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She talked to Candlewick first, calling and asking to speak to the owner, who was usually there in the morning’s dealing with paperwork and such. She was not going to miss that dinner if she could help it. But from his initial response, it wasn’t sounding good.

“I completely understand, Evan,” she said, keeping her voice warm and professional despite her frustration. “I know how busy you are during the holiday season. I’m hoping we can reschedule for early next week when I’m back in town.”

Evan’s voice came through the speakers, apologetic but firm. “Next week is going to be tough. We’re booked solid through New Year’s. Maybe we could do something in January?”

Layla felt her jaw tighten slightly, but she kept her expression neutral even though no one could see her. January felt like a lifetime away, and she’d been looking forward to this particular piece for weeks. And Kirkland was probably just going to assign it to someone who could take over the reservation for this week, instead.

“I understand,” Layla said, although the words felt hollow. “My boss will reach out about having someone take the standing reservation. I’m sure whoever he sends will do just as good of a piece.”

She wasn’t sure of that at all, but what else was she going to say? The last thing she needed was to make this situation worse.

They exchanged a few more pleasantries before ending the call, and Layla immediately pressed the button to dial her next contact. She had three more interviews to reschedule, and she wanted to get through them all before she reached Fir Tree Grove.

The truth was, these calls could have waited until Monday. None of them were so urgent that they couldn’t be handled after the weekend. And if they did, Sarah would have handled them. But making them now, keeping her mind occupied with the work that actually mattered to her, felt grounding somehow. Each conversation was a reminder of her real life—the important features, the prestigious restaurants, the influential people she interviewed regularly. This assignment in Fir Tree Grove was just a blip, a minor inconvenience she needed to get through before returning to the work she’d built her reputation on.

Her next call was with Elena, one of the homeowners she was supposed to interview. That conversation went more smoothly, with Elena readily agreeing to reschedule for the following Tuesday and promising to tell Sarah or Kirkland, if they called, that she wanted to interview with Layla. The next homeowner said the same, with only the third insisting that only this week would do. Layla let it go, assuming that if one interview was done by someone else, it wouldn’t mean she’d have to let the piece go altogether.

She called the boutique owners as well, with middling success. But regardless, by the time Layla had worked through her list, she felt more centered, more like herself. Once this was over, she reminded herself, she would get back to the work she enjoyed. She just had to get through this negligible assignment in Fir Tree Grove that Kirkland had fixated on for some reason.

The landscape around her had changed quite a bit during the calls. The highway had given way to smaller roads, the dense forests opening up to reveal rolling hills covered in fresh snow. Quaint farms dotted the countryside, their red barns looking picture-perfect against the white landscape. According to her GPS, she was only ten minutes from Fir Tree Grove now.

As she crested a hill, the town suddenly spread out before her in the valley below.

Layla slowed the car slightly, taking in the view.

It was picturesque, she had to admit. There was no denying that. The town looked like something straight out of a holiday movie, with its neat Main Street lined with brick buildings, Victorian houses along neatly kept streets, a church steeple rising against the winter sky, and snow covering everything in a pristine blanket of white. But what really caught her attention was the Christmas decorations.

They were everywhere.

At least three-quarters of the buildings were fully decorated, and a good many of the houses, despite it only being the first week of December. The rest, she saw as she drove through the beginning streets, appeared to be in the works. Lights wrapped around every lamppost, garlands hung from every storefront, and even from this distance she could see a massive Christmas tree in what must be the town square. Wreaths adorned doors, bows festooned windows, and there seemed to be more tinsel and holly than she’d seen in her entire life.

“Goodness,” she muttered, although not unkindly. “They really went all out.”

As she drove down into the town proper, the decorations became even more elaborate. A lighted banner stretched across the entrance to Main Street and declared “WELCOME TO Fir Tree Grove - WHERE CHRISTMAS MAGIC LIVES!” in letters that must have been three feet tall. Oversized candy canes lined the sidewalks, the kind that lit up at night. Store windows competed with each other in holiday displays: one with a winter wonderland scene featuring animated elves, another displaying a working Christmas village set that took up an entire storefront, and in yet another what appeared to be a recreation of Santa’s workshop complete with moving mechanical toys.

Layla felt her lips twitch into a slight smirk. It was almost too much. Over-the-top didn’t even begin to cover it. This wasn’t just Christmas spirit; this was Christmas on steroids. Sure, it made the town a tourist destination during the holidays but it struck her as a bit… well, goofy, if she was being honest with herself.

She caught herself rolling her eyes at a particularly elaborate display—someone had apparently decided their business needed not one but three separate Christmas trees visible from the street, each decorated in a different theme.

This was what Richard had sent her to cover. This was the “important assignment” that had pulled her away from real journalism. A puff piece about a small town that had gone overboard with holiday decorations.

“Just get through it,” she said aloud to herself, navigating slowly down Main Street as people crossed in front of her car, laden with shopping bags. “Write a nice feature about the charming Christmas town, do it well because you’re a professional, and you’ll be back in Portland by Sunday night. Back to your real life.”

Her phone buzzed in the cupholder, and she glanced down to see a text from her mother. She’d answer that in a minute, once she found her hotel.

The GPS directed her to turn left off Main Street, taking her down a quieter residential road lined with Victorian houses, each one more elaborately decorated than the last. Two more turns and the mechanical voice announced, “You have arrived at your destination.”

Layla pulled into a small parking area and looked up at the building before her.

Of course. Of course it wasn’t actually a hotel.

The Hearthside Cottage was a bed and breakfast, housed in a beautiful three-story Victorian painted in shades of cream and forest green. It had a wraparound porch, gingerbread trim, and enough Christmas decorations to supply a small village—although more tastefully done than some of the places she’d passed, Layla thought. It was elegant, if thorough, with wreaths on most of the windows tied with red velvet bows—a larger one on the front door—garlands wrapped around the porch railing festooned with more bows, white lights twinkling everywhere, and a huge Christmas tree visible from a front window.

“Figures,” Layla muttered, turning off the ignition. Of course the bed and breakfast would be as Christmas-themed as the rest of the town. She could only imagine what the suites were named, she thought, rolling her eyes before she picked up her phone to check her mother’s text before getting out of the car.

MOM: Hi honey! How’s your day going?

Layla’s thumbs flew across the screen.