“Yeah, but…” Kate played with her hands. One of the reasons she’d gotten the job at the festival was her reputation in town as the “Dickens-obsessed girl.” She could practically recite the original book by heart. What they didn’t know was that after the festival ended on Christmas night, she tucked herself into her bed at her dad’s house and read the book over and over again, just so she could pretend she was still in a magical world of hope and joy, rather than a booze-soaked nightmare. Kate didn’t feel inclined to tell Clark the entire truth, so she danced around it instead. “Usually, once the festival is over, I go home and I’m too keyed up to sleep. It’s my favorite book, so it puts me in a good mood.”

“Follow me,” Clark said, rising to his feet.

“Where are we going?”

“If it’s anywhere, it’ll be in the library. C’mon.”

Kate caught a passing glimpse of the library earlier, but walking in and fully immersing herself in it almost knocked her back a step. She’d never been in this room before. It was off-limits during all Christmas Company events. Belle’s library in Beauty and The Beast had nothing on this beautiful collection of leather-bound tomes. The Woodward Library in the center of town, until now Kate’s favorite place in the world, paled in comparison. She thought back to the stack of three rotating library books on her bedside table and her falling-apart copy of A Christmas Carol. Rich people may not have had it easy, as Clark’s stories about his childhood suggested, but they did have an endless supply of books, which Kate could absolutely get on board with.

“There must be a million books in here,” Kate said, awed.

“I think it’s closer to two thousand. Let’s check the card catalogue.”

“There’s a card catalogue?”

“How else would you find anything?” Clark arrived at a carved wooden chest pockmarked with orderly drawers. Each was labeled with a series of letters. He rifled through the Da-Dl drawer, moving the cards with practiced efficiency. Kate could only assume he was too cheap to digitize his office. Everything in Woodward Enterprises probably operated on card catalogue. “Dickens… Dickens… Oliver Twist. Tale of Two Cities, A… Pickwick Papers… I’m sorry. No A Christmas Carol.”

To his credit, Clark really did sound sorry. This morning, he probably would have jumped for joy and rubbed the absence of the classic story in her face. The taste in Kate’s mouth bittered with disappointment.

“Maybe it’s somewhere else?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Clark said, even as he dug through the catalogue for a missing or misplaced card. “But why don’t you read it off your phone?”

“That’s not the same.”

She realized how petulant and selfish the refusal made her sound; she didn’t care.