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Madelyn’s coy grin bloomed.
“Hello, girls, it’s so very nice to see you again.”
Holy kindergarten flashback!
She studied the newcomer. With her golden hair in a low bun and kind blue eyes, there was no doubt that this was their beloved teacher.
“Miss Miliken?”
“I wondered if you’d recognize me,” the woman said as she embraced them one by one before settling next to Madelyn. “I go by Mrs. James, but please, call me Pamela.”
“And you’re really Madelyn’s niece?” Charlotte asked.
“I am,” their former teacher answered. “But I wasn’t supposed to be.”
“I’m not sure I’m following,” Rowen said.
Pamela shared a knowing look with the matchmaker. “When I was six, my parents passed away in a boating accident, and I was sent to live with my only living relative—my mother’s brother. My uncle Charles.”
“Charles was my first client in the United States,” Madelyn continued. “You see, I come from a long line of matchmakers. My grandmother was known throughout Europe. She’d made many influential matches and saw the gift in me. When I was a young woman, she sent me on my first matchmaking assignment. But it wasn’t to make a love match. She’d asked me to match a wealthy single male caregiver with a nanny for his niece, but I failed.”
“I don’t know if I’d call it a failure, auntie,” Pamela said, then squeezed Madelyn’s hand.
“The man owned real estate across New England. When I met him, he was rigid, far too arrogant for my liking, and to my great irritation, devastatingly handsome. His name was Charles Malone.”
“Malone?” Raz repeated.
“My uncle thought he needed a nanny, but what he required—what we both required—was love,” Pamela finished.
“I broke the rules,” Madelyn said with a coy grin. “I married my boss and became an aunt. I thought my grandmother would be livid. But she wasn’t. She told me that I’d found my matchmaker’s calling. You see, I don’t believe in coincidences. A matchmaker is blessed with a sixth sense. We get a feeling when we meet people or even hear about them.”
“And you got a feeling about us, didn’t you?” Libby asked.
“I did. I learned about you through Pamela’s letters. One day, she sent me a beautiful scarf along with a photo of her kindergarten class and a letter. Her words distracted me from the pain and made me laugh with tales from her first year of teaching kindergarten. A letter would arrive every week, and four little girls used to dominate the page. Penny Fennimore, Charlotte Ames, Libby Lamb, and the often mischievous and always spirited Harper Presley.”
Oh boy!
“Sassy since day one,” Landon remarked, then kissed her temple.
“While I was undergoing physical therapy and learning to walk again,” Madelyn continued, “I’d wear the red scarf and think of my dear Pamela and those four girls. You were never far from my thoughts. Every time I put on this scarf, I thought of you and wondered where you were in your lives. When my work brought me to Denver to match four single male caregivers, I knew it was fate.”
“You knew from the start that our nanny matches would turn into love matches?” Charlotte asked.
Madelyn folded her hands in her lap. “Not necessarily. Finding love isn’t about matching two people who automatically fit together. There’s no person out there who can fill the hole in your heart. That work must be done by the individual. Sometimes, the work requires a spark—something earth-shattering and mind-blowing that makes you question everything you thought you knew about yourself, and that’s precisely what these four men required. There’s also a delicate balance when making a nanny love match because, of course, the child’s needs supersede that of the adults. It takes a special person to love another woman’s child like her own. There’s always a risk, and true transformation isn’t easy. It requires a challenge. Luckily, my grandmother seems to have been correct. I’ve got a knack for choosing which individuals will perfectly challenge each other.”
“So there is some magic to it?” Penny pressed.
“Why, of course, there is. Look around. Look at your friends. Look at the children. Feel the bond you’ve created. Magic surrounds us. The trick is allowing yourself to see it and then giving yourself permission to believe in it.”
“Wow,” Libby whispered.
Raz sniffled. “That was bloody touching.”
“Seriously, how do you do it, lady?” Mitch blubbered, crying like he’d been peeling onions.
Penny handed Rowen a tissue from her bag.
“How are you doing, heartthrob?” she asked, checking on her husband.
