Betsy Taylor cracked open her front door on the morning of Christmas Eve with the same degree of suspicion one would have if an encyclopedia salesperson were ringing the doorbell. If such a person still existed in the internet age since encyclopedias had gone the way of the dodo.

But it wasn’t a salesperson on her doorstep; it was half of her newest matchmade couple, MacKenna Jones. The wee thing looked like a strong puff of wind could blow her across the strait, so Betsy opened the door wider.

“Come in, girl, before you freeze.”

MacKenna shook her head. “Grab your coat, Mrs. Taylor. Holly’s waiting at the salon for you.”

Betsy frowned. “But my appointment’s not until next week.”

“This is a special Christmas treat,” MacKenna said and, ducking inside, unhooked Betsy’s coat and held it out for her. “On the house.”

“Oh, in that case.” Betsy edged around and let MacKenna help her slip her arms into the sleeves.

With only a chat with her friends on the phone to pass the time, the thought of salon gossip with Holly sent happy bubbles rising in Betsy’s chest, buoying her heart in its wake. At least this morning she’d have light and sound and laughter instead of the indifferent flicker of the TV screen.

MacKenna bundled Betsy up in her coat and drove her down to Holly’s salon. Wind buffeted the car, the splatter of rain on the windshield replaced with sea spray as they made their way along the foreshore. No ferry crossings again today and she’d just bet flights would be canceled, too. She clucked her tongue. “Lucky your guests made it before the weather packed in.”

“They certainly were,” MacKenna said as she parked right outside the salon’s doors, completely ignoring the No Parking sign.

Betsy grinned. If the pretty blond wedding dress designer hadn’t worked out with Dr. Joe, getting a parking ticket from Oban’s Police Officer Sexy-Britches, aka Noah Daniels, could’ve been plan B. She’d have to remember the parking ticket idea in the future. One never knew when Cupid could use a little help.

MacKenna hustled her from car to salon, where Holly’s assistant, Rutna, guided her to an empty chair and offered to make her a cup of tea. Betsy smiled and nodded, secretly hoping it wouldn’t be that dreadful bitter green stuff she was served last time.

“Be with you in a moment, Mrs. T,” Holly said from the cash register.

Holly was ringing up Denise Komeke, who, bless her heart, still refused to consider how a nice perm would do wonders for her flat-as-a-pancake hair.

“You’re staying?” Betsy asked MacKenna, who’d draped herself in the second styling chair and paged through a magazine.

“Joe’s checking on a couple of patients this morning, and besides”—MacKenna slanted her a grin that was pure mischief—“I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Up to no good, that girl. Betsy narrowed her eyes. “If you and your cousin think you’re going to dye my hair orange or some such thing, you’re sadly mistaken.”

Denise waved goodbye and Holly came over, eyes sparkling with humor. “Mrs. T, we know you’re all about the purple. We wouldn’t dare.”

Betsy harrumphed. “It’s True Steel not purple, young lady.”

“Right,” said MacKenna. “Steel not purple.”

Holly laid a reassuring hand on Betsy’s shoulder. “No rinse today, just a relaxing wash and set with a scalp massage. Then Rutna will give you a nice manicure afterward.”

“And this is all on the house, you say?” Betsy asked. Being an old age pensioner meant she had to watch her pennies.

“Not exactly,” MacKenna said. “Tell her, Hols.”

She and Holly exchanged both knowing glances and barely concealed smirks.

Holly flicked a styling cape around Betsy’s shoulders. “This is courtesy of your secret admirer.”

“Nonsense. I’m too old to have a secret admirer.”

Holly dug into the pocket of her apron, pulled out a small envelope, and handed it over. “Apparently, you’re not.”

Betsy opened the envelope to a Christmas card featuring a kitten in a Santa hat and read the now familiar neat script inside.

Betsy,

You are beautiful inside and out, but I thought after all the effort you’ve gone to spoiling others this year, you deserve to be spoiled yourself.

Your secret admirer.

Inside Betsy’s rib cage, her eighty-something heart did a little pirouette. The same kind of leap her twenty-something heart had done when her future husband had caught her eye across a crowded dance hall.

“What does it say?” MacKenna asked.

“Never you mind.” Betsy snapped the card shut and stuffed it back into the envelope.

“Mrs. T, I do believe you’re blushing,” said Holly.

“C’mon, Betsy. Spill the beans,” said MacKenna. “Who do you think it is?”

Holly’s cousin had a glint of wickedness in her eyes as she set down the magazine and leaned forward in her chair, hands clasped in front of her. The classic gossip-receiving position—one Betsy knew well since she’d almost patented the move.

She tucked the envelope into her purse for further study later. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

There were suspicions, though, because her mama didn’t birth a fool and even eighty-something years later, she still had most of her marbles.

“Come on over to the wash station,” Holly said.

Betsy followed her and got settled in the chair, ordering her old muscles to relax at the sound of running water as Holly adjusted the temperature. Holly’s hands smoothed the warm water over her head. The coconutty scent of the shampoo curled into her nose, taking her back briefly to her younger days. Once, she and her husband had saved their pennies and gone to Fiji on a second honeymoon since they’d never really had a first. Palm trees and sand and coconut drinks—everything they’d dreamed of when planning their tropical island escape. The only thing missing had been the phone calls home to check on the kids, since children were the one thing she hadn’t been able to give her dear man.

“Do you know who’s behind this?” Betsy gave Holly her most imperial stare, which was tricky from her tilted back position at the sink.

MacKenna came to stand on the other side of Betsy’s chair and grinned down at her. “Telling you would ruin the fun.”

“Agreed,” said Holly above more sounds of running water. “It’s about time Cupid got you in the crosshairs.”

“Cupid, my wrinkled behind,” Betsy muttered. “I haven’t got room for a man in my life.”

Both Holly and MacKenna burst into whoops of laughter, Holly’s doubling over causing a spray of water to arc out of the sink and splatter on the floor.

Rutna came running out of the tiny staffroom, drawn by the hyena-like cackles of the two other women. “What so funny?” she demanded.

Holly got control of the spray attachment and gestured to Rutna to take over while she mopped up, still giggling the whole time.

“Betsy was just telling us how she doesn’t want a man in her life,” MacKenna said from somewhere off to the side of the salon. “Like that stopped her from playing matchmaker with Holly and me when we didn’t want a man in our lives.”

“And look how that turned out.” Holly handed Rutna a towel.

Rutna dried Betsy’s hair gently and helped her sit upright.

“Old cow like to eat young grass. Is Thai saying.” Rutna patted Betsy’s shoulder and shot her a sly smile. “Mean many things, but maybe nice young man make you happy.”

That set Holly and MacKenna laughing again, and Betsy found herself chuckling with them. Her days of romance and being wooed were well and truly over. Weren’t they?