Page 25 of Meet Me on Mistletoe Lane

Where the heck even are the fire alarms?

“Wow, Sam.” Leo patted his arm tenderly. “You look like I do when Mom makes me stop playing Zelda.”

James chuckled, which only made Sam’s face flush redder.

Thankfully, Mr. Bailey stepped in. “Please, lead the way, Ms. Mancini, so we can see more of this…charming town.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

By the time we made it outside of The Market, everyone had their businesses up and running pretty smoothly. Since I was volunteered for this lovely assignment with zero prep time, I made up my route on the spot, picking out places I felt sure would win over Mr. Bailey at first glance.

Eve’s Drop was first on my list because everyone knew caffeine and pastries were the way to anyone’s heart, even one as small as Mr. Grinch’s. The warm smells of hazelnut and nutmeg wafted out into the street as we neared the front entrance, which had an additional poinsettia opposite the snowman. I elbowed Sam and gave him a secret thumbs-up, but he gave his typical “no big deal” shrug before he opened the door for our guests.

Jazzy Christmas music played over Bluetooth speakers, and most of the tables were occupied with familiar faces and a few tourists. The display case was full of fresh savory and sweet options, like her spinach and sausage quiche bites, bacon and egg pockets, cinnamon streusel muffins, and (unburned) white chocolate and raspberry snowmen-shaped scones. The Baileys moved to the side, where Mr. Bailey took a phone call as James read the menu aloud, occasionally tapping his dad’s shoulder to try to get his attention.

Jo waved Sam and me over from behind the counter. “Hey, guys! Did you come in to escape the cold claws of the new Scrooge in town?”

My chest tightened. “Shh, Jo. Not now—”

“I heard he makes Krampus look like Cindy Lou Who.” She laughed, oblivious to Sam and me jerking our heads to the left.

“I’ve never been a fan of that myth, actually.” Mr. Bailey pocketed his phone and joined us at the register.

Maybe the fire alarm would go off in here?

Eve already burned something once today. She could totally do it again.

“A bit dark, even for someone with cold claws like myself,” Mr. Bailey added, adjusting his tie.

Jo’s face turned ashen, and her green eyes stopped blinking.

“Jo, this is Mr. Bailey. The lawyer appointed to Mr. Paxton’s estate,” Sam said slowly.

“And I’m James, a junior from East Ember Academy, son of Krampus, and heir to cynicism and contempt.” James smiled and stuck his hand forward.

I cackled before I could cover it up.

“Honestly, James,” Mr. Bailey muttered, shaking his head. “I’ll take a coffee. Black, please.”

“Like his soul,” James whispered, making Jo and me giggle. “And I’ll have…” He had raised his voice and was looking at the chalkboard menu behind the counter. “The gingerbread latte, please. And a muffin.”

“Liquid sugar,” Mr. Bailey mumbled.

“ ’Tis the season!”

Sam chortled this time, surprisingly, before I spoke up. “Jo makes those.” I pointed to the oversize muffins in the display case. “And the breakfast pockets and quiche. She’s going to culinary school next year. We’ll be in New York City together, actually.”

“For real?” James asked, leaning an elbow on the counter as Jo handed Mr. Bailey his coffee and then went to work on James’s latte. “Culinary school must be intense. I mean, based on what I’ve seen on The Bear. Do you want to be a pastry chef or like an executive—”

“James,” Mr. Bailey hissed. “Let the girl do her job so we can be on our way, please.”

James immediately deflated.

Geez.

What was so wrong with James showing interest in Jo’s dreams?

We waited in awkward silence for the next two minutes, while Jo finished ringing up their order, before continuing the tour.

Both Baileys stayed quiet as I showed them the sheriff’s office, explaining its distinction as a historic landmark, as it had been here since the Civil War, and then the Mullings Creek Library, pointing to the brickwork from the original one that burned down in the 1980s. But James finally perked up outside of Chordcrafters Music Shop. “Whoa, check out the vinyl!” He pressed his face and hands against the glass like a little kid. “And that seven-string guitar! Oh man, they’ve even got a jazz box!” He turned around and quickly frowned at his dad, who was busy swiping away on his phone. “Dad, remember Granddad’s jazz box?”