She shoved away her disappointment that he didn’t instantly trust her with whatever it was he battled, but gave him one quick nod. “I’ll be here when you are.”
Chapter 5
The Rules
How did she do that? How did she, unlike everyone else in the world, read him like he had his emotional life’s story written on his face?
Hayes had tried to pretend everything was fine. He’d tried to pretend he wasn’t haunted by the images that kept him awake at night, that he was unfazed. He’d been pretending for almost three months now.
But Pru had still seen through him.
Nobody else had. Only her. He supposed that’s why she was his best friend. Still, he couldn’t talk about it. He knew she wouldn’t forget, that she’d always be wondering until the day he told her—which may be never—maybe he would just get over it and the joy would return to his eyes or whatever had to happen to make her think he was okay.
He was Hayes McGuire. He was always okay. This time would be no different.
Unless it was.
Now, after hours of standing out in the cold, warmed from the inside by the mulled cider, they walked back to her cottage in the darkness.
The island was perfectly safe, and still, he found himself inching closer to Pru, as if she needed to be protected from something unknown.
From something he’d witnessed but couldn’t process.
When really, he was the one in need of a safe haven.
“So, what are the rules?” she asked now as they rounded the corner onto her street.
He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and wished he’d brought a pair of gloves. It was stupid of him not to. A chill raced down his back. “The rules of what?”
“Noni Rose,” she said with a knowing smile.
“You’re gonna help me?”
She shrugged. “I gave it some thought in between the fifth and sixth verses of ‘Silent Night.’”
He grinned at her. “I knew you couldn’t resist.”
“I can’t leave poor Peggy Swinton in your hands. I don’t know what Aunt Nellie was thinking, you’re the least romantic person I know.”
“Thank God,” he said. “I could kiss you right now.” Oh, heck. Where had that come from? “I mean, I’m thankful. Very thankful.”
Her eyes had widened when he said it. It was barely detectable, but he’d noticed. It was there. That was such a stupid thing to say. A great way to make things awkward and run her off.
Idiot!
“And I resent the fact that you think I’m not romantic,” he said. “I’m plenty romantic.”
She looked straight ahead and muttered a nearly silent, “Uh-huh.”
They reached her front door, and she pulled out her key, opened the lock, and led him inside. The box sat on the table where they’d left it. Inside was his future as a matchmaker.
If Hollis or his dad or any of his friends ever found out about this . . .
“The first thing we need is an oath of silence,” he said.
She stood at the stove, where he only now realized she’d put a kettle on to boil. He’d forgotten how much she loved hot cocoa. Even in the summer, she drank it extra hot with a dollop of whipped cream.
“I see you eyeing my kettle,” she said.
“I was doing no such thing.”
She raised a brow. “So many lies tonight, Mr. McGuire. I know how you feel about my hot cocoa.”
He took off his coat. “I feel absolutely indifferent about this drink.”
“Lies.”
He plopped down on the couch. “I’m not sleeping very well.”
From behind him, he heard her clinking around in the kitchen, pulling the whipped cream from the fridge, finding mugs and spoons. She stopped. “Yeah?”
He started to remember, and in seconds, he was back there—a world away. A heartbeat away.
“How long’s it been since you had a good night of sleep?”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. “Months.” The nightmares always woke him, and once he was awake, he didn’t go back to sleep. Usually, that meant the hours of 3:00 a.m. to 6:00 a.m. were spent staring at the ceiling.
She handed him a mug of hot chocolate, filled to the rim with whipped cream, crushed peppermint sprinkled on top, then sat on the opposite end of the couch.
“Ooh, the peppermint is new,” he said.
“What can I say? I do it up fancy.” She waggled her eyebrows. Man, she was pretty.
He took a drink, letting it warm him from the inside out. “That’s so good.”
She set her mug on the table, pulled her legs up underneath her, and spread a blanket over her lap. Then, she took her mug, settled it between her hands, and looked at him as if to say, You have my full attention.
And yet, she said nothing. It was as if she wanted him to know she was there without forcing herself on him. He loved her for that.
“Anyway,” he said. “Noni Rose.”
Disappointment skittered across her face, but she quickly recovered. He knew he was letting her down by keeping it all bottled up, but he just wasn’t ready—not yet.
He set his drink down and picked up the box. “Let’s go over the rules. Maybe then we can come up with a plan.”
Inside the box, right on top, was a small notebook. Aunt Nellie had gone over most of it with him, but already, he could use a refresher. Truth be told, he was only half-listening because at the time, he expected his aunt to realize what a crazy idea this was and tell him to forget the whole thing.
How had things gotten so turned around?
He opened the old, discolored notebook and read: “Rule Number One: The matchmaker must never reveal that she is making a match.”
He stopped and looked at Pru. “Already, I have evidence that this is not a man’s job.”
Pru smiled, took another sip of her drink, and nodded toward the book.
“Rule Number Two: The matchmaker cannot force a match. She may see what she thinks is a perfect pairing, but matchmakers are human, and sometimes humanity gets in the way of the magic.” Hayes looked at Pru, wearing his best you’ve got to be kidding me expression.
“You’re really not selling this,” she said.
“No? I thought I was basically a walking infomercial over here.” He tossed her an eye roll, and she snatched the notebook out of his hand.
“Okay, it goes on to say that once a matchmaker selects her target, she should take time to observe the target in his or her natural habitat.”
“Are we zoologists now?” He shook his head. “Do I need to write a report on the feeding and sleeping habits of Peggy Swinton?”
She laughed. “It says, ‘Do not dream up a wish list of potential matches. Rather, go where the target is and wait for the magic to reveal itself to you.’”
When Prudence looked up from the notebook, Hayes made a point to roll his eyes again. “This is insane.”
She shrugged. “I mean, you saw the book with all the success stories in it. Maybe the rules work.”
“Don’t tell me you’re buying in to all of this.”
She ignored him and gave her attention back to the notebook. “Rule Number Three,” she said. “The matchmaker must never attempt to match someone whose heart has already been given away.” Her eyes darted up over the notebook and she found him watching her.