Hailey and Ian converged on me as I entered White Glove Agency. They both had panicked looks on their faces. “Jesus, f’ing Christ, I was only gone a couple of hours,” I muttered under my breath.

A silver-haired dapper man in his sixties rose from his chair in our shabby chic waiting room and extended his hand.

He had to be Violet’s mobster uncle. The famous Vincent Accardi. “Hello, Mr. Accardi. Nice to meet you.” I shook his hand. “I can’t wait to talk with you about your concerns regarding your niece, Violet. Walk with me to my office, yes?”

“Perfect,” he said. “Lovely to make your acquaintance as well.”

“Miss Bauer,” Hailey said. “We’re still re-modeling your office, remember?”

Ah yes. My office. The cubicle.

Hailey waggled her eyebrows and pointed in the opposite direction toward the chic conference room.

A few moments later I sat across the distressed white stained, recycled barn wood table from Violet’s uncle. I tried to look sensible because I didn’t think I could pull off powerful, or ‘boss.’ “How can I help you today, Mr. Accardi?”

“I hear you’re the matchmaker in charge of finding suitable men that might be an appropriate mate for my niece.”

“Yes.” I nodded. “I know my first three choices didn’t yield positive results for your lovely niece, whom I adore, by the way—”

“She is adorable,” he said. “That’s a detriment.”

“No. Adorable is good. I’ve got a few more choices for Violet that I’m lining up. Narrowing down more suitable matches for her.”

“You can stop that as of right now.” He pulled a checkbook out of his suit coat, tossed it on the table, and ripped off a single check. “Who do I make this out to? You?”

“Sorry?”

“I’ll pay you whatever you want to not find the right man for my niece. Name your price.”

“I’m confused.”

“Look. I’m a busy man. Your business is charming, really. Pretty. Sweet. Picture perfect. I get the whole lovey-dovey ‘matchmaking’ vibe. My sister-in-law wants to marry Violet off so she can have grandbabies. My brother, the dork, goes along with anything his wife says. But there’s a problem.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Violet Accardi is already promised in marriage to a man who will never be on your list.”

“Huh? What?”

“Ms. Bauer. I thought we might help each other out.” He scribbled out a check. “Do each other a professional kindness. Violet is off the market. She’s already taken. This will refund the deposit that has been made and give you and the agency a nice bonus.” He slid the paper across the table.

I took it from his outstretched finger. Sixty thousand!

“Thirty to refund Violet’s retainer and thirty to split as a commission between the agency and you.”

My hand trembled as I slid the check back to him. “Unfortunately, I can’t accept this. Matchmakers are held to a professional standard, Mr. Accardi. If we can be bought off, what’s to stop all sorts of nefarious things from happening? That said, I thank you for your kindness.”

“Violet told me you’d say that.” He tore up the check.

I looked at him confused. “She did?”

“I had to try.” He stood up. “I’m her favorite uncle.”

“And try you did.”

“There will be hell to pay if she doesn’t marry the man she is promised to.”

“You’re not going to, you know, do anything rash if I continue to set her up with new men. Right?”

“Violet said I wasn’t allowed to murder anyone. There’s a clause in her contract.”

I coughed. “Yes.”

“Joking! Do your job. I’ll handle everything on my end. Nice meeting you.” He shook my hand and glanced at his Rolex. “Places to go, people to see.” He turned and left the conference room.

I walked into the hallway and stared at Ian, Hailey, and Mr. Black. “Violet Accardi is promised to another man.”

“Interesting,” Mr. Black said. “Need help?”

“I’ve got this.”

“Thank God someone does,” Mr. Black said. He turned and walked away.

“That’s a lot of drama, mama,” Ian said, and followed on his heels.

“Does this mean you can’t set her up with Joe?” Hailey asked.

“It means I’ll find out.”

* * *

I texted Violet. She responded that she was out of town on business and wouldn’t be available to talk until Thursday.

I had a few phone conversations with Tyler, finally meeting up with him at a microbrewery. We downed some beers, ate some skins, and I talked him off the dangerous cliff of pursuing the eighteen-year-old girl from the fame-addicted family that had three television shows.

I spent hours paging through information, magazine articles, and recommendations. I made phone calls, talked to people, and set Tyler up with an assortment of available, appropriate matches: a super cute singer who would soon be crushing it as a pop star, a fashion photographer who was hitting the big leagues, and a well-respected sommelier.

It had only been a few days, but I missed Joe Delacroix. Yes, I knew he wasn’t mine to have, but every time I mentioned this to my heart it told me to shut the fuck up. One night, in a desperate moment, I went jogging, strangely running the same route I’d taken with Violet, ending within a few blocks of the hotel. I removed my orange beanie and stared up at the gorgeous building. I wondered if he was inside or in his apartment only a few blocks away.

I called Marte to check up on her. She invited me to a last-minute holiday get-together Friday night at her place. Her sprained ankle was still healing and it was too soon for her to go back to anyplace slick, like the spa, where her footing felt unsteady.

“What should I bring?” I asked.

“Your fabulous attitude. And some cheese. I have plenty of crackers.”

“Will Joe be there?”

“This is a girlie party,” she said. “Think of it as the holiday spa experience that’s not at the spa.”

I Facetimed with mom. She’d had a Lyme disease flare-up and asked if I’d changed my mind and would come home for Christmas. Or course I wanted to be there for her, but I still felt apprehensive about going back to Oconomowoc. It had been a year since that messed up night. The memories might have faded but they hadn’t disappeared.

I filled in more details on Joe’s intake form, and Googled around, searching for ex-girlfriends, but none showed. His Instagram page was pathetic. I didn’t want to set him up with Violet or anyone else for that matter. Not until I’d cleared it with her first.

I day dreamed about him. Maybe he’d gone back to Whole Foods and pursued the long-haired redhead with the perfect ass. I hoped he wouldn’t get in trouble if Bruno came home and caught them together. And then I realized that I was being a total moron, projecting my own insecurities.

As promised, Violet got back to me on Thursday at 8 p.m.

I smiled.

I clicked the ‘End’ button, stared at my phone morosely, put it on the desk and sighed.

“What’s the problem, kiddo?”

I glanced back up. Mr. Black was standing next to me.

“I feel like I’m taking two steps forward and three back. I don’t know if I’m any good at this line of work. My feelings are all over the map. Sometimes I think I should just move back home. Or maybe I should just get a job as a barista and call this matchmaking thing a day.”

“Aha,” he said. “Do you think you’d be happier if you went back to prepping coffee for the masses?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. It might be simpler.”

“Not really. Someone always complains that their mochaccino was supposed to be peppermint, not pumpkin.”

I smiled. “And then some other asshole says that they wanted a Venti not a Grande.”

“Ask me your real question, Charlotte.”

I sighed. “I think I should set up Joe Delacroix with Violet Accardi.”

“What’s stopping you?”

I shrugged. “Other than her uncle killing him?”

“I see,” he said. “It’s complicated.”

“It is.” I bit my lip. If only he knew…

“You’ll figure it out. That’s what real matchmakers do. It’s like a mystery, a grand puzzle. You’re just putting the pieces together. Soon you’ll see the bigger picture.”

“I hope so.”

“Don’t forget White Glove’s Christmas party next week. You weren’t around for last year’s. It’s not just employees but also clients, friends, biz associates, and general ne'er do wells. We write the whole thing off because we are desperately hoping a few of our regulars might spark to each other. Perhaps we’ll luck out, and true love will blossom on this blessed night and bring us a much needed commission check.”

“Cool,” I said.

“And Charlotte?”

“Yes?”

“You’ve been looking a little glum lately. It’s almost Christmas. Go forth and find your holiday cheer. I have a feeling it – as well as your answers – are out there, quite possibly wearing a big bow and looking for you.”