Page 5 of It's the Worst Time of the Year

And then suddenly I saw her...

Bailey.

She stood in front of the elevator bank, clutching her messenger bag in one hand and looking down at her phone with the other. Her chestnut hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, and her fitted gray turtleneck hugged her frame in a way that made it impossible not to notice.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. She turned slightly, just enough for me to see her profile—the soft curve of her cheek, the faint freckles dusting her nose.

She looked exactly the same.

No. Not the same. More polished, more confident. But there was still a familiarity about her that made my chest tighten.

She didn’t see me.

The elevators dinged and the doors to one of the compartments slid open. Bailey looked up, offering a polite smile to the young mother next to her and patiently waiting while the rather harried-looking woman ushered three kids and a stroller into the elevator before stepping in after her. The doors slid shut, and I watched her go, my pulse pounding in my ears.

So much for my own compartmentalizing.

Theodore Snowcroft’s office was in the heart of Wintervale’s modest town hall. The building had an old-fashioned charm, with high ceilings and dark wood paneling that smelled faintly of polish and history.

Snowcroft himself was waiting for me in a small conference room, seated at the head of a long table. He stood as I entered, his posture straight and imposing despite his age.

“Mr. Wilder,” he boomed, extending a hand twice the size of my own.

“Mr. Snowcroft,” I replied, shaking his hand. His grip was firm, his gray eyes sharp and assessing.

“Thank you for coming all this way,” he said, gesturing for me to sit. “I trust you’ve reviewed the case.”

“I have,” I said, pulling out my briefcase and flipping it open. “The Barrington estate is in foreclosure, and you’re seeking to sell it to a commercial developer to fund infrastructure projects for the town.”

“Precisely.” Snowcroft leaned back slightly, his expression measured. “Wintervale is at a crossroads, Mr. Wilder. Our economy is struggling, our population is declining, and our infrastructure is crumbling. The Barrington property sits on a piece of prime real estate in this town, and frankly it represents an opportunity we can’t afford to waste.”

I nodded, glancing at the photos of the property in the file. Barrington Manor—or what was left of it—was a decaying relic of another era. Its once-grand façade was marred by peelingpaint and broken windows, and the surrounding grounds were overgrown and untamed.

“And the opposition?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

Snowcroft’s mouth tightened. “A certain Miss Edna Twinkleberry.”

I raised an eyebrow. “She claims to be a relative of the late Cyrus Barrington.”

“Claims,” Snowcroft pointedly repeated. “Her evidence is tenuous at best, and her proposal for the property is absurd. A cat sanctuary? Holiday-themed, no less. It’s an insult to the people of Wintervale.”

I leaned back in my chair, studying him. His tone was controlled, his words carefully chosen, but it was clear he was doing his best to keep his emotions in check, making me suspect there was more he wasn’t telling me.

“You have a history with Miss Twinkleberry, I presume,” I said, testing the waters.

Snowcroft’s jaw tightened. “What’s in the past is irrelevant to the needs of the city.”

His curt tone made it clear that the subject was off-limits.

“Understood,” I said, pivoting back to the case. “Then let’s focus on the facts. I’ll need detailed financial records, zoning ordinances, and any documentation that could support your claim.”

Snowcroft nodded. “You’ll have my full cooperation.”

Later that evening, back at the resort, I sat in my room with the case files spread out across the desk. The paperwork was straightforward enough: foreclosure proceedings, property appraisals, and legal correspondence. But my eyes kept drifting to a single page, the one that listed Bailey as opposing counsel.

I stared at her name as her image rose in my mind from earlier.

I closed the folder and leaned back in my chair, rubbing a hand over my face. It had been years since I’d last seen her, but I had to admit the memories felt as fresh as yesterday.

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