Bailey sighed, wondering what he’d think if he knew she hated the holiday. If he knew that from the day she’d left home she’d never once celebrated on December 25-except for the fact that she didn’t have to celebrate it at all. What he’d think if he realized that the “sharp girl” assigned to save The Perfect Christmas was in fact a certified, holiday-hating Scrooge.

Bailey speed-rolled her suitcase along the path to her mother’s front porch, eager to escape the cacophony of merry tunes tumbling down the narrow street. But with the solid brick steps leading to the front door beneath her feet, she paused.

Just as The Perfect Christmas had been her maternal grandparents’ store, this had been her maternal grandparents’ house. The most stable thing in her life. The idea gave a little lift to her spirits, and the weight of the albatross eased some too.

Maybe she’d overreacted to the phone calls. Maybe she only needed a face-to-face with her mother to straighten out all their lives. Mom, here’s the deal. Dad left, and now Dan. Get over it, get back in the store, and I’ll get on my way.

It could work.

On the strength of that thought, she pushed open the front door, wearing an almost-smile. “Mom?” she called out. “It’s me. I’m here.”

Silence was the only reply, but there was the scent of food in the air, and her mother had said she’d be home all evening. Bailey left her suitcase in the entry hall and wandered past the living room in the direction of the kitchen. “Mom?”

A light glowed over the stovetop, but there wasn’t a plate on the counter or any dishes in the sink. Ghost fingers feathered over Bailey’s skin as she hurried to the staircase. The walls were lined with photos, and she couldn’t help but slow to look at them. Baby Bailey with two teeth and a pink-bowed topknot. Her brother, Harry, in footed pajamas. Stiff school photos, group shots of gymnastic teams, Little League, soccer.