured his little brother hadn’t heard “Jingle Bells” in at least twenty-four hours. Maybe longer.
“Merry Christmas, Matt!!” Ainsley’s cheery greeting came through ahead of her as she opened the door and walked in. Her cheeks were flushed and rosy from the cold, her blond curls peeked out from under a Christmas-green stocking hat, her upper body was bundled in a fleecy Christmas-green coat, her pants were black, her boots red, and there was a sparkly gold scarf looped like a garland around her neck.
“Are you dressed like a Christmas tree on purpose?” he asked, getting up to accept a hug even as he turned his smile from her to her companion.
Miranda looked equally healthy, happy and fetching, although she wasn’t dressed remotely like a holiday icon. All in ivory, hair sleek and secured beneath a hat as stylish as practical, her smile was pure confidence, with more than a hint of excitement. “Merry Christmas, Matt!” She switched on the overhead, flooding the dimly lit office with wattage. “It is okay to turn on a light when you’re actually in your office, you know. It’s only when you leave for the day that you need to make sure it’s off.”
“I’m experimenting,” he said.
“With eyestrain?”
“With the theory that this constant bombardment of Christmas music will be less irritating in the dark.”
“Well, bah humbug to you, too.” Ainsley thumped him playfully on the arm. “But never fear. We are here to improve your attitude, lighten your spirits and take you out for lunch. Our treat. And we won’t take no for an answer, so don’t even bother with an excuse.”
“I just got here,” he said. “I had a breakfast meeting that lasted all morning and I have about ten minutes before I have to meet Jessica for lunch.” He paused, then added. “A working lunch.”
Ainsley and Miranda exchanged a look—one of those sister moments they seemed to be sharing on a regular basis these days. Then, having come to some mutual and mysterious understanding, Miranda walked around the desk and picked up the phone. “T.J.,” she said a moment later, “call Ms. Martin-Kingsley and tell her Matt has an unexpected family situation and won’t be able to keep their luncheon appointment.” She listened for a moment, then laughed. “That’s right. She’ll have to work without him. Thanks, T.J.”
She hung up, smiled at Matt. “Fancy that. You’re free for lunch.”
“Is this an unexpected family situation?”
Ainsley slipped her arm through his, beamed up at him. “You weren’t expecting us, we’re family and we’re hungry.”
Miranda gestured voila! “An unexpected family situation. Besides, Matthew, you do not want to spend any more time with Jessica than you absolutely have to. It gives me a headache just to think about her.”
It often gave him one, too, but then, lately, thinking about women in general had the same effect. “Great,” he said. “You two are taking me to lunch. Where are we going?”
“The Red Parrot?” Miranda suggested with a questioning glance to Ainsley.
“Suits me.” Ainsley gave Matt’s arm a gentle tug. “Is Peyton here today?” she asked as they moved toward the door. “We should ask her to join us.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea.” Miranda’s comment was so quick, so close on the heels of Ainsley’s impromptu thought, that Matt would have had to be thicker than a slab of bacon not to realize this whole lunch scheme was a setup, put together and practiced ahead of time by his sisters for his ultimate good.
And that, in a nutshell, was the problem with women.
They believed a man could be improved, should be improved, and they were always eager to introduce him to a woman they thought was up to the task. He loved his sisters, liked and respected the men they’d chosen, believed each of them was better for having found the other. But that kind of relationship wasn’t for him. And it sure as hell wasn’t for him with Peyton. He’d come too close for comfort to thinking it might be possible not so very long ago and gotten burned for his effort. No, thank you.
“I’ve no idea where Ms. O’Reilly might be,” he said with a smile meant to convey benign indifference. “But I can guarantee she won’t want to have lunch with me.”
“And what makes you so sure of that?” Ainsley’s eyes sparkled with secrets and innuendo.
“Oh, maybe the fact that our every conversation seems to turn into an argument.” Which wasn’t true, although it wasn’t entirely a lie, either. “Or maybe because she’s been avoiding me as much as possible for the past two months.” Which was true. He’d been avoiding her, too, but that was irrelevant. “Or maybe it’s because I’m on to this little matchmaking plan of yours and, for the record, I’m not interested. Never have been.” Which was a lie. “And never will be.” Again. Which was the truth.
The sparkle in Baby’s eyes merely brightened. “Wow, you’ve obviously given that a lot of thought.” Her gaze went to Miranda and some glimmer of understanding passed between the two women again. “Guess we won’t invite Peyton to lunch today.”
“Guess not,” Miranda said. “Guess we’ll just have to keep him all to ourselves.”
“Guess so.” Ainsley gave his arm a squeeze. “But, don’t worry, we’ll share you when the right woman comes along.”
“I’m not worried,” he replied. “Because the right woman isn’t going to come along for a very, very, very long time. If ever.”
Ainsley’s laugh conveyed more clearly than words just how much confidence she’d gained as a matchmaker during the past year. The smile she exchanged with Miranda told him she clearly had her romantic wand aimed at him. And clearly,