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Snow.

My heart squeezed at the thought of the last snowfall.

Of who I’d shared it with.

How I had hurt him.

By the time I reached my destination, I wasn’t sure I was in the right place. Most of the lights were off, and the building was unusually quiet. I opened the door to the first conference room, where we usually did projects like this, and took a step back.

Mr. Bailey sat at the table with his sleeves rolled up, sliding paper protectors onto small white candles before moving them into a box to the side. He looked up at me and smiled. “Oh, good! I was wondering if I’d have any help.”

“Is no one else here?” I stepped cautiously into the room, praying James wasn’t waiting around the corner. But the room was empty and quiet except for the instrumental Christmas music playing on Mr. Bailey’s phone.

“Nope. Just me.” He stopped working and clasped his hands in front of him. “Your aunt told me they needed help, made it sound like a national crisis, actually…”

“To her, everything is,” I mumbled. Of course she sent him and then asked me.

Those Mancini women truly have no chill.

Mr. Bailey chuckled. “Well, I was beginning to get a bit bored at the B&B anyway, so I didn’t mind coming out. I tried to get James to join me, but…” He paused and looked away. “He said he wasn’t feeling well.”

He’s not the only one.

I shrugged out of my coat and draped it over the nearest chair. “Well, between the two of us, it won’t take long.”

He moved his hand over his phone. “I can turn this off if you don’t like it.”

“Oh, no. Music is great, thanks.” I grabbed a pile of bare candles from a box and put them in front of me before doing the same with the paper protectors.

“I find that I need some kind of noise to get work done now.” Mr. Bailey went back to sliding the paper shields onto the candles. “I guess the city will do that to you.”

“I’m the opposite, actually,” I said. “When I sit down to write, I don’t want any noise. I think it’s because I’m constantly surrounded by it…from my family, I mean.” I moved the five candles I fixed with protectors into the same box Mr. Bailey used for his.

“James tells me you’re going to college in the city next year.” Mr. Bailey lowered the volume on the music. “Need a break from small-town life, eh?”

I smiled. “Something like that. But also, I feel like I need to see more of the world if I want to be a better writer, you know?”

“I do.” He nodded. “I couldn’t wait to break away from home when I was your age, but my situation was, well…a bit different than yours.”

I didn’t ask why, and I didn’t offer anything else because something told me he would keep going, and that this moment, learning about his past, would be an important one.

Mr. Bailey cleared his throat. “My parents fought all the time, and I was an only child, so I had nowhere to hide from it, no one to really talk to. Going home was torturous. So I stayed out late with my camera, taking pictures of other homes and places I wished I could run to.”

Oh…

True, I’d wanted to hide more than once from my family, but I couldn’t imagine what it must’ve felt like to never want to go home.

“I think James uses music to escape the same way,” I finally said.

“Perhaps.” He leaned back and clasped his hands over his belly. “This town…it gave us both an escape I didn’t realize we needed.” He paused, and then added, “And you made him smile more than I had seen in a long time.”

Doubtful. I scoffed as my chest tightened with guilt. “He seems like someone who is always smiling.”

Mr. Bailey moved his head from side to side. “He used to. The, um, divorce between his mother and me changed that.”

Changed you too, apparently.

I pushed forward, laying my hands back on the table. “Mr. Bailey, can I ask you a question?”