LITMIR.BIZ

       Prologue

      “You haven’t finally decided to sell that beautiful house of yours and downsize to something a little smaller and more modern, now have you?”

      It wasn’t really a question. Maizie Connors, sitting opposite the attractive woman in Jack’s Hideaway, Bedford’s newest trendy restaurant, knew better than to think that Charlotte, a woman she had known for close to forty years, would ever sell the house she loved so much. When she’d taken the unexpected call from her old friend that morning, Maizie had suspected something was up, but she’d instinctively known it had nothing to do with Charlotte making use of Maizie’s successful real estate business.

      “What?” Charlotte asked. Sitting ramrod straight, doing her best to appear cheerful, Charlotte Stewart was caught off guard by the question. She also felt somewhat embarrassed, not just because of the deception she’d allowed to continue, but because of the real reason for her getting in contact with Maizie in the first place. She cleared her throat and stalled for time. Trying to get her thoughts together in order to find the right words. So far, they had frustratingly managed to elude her. “Oh, no, I haven’t,” she confessed, then added in a sincere moment of truth, “I don’t think I’ll ever sell that house. It’s where all the good memories are.”

      Maizie smiled, nodding her head knowingly. Unlike Charlotte, who had gone stylishly gray, Maizie’s short bob was a light golden blond, the same color it had been when she’d first met her late husband all those years ago.

      “I didn’t think so. So, Charlotte,” she asked, getting comfortable, “what’s this lunch really about?”

      To be honest, Maizie was fairly certain she knew the answer to her question. As a successful Realtor, she had started her agency after her husband passed away years ago. It did a brisk business; but these days, she was just as accustomed to getting calls from people who sought her services for the business that she ran on the side as she was from people who wanted to either buy or sell houses.

      Maizie, along with her two lifelong best friends, had an aptitude for making matches.

      Lasting matches.

      When Charlotte called, asking to see her over lunch, the woman had murmured something about needing advice and alluded to it being about selling her house. Surprised—since Maizie knew how attached her friend was to the only place she had ever called home once Charlotte’s late husband had slipped a ring on her finger, Maizie had played along

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