Read what happens when Ms. Scrooge encounters the Bad Boy of her Christmases past.

Excerpt from MUST LOVE MISTLETOE

As Bailey accelerated around the next corner, she could see a radioactive glow up the next block. The block of her childhood home. Spooked by the strange light, Bailey braked and peered into the distance. Maybe things had changed recently. One end of Coronado was fenced off as the North Island Naval Air Station. Perhaps the military had moved in on the residential community and built a new runway or something. Up ahead it was just that bright.

With a gentle foot on the accelerator, Bailey moved cautiously forward. At the corner of Walnut and Sixth, she stopped again, dazzled. Lights were everywhere. On mailboxes, flowerpots, bicycles. Across bushes like fishnets, rimming rooflines, marching up tree trunks, running over anything that didn’t move. Make that things that moved, too. A cat skipped past, wearing a collar studded with red and green Christmas bulbs.

And music. Piped out of windows and doors and from the mouths of plastic carolers, cardboard snowmen, and poster-painted plywood angels. “Hark the Herald” clashed with “Silent Night” clashed with “O Tannenbaum.”

“Oh, ton of crud,” Bailey cursed. They’d turned her block into Christmas Central. Giant-sized presents were stacked on porches. Overstuffed Santa-butts were heading down chimneys. Reindeer pawed at patches of grass.

And there, in the middle of the block, stood her childhood home. The solitary oasis of darkness. She headed for the simple porch light like it was a homing beacon. As she braked her car in the driveway, she glanced over at the neighboring drive, just a tire’s width away. A sleek SUV sat at rest and the dark gleam of it sent another spooky little chill down her spine. It didn’t look like the kind of car their eighty-something neighbor Alice Jacobson would drive. And there was a tasteful, lacy edging of icicle lights hanging from her eaves. In the old days, Christmas lights at Mrs. Jacobson’s meant only one thing.

Finn was back.

Her driver’s door jerked open.

Bailey gasped, her heart jumping, just like it used to when she saw those Christmas lights. When she saw Finn for the first time on his bi-annual vacation visits.

But of course it wasn’t Finn. Thank God. “Mr. Lantz.” Recognizing her mother’s across-the-street neighbor, she held her hand against her chest to calm her heart. “Good to see you.”

So much better than Finn, who she never expected to see again.

“Bailey-girl, it’s good to see you too.” He was beaming at her, the lights from the holiday ostentation reflecting off his bald head. “Your mother’s thrilled you’re coming home. Heck, we’re all thrilled.”

“Oh. Well. Nice.”

He was nodding. “Worried about the store, you know. It’s an institution.”

The albatross tugged hard on her neck. “A landmark.”

“Exactly.” He patted her shoulder as she slipped out of the car. “But you’ll take care of everything, sharp girl like you.”

Surrounded by overdone dazzle, nearly deafened by the dueling carols, Bailey thought longingly of the quiet and order of her anonymous Los Angeles condo building. The housing association there posted rules and regulations that prohibited just such displays as those that were right now smothering her.

It was why she’d chosen the place.

Mr. Lantz didn’t seem to notice her disquiet. He beamed at her again. “I know you’ll fix things. Save the store, save the season.”

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 25th—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.

Another excerpt from Must Love Mistletoe

Bailey looked over at her old friend Tanner.  “I’m here for Finn.  His grandmother sent me to bring him home.”

“Sent you?” Tanner echoed.

“I live right next door, if you remember.  I promised I’d rescue him, since he’s apparently pretty, um, intoxicated.  Is he here?  Have you seen him?”

Tanner and the bartender, Troy, exchanged a glance. It must have spoken volumes, because Troy backed off with a little wave while Tanner crowded her toward the door. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll make sure I confiscate his keys. He’ll, uh, stay the night with me.  Or, uh, something.”

“So you’ve seen him?”  She rose on tiptoe to peer over his shoulder.  “He’s here?”

“You bet.  Sure.  And he’s fine.”  Tanner kept moving her backward.  “I’ll take care of it.  Make sure he comes out okay. You have my word.  Scout’s honor.  Cross my heart.”

Bailey’s eyes narrowed.  She didn’t manage a law firm peopled by a bunch of motor-mouth attorneys without learning a thing or two about what a bunch of fast talk could really mean.  Planting her feet on the sticky floor, she crossed her arms over her chest.  “What aren’t you telling me?  I’m not leaving until I know he’s okay.  I promised his grandmother, Tanner.  I won’t go until I at least see him.”

He rubbed his hand over his stubbled chin.  “Listen, Bailey.  Finn…Finn hits the bottle kinda hard, now and then.  When he does, I watch out for him.  He’s not going to get into any real trouble.”

Her stomach clenched.  Not any “real” trouble.  What did Tanner mean by that?  She pictured a broken nose, bloody lips.  Finn picking bar fights.  Or worse, Finn stumbling around in the dark, half-blind and prey to criminals, pickpockets.  Maybe even terrorists.  Remember, he was a federal agent.

She clutched Tanner’s arm, even as she realized she might be overreacting just a tad.  “Take me to him.  I’ll get him home right now.”

“Bailey—”

“Tanner, I’m not leaving until I at least see him for myself.”

The guy who’d been the lead story on more than one infotainment television program groaned.  “You don’t—”

“I certainly do.”

Shaking his head, Tanner turned.  “My life sucks,” he muttered.  Then he pulled her by the wrist, leading her left to a part of the bar she’d missed before.  Jutting off from the main area was a smaller room, filled with more tables and chairs, another couple of pool tables, and in one corner…Santa.

Santa Finn, with a bevy of giggling beauties lined up before him, all ready to sit on his lap and tell the pirate what they wanted for Christmas.

A red-and-white fleece hat perched sloppily on his dark head.  Candy canes poked from the pocket of his shirt.  And after each woman whispered her secrets in his oh-so-eager ear, he gave them a piece of candy…and a lingering kiss.

Something told her Finn Jacobson wouldn’t relish her rescue.

Which was exactly why she took her place at the back of the line.