“You know, I always thought your mother didn’t like me,” he said. “But I was wrong, Hannah. Just listen to this…”

Hannah had all she could do not to groan as the mayor pulled a copy of her mother’s book from his pocket. He flipped to a page he’d marked with a square pink sticky from Marge Beeseman’s desk, and began to read.

“His deep eyes sparkled with humor and gleamed with a keen intelligence. Now tell me that isn’t me!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Hannah said quite truthfully.

“And how about this? As he ran his fingers through his hair, a lock eluded him and dropped low to his forehead, giving him a boyish attitude and reminding her of a joyful childhood spent with boisterous friends. Your mother nailed it, Hannah. That’s exactly what my childhood was like, and she knows it because she used to be my summer babysitter.”

“That’s just amazing,” Hannah said, and it was. It seemed three people thought Delores had written about them!

“Well, I’d better let you get back to work. I just wanted to tell you how pleased I am that Delores acknowledged me by making me the hero of her book. Do you think I should thank her?”

“No! I mean…” Hannah thought fast. If Mayor Bascomb mentioned it to Delores, she might deny it, and then there’d be trouble. “I think Mother would be embarrassed that you unraveled her little secret. And she’d probably say it wasn’t you, just to throw you off the track.”

Mayor Bascomb thought about that for a moment and then he nodded. “You’re absolutely right. I won’t say anything about it.”

During the next hour, no less than five people came up to Hannah to tell her they were the heroine or hero of A Match for Melissa. They all had their own reasons. Claire Rodgers told Hannah, a trifle hesitantly, that she thought she might be the heroine because of the way Delores had described the color of her gown.

“Listen to this, Hannah,” she’d said. “The sea-green color set off her sparkling eyes perfectly, and the vivid hue accentuated her flawless skin. I wore a dress just like that to church, and your mother asked me to describe the color. And then she said it went perfectly with my eyes and my skin.”

“Amazing,” Hannah had said, for the fourth time.

The next to corner Hannah had been Bonnie Surma. “Oh, Hannah!” Bonnie had said, smiling so widely Hannah wondered if the corners of her mouth might crack. “I think your mother modeled the heroine of her book after me!”

“Really?” Hannah had asked, wondering which phrase Bonnie would use to substantiate her claim.