Must Love Mistletoe

Chapter One

Fingers hovering at the switches by the front door, Bailey Sullivan glanced over her shoulder at the interior of The Perfect Christmas and wondered what would happen if she set Santa's beard on fire.

But the happy, arsonistic notion died a swift death. That wasn't the answer to her problems. Surely the manufacturers of the dozens—hundreds!—of Santas in her family's shop would have treated their respective fabric, resin, wood, or cotton-floss facial hair with flame retardant.

Damn it all.

And anyway, a visit from the Coronado, California, fire department would only make bigger the mess she'd been forced back home to put to rights. With a resigned shrug, she doused the lights and cut off Marilyn mid–"Santa Baby." For the first time in ten hours Bailey's ears experienced a grateful reprieve from holiday assault. Until the rattle of the jingle bells as she exited the front door, that is. But that noise was mercifully brief, and after she locked the door behind her, she closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the cold plate glass.

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