Chapter 1
Cassie Hayward hated Christmas.
Candy canes made her cringe.
Santa Claus made her shudder.
And tinsel… don’t even get her started on the lowliest of holiday decorations.
To Cassie, arriving in the quaint, postcard-perfect town of Poppy Creek days before December was akin to stepping foot on the studio lot of a holiday-themed horror flick.
Murder in Mayberry: Poison in Plum Pudding.
Chuckling at her fictitious movie title, Cassie clutched her insulated thermos filled with life-inducing caffeine. She’d savored every sip of the earthy, exotic Sumatra blend while she drove the three-plus hours northeast from her apartment in San Francisco. Now, huddled against the winter morning chill, Cassie relished the piping-hot liquid as it warmed her from the inside out. Plus, her favorite beverage had a special way of grounding her, providing a sense of calm in less than ideal circumstances.
And being in Poppy Creek definitely qualified as less than ideal.
Even if itwastechnically her hometown.
As her heeled ankle boots tapped against the cobblestone sidewalk, she tried to ignore the extravagant holiday displays crowding the shop windows of the Western-style shiplap buildings. But the further she walked down Main Street, the more claustrophobic she felt.
The square configuration of the town center meant all four streets, with their garland-entwined lampposts and bedecked storefronts, seemed to close in around her. Cassie picked up her pace, scanning the whimsical names of the various establishments as she breezed past them.
Thistle & Thorn: Curiosities and Collectibles.
Mac’s Mercantile.
The Buttercup Bistro.
Hank’s Hardware and Video Rental.
Cassie did a double take. Video rental? Hadn’t the town heard of Netflix?
Shaking her head in disbelief, she glanced at the crisp white envelope in her hand. The return address read L. Davis Law Office. Squinting across the town square, she studied the surrounding buildings again. Only one storefront on the far corner lacked signage. At least, she couldn’t see it behind the absurdly enormous wreath and larger-than-life nutcrackers flanking the front door.
Cassie sighed. Just her luck. She could only hope her late grandmother’s attorney, L. Davis, wasn’t clothed in a flimsy red suit and Santa hat. And if he eventriedto hand her a candy cane…
Cassie wrinkled her nose at the thought.
Rather than continue down Main Street toward Dandelion Drive, Cassie decided to cut across the expansive lawn in the center of town. A gentle gust of wind fluttered the fringe of her plaid scarf, carrying the festive aroma of pine garlands and sugary cinnamon rolls.
Good grief, Poppy Creek evensmelledlike Christmas.
Thud!
Startled, Cassie turned to see a baseball roll down the angled roof of a white gazebo and plop into an oversized mitt worn by a small child. After brushing aside his shaggy blond bangs, the boy plucked the baseball from the tattered leather glove and lobbed it back onto the roof.
Thud!
Cassie’s features softened as she watched the ball roll past the gingerbread trim and topple, once again, into the boy’s outstretched hand. While she’d never played catch a day in her life, the sight stirred memories Cassie wanted to forget. Memories of lonely Sunday mornings when her mother had yet to return from her designated booth at the neighborhood bar.
Cassie tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, as though sweeping away the unwelcome thoughts. Glancing over her shoulder one last time, she caught sight of the boy scrambling up the side of the gazebo. Teetering precariously on the railing, he stretched his scrawny arms toward the roof, where his ball lay wedged in a crevice. When he couldn’t reach, he jumped, missed the edge, and tumbled to the ground.
Cassie’s internal debate lasted only a second.
Crossing the distance, she set her belongings on the gazebo steps and lifted the boy to his feet. “Are you okay?”
He nodded, wiping both hands on his grass-stained jeans.
