She jerked her gaze away just in time to hear one of them whisper, “He would definitely take his bride to Paris if she wanted to go.”
Gloria set her teeth.It was probably true.He’d speak his flawless French, charm everyone in sight, and whisk his new wife anywhere she pleased.
She crossed her arms and forced herself to face a hard truth.Her irritation wasn’t that he had impossible standards.
It was that she didn’t meet them.
He did not need her help to find a willing bride.If she wanted to matchmake someone, she ought to start with herself.Stop waiting around for Prince Wonderful to appear, and go find him.
In fact, she would do just that.
She pushed to her feet and surveyed the common area.The unmarried ladies were here because of Mr.Pringle.The eligible bachelors were here because all the single women had conveniently gathered in one place.Gloria started forward.
One of them had to be her perfect match.Someone smart, someone sweet, someone local, with no intention to leave Christmas—or her.Someone who didn’t care how she made her pudding or what names she gave the stars.Someone completely unlike Christopher Pringle.
She felt his gaze upon her before she even turned around.
He was on the opposite side of the crowded dining area, surrounded by women, and yet he had somehow glimpsed her rise to her feet.Or sensed that she was in search of someone else.
Good.She avoided danger.Everything about him was dangerous.She wasn’t promised to him as anything other than a matchmaker.
If she could arrange her own match, she could put paid to her this silly mooning over the wrong man.She would simply have to find someone safe.
As best she could, she flitted from table to table with a smile and a kind word for all her single male neighbors.
She could practically feel Mr.Pringle’s glare stabbing into her back.
She ignored him.
When her meandering path brought her closer to his harem, she glimpsed a male neighbor at the next table.Perfect.She sat down, careful not to position herself with a direct view of Mr.Pringle.
“We missed you when we were out caroling last night,” she began with a smile.
From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Mr.Pringle gather what appeared to be a pile of bread and cheese into a large serviette and whisk an unused tablecloth from a neighboring table.
Her mouth fell open.What on earth was he—
“Meet me on the roof,” he whispered as he passed.
A wave of disappointed women trickled in his wake as he strode from the dining area without a backward glance.
She made light conversation with her neighbor for as long as she could stand, then excused herself and all but ran up the winding staircase leading to the closest roof access point.
Mr.Pringle was there waiting.He had spread the tablecloth on the landing as though it were a picnic blanket.He was seated on the opposite side of a serviette piled with bread and cheese.
“I forgot to grab wine.”He held up a palm.“I hope you’ll sit anyway.”
She did not.
Her legs trembled too badly to trust them to take her anywhere but directly into his arms.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she stammered.“You’re… a client.”
“I officially renounce the contract,” he said, his voice grave.“As of this moment you are not my matchmaker anymore.Agreed?”
She swallowed hard, her pulse pounding.“Then, what’s this?”
“I don’t know,” he said honestly.“Do you want to find out?”
