Peppermint Bark, No BiteBailey Seaborn
Love At First Search
Copyright © 2024 by Margaret Casebolt
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact [include publisher/author contact info].
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
Illustrations & Cover Design by: Sam Palencia, Ink & Laurel
Sensitivity Editing by: Sydney Fowler, Inqueery, Inc.
First edition: 2024
To all the parents who have welcomed kids into your lives, whether you met them on the day they were born or they arrived when they needed you the most.
Starting with my parents, Maureen & Ray, who always loved and accepted me, even when I surprised you with the unexpected, like writing romance novels. (Not that it was really that unexpected …)
And to my secondary parents: Lisa & Gary, Reete, Judy & Bob, Maya & Jose, Sherry & Bruce, Kathy & Dennis: Thank you for always opening your homes & making me feel like one of your own.
And to my husband Ben, for building a home with me where others always feel safe and welcome … and who won me over with the world's best lattice-top apple pie.
Chapter 1Grace
Three Weeks Until Christmas
There’s no good place to have a heart attack, but if you must, being in a hospital surrounded by doctors isn’t the worst choice.
One minute, I was managing a ceremonial ribbon cutting.
The next, the stage was cleared for CPR, a gurney whisked my best friend’s dad off to the Emergency Department, and she chased after it, leaving me staring at the red ribbon sagging like a forgotten Christmas present.
I definitely hadn’t included time for that in the Grand Opening agenda.
I’d planned every detail to dedicate the hospital’s new sensory room, including decorating the community room with snowflake cutouts my patients made as art therapy projects. Stockings hung along the nurses’ station and an artificial tree loomed over gifts I’d wrapped and labeled for Santa’s visit in a few days. Even the crimson bow around the door matched the festive spirit.
The mayor spoke first, extolling our community for coming together. The Hospital CEO shared the benefits of a pediatric sensory room so the children could escape the stimulation of the hospital’s bright lights, loud monitors, and sterile aroma. I mouthed along, since I’d written the speech after years of researching the topic.
As the CEO delivered his remarks, I straightened the tie of the final speaker, Bruce Clarke, who shot me a lopsided grin and whispered, “Do I look ok?”
He looked pale, with beads of sweat along his brow, but I wouldn’t say so.
“Handsome as ever,” I reassured him, loosening the Windsor knot to let him breathe easier, and placing water into his shaky hands, which he chugged in one long gulp.
As he took my hands — his palms felt clammy, probably from the cold water bottle — he said, “Thank you for asking me to be a part of this, Grace.”
Why was he thanking me? Sure, turning the storage closet next to my social worker office into a sensory room had been my idea. Still, without his connections, my proposal to the hospital’s Board of Trustees would have sat unopened. When I confessed my dream to him, he contributed the seed donation and spearheaded the fundraising campaign.
Then again, Bruce wasn’t only a donor. He was also my best friend’s dad.
An unrestrained laugh rang out, piercing the solemnity of the ceremony. Our heads swiveled to find the source of the irreverent sound.
Yep, there in the back of the room stood my best friend Mallory Clarke, blonde hair shimmering and pink dress shining under the fluorescent lights, completely ignoring the speeches in favor of flirting with … was that Dr. Tran? What was he doing here?
“I’ve got this, you go convince Mallory to behave herself.” Bruce winked, both of us knowing that trying to keep his daughter in line was a fool’s errand. I handed him the oversized scissors and dodged through the crowd.
As I approached, her face lit up as she wrapped her arm around my waist. “Grace! The woman of the hour! You know Dr. Tran, right?”
“Of course I do." His cheeks flushed as our gazes met.
“I told you to call me Stephen.”
Mallory’s irrepressible grin widened. “I was inviting Steve here to visit our yoga studio when you teach on Thursdays and Sundays …”
Oh my gosh, I couldn’t believe that she was using this Grand Opening to try to set me up. I pointed to the stage. “Maybe not right now, Mallory.”
Her head lifted. “Oh my God, isn’t this over yet?”
I let out an embarrassed laugh and asked Dr. Tran to excuse us, and he found his way into a group of physicians near the front.
“Sorry, Grace, I got bored. This place is swarming with interchangeable white men. Literally swarming, like a beehive. All the women worker bees, making the event happen,” she gestured to my women colleagues, restocking the pastries on the refreshment table. “While the male drone bees stand around, unable to feed themselves.” We watched a doting wife slide a cheese danish into her husband’s palm. “And when I met that hot cartographer —”
“Cardiologist,” I corrected. Definitely not a mapmaker.
“Does it matter? He’s young, Asian, sexy as hell. I tried to get his number, but he only wanted to talk about you.”
