The Little Shop of Merry and Bright

by Jenny Bayliss

Genres: General Fiction; Holiday books; Romance; Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

Come see the magic for yourself.

Three years ago, Casey declined her boyfriend’s marriage proposal . . . and it went viral. After years of dealing with the backlash online, Casey now leads a quiet life, working as a stock replenisher for a family-owned department store. No risk of public humiliation, no stress, no possibility of love. 

Until she meets the Spirit of Christmas Present, Margo, who has chosen to sit this holiday out. 

Margo offers Casey a bargain: She will use her powers to erase the video that made Casey notorious. There’s just one catch. Casey must witness five of her alternate realities, and if after all five she still wants it wiped, Margo will grant her wish. While glimpses into other lifetimes are fascinating, the question remains: What if everything Casey wants is waiting for her in the life she already has?

Release date: September 22, 2026

Publisher: G.P. Putnam's Sons

Print pages: 432

Sample

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Chapter 1

The Christmas shoppers were the retail equivalent of festivalgoers: overexcited, bewildered, and in need of a drink. At 7:05 p.m., Casey Smith had helped security guards Kerry and Dave usher the last straggling customers out through the revolving doors at the front of Coopers & Co., the family-run department store she had worked at for just over a year. By seven thirty she had waved the staff-including Kerry and Dave-goodbye out of the steel back door that led into a goods yard behind the store and locked the door behind them. She gave a small sigh of satisfaction to have the place to herself. With Christmas just around the corner, she had her work cut out each night to keep the departments from resembling a church hall jumble sale after frenzied shoppers had torn through the store like reindeers out of hell.

It wasn't a large store-four retail floors with a fifth attic floor for staff and storage-and it wasn't a chain; Coopers & Co. had been opened by Ronald Cooper in 1895 and run by his descendants ever since. Some of the people who worked at the store were second- and third-generation staff, which gave the place a sense of family. People felt invested in it. For many of its patrons too, the store was a home away from home, steadfast and reliable, with a ready stock of comfortable bucket knickers, casserole dishes, and umbrellas. For Casey it was a place to hide away from a world whose jaws wanted to crush her.

With the store empty, Casey commenced a patrol through every department to make doubly sure there were no stowaways. Nigel had once found a small terrier wearing a knitted coat fast asleep in a wicker basket in homeware. Another time a couple of teenage influencers set on filming a kind of "Home Alone in a department store" video for their YouTube channel had crammed themselves into an armoire on the second floor. She checked Father Christmas's grotto twice to be safe.

The festively scented letter candles in the Christmas department on the lower ground floor, which she had arranged last night to spell out merry christmas had been rejigged to read smarmy shite. She sniggered before switching them back and made a note in her pocketbook to top up on pine forest-scented ones. Her phone rang.

"Hey, Nigel, how are you feeling?" Nigel doubled as the store night guard and her best friend.

"Agghh," he grumbled. "Vern's got me on alternate hot and cold compresses. But never mind about me, what about you? Are you sure you're okay being alone in the store?"

She smiled. "I'll be fine. I don't spook easily, and let's face it, nothing ever happens at Coopers and Co. Our only two break-ins were a pigeon looking for a warm eave to sleep in and a hibernating hedgehog." She wedged her phone between her ear and shoulder so that she could refold the tartan throw blankets while she talked. "I did the stowaway patrol in your absence and can confirm that the store is clear."

Casey and Nigel each had their own night shift routines. While she dealt with the store aesthetics and ensured that each department had an abundance of artfully arranged stock, he patrolled the store, did crosswords, and kept them sustained by providing a steady stream of coffee and biscuits. But Nigel had slipped on some ice when trying to round his chickens into their coop that afternoon and put his back out.

Nigel grumbled again. "Still, you shouldn't be alone. There ought to be security on-site. It's ridiculous that there's no one to cover my shift."

"Well, that's what comes of working for such a boutique establishment: no HR department and a marketing team that consists of Barbara and her cat."

He chuckled and then complained, "Ow, ooh, don't make me laugh!"

"Sorry."

"What if I send Vern down . . ."

"Do not send your husband down here. He needs to be looking after you and your troublesome farm animals. I will be fine."

"All right, you win. But call me if you're worried about anything. Better yet, call Berty . . ."

"Yep, yeah, will do, bye, bye, byeeeee."

At 8:40 p.m., she shut off the Christmas music and turned out the main lights from the control panel in the office, as she'd seen Nigel do a hundred times, leaving on just the lamps dotted around the departments. The softer lighting lent the store a more homely feel that suited the old building's dark wood paneled walls and age-softened angles. The bank of security camera screens filling the far wall went momentarily blank and then blinked back in as the cameras refocused in the dimness.

There was a screen dedicated to each floor and each screen was in turn split into four to show every department. It was a beautiful building and never more so than at Christmas, when fairy lights were strewn over every shelf and hung liberally from the black-painted ceiling beams. Every department had its own Christmas tree dressed to the nines-it was a perk of her job that she'd had a hand in every one.

Casey supposed she ought to feel unnerved about being all alone in such a big old building, but she really wasn't. Coopers & Co. had spared no expense on the security systems, and the police station was on the opposite side of the high street.

Her phone rang again, and she looked down to see her brother's name illuminated. "Hey, Nate," she said, a note of subtle frustration in her tone. Nate had been unnerved on her behalf; he'd clucked anxiously all afternoon about her safety. He'd even asked her to call in sick.

"How's it going there?" he asked.

She shook her head. "It's going like my shifts normally go: quiet and busy, just the way I like them."

"No sign of any trouble?"

"No, the robbers' phone tree alerting them to a security guard-free store clearly hasn't been activated yet."

"Don't be a dick. I'm worried about you."

"You don't need to be."

"Oh, well, I'll just stop, then, shall I?"

"If you could."

"I know you think I'm overprotective . . ."

"You are overprotective."

"Okay, I am, but you know why."

She sighed. She did know why, but it didn't make it any less frustrating at times. "I do, but Nate, you need to stand down on this. Nothing is going to happen. And if"-she cut him off when she heard him take in a breath to tell her that there were no certainties in life-"if, in the exceptional circumstance that something was to happen, the office has a reinforced door that would take a tank to get through. I'll lock myself in and hole up with a cup of tea until the police arrive. Okay?"

She could practically hear her brother chewing over her words. Since being widowed suddenly two years ago, Nate had become something of a control freak.

"Okay," he replied resignedly. "Just . . . stay safe, yeah? Don't risk your life over a Wedgwood dinner service."

"I do solemnly swear that I will not risk my life for fine china, Barbour jackets, or Laura Ashely fabric, no matter how pretty it is. Now bugger off, I have terribly important work to do. Love you lots."

After replenishing the brushed cotton Christmas pajamas rack and topping up the basket of fleece-lined cabin socks beside it, Casey headed back up to the office in search of coffee. She shook a sachet of mocha into her Obstinate, Headstrong Girl mug and added a teaspoon of instant coffee for an extra hit. Even after all this time she had to cajole her body with caffeine to convince it to stay awake when almost everyone else in the town was sleeping. Biting into a dark chocolate Hobnob, she cast her eyes over the screens while she waited for the kettle to boil and then stopped mid-chew.

There, in the furniture department on the second floor, stood a woman dressed all in green and surrounded by enough food to fill a farmers market. There were baskets of bread and crates of vegetables, a pyramid of steaming pies towered over a tapestry footstool, a leg of ham leaned against a lampstand, and a box of fish on ice lay on an expensive rug, their dead eyes staring blandly at the ceiling.

The woman wore a long fur-trimmed coat, which hung open to reveal a 1920s beaded flapper dress with a dangerously plunging neckline and a tasseled skirt that nearly reached the floor. Her auburn hair was styled in a sharp bob, and the silver flower-burst on her headband twinkled in the lamplight as she fixed herself a drink at an Art Deco cocktail cabinet. How had Casey missed her? Odder still, Coopers & Co. didn't sell Art Deco cocktail cabinets, which meant that the woman must have brought it in herself. The food too!

"Who smuggles a cocktail cabinet and half a ton of pub grub into a department store?" she asked aloud. At her exclamation, the woman looked around as though she'd heard Casey, which was impossible, given that the office was tucked away in the eaves on the floor above. Casey held her breath. The woman, seemingly satisfied that whatever she'd heard was nothing to worry about, flopped down onto a three-seater sofa (maroon tartan, £530 with 25 percent off in the Christmas sale), popped her legs up onto a leather pouf (£135), and eased off her green Mary Jane shoes, letting them drop to the floor as she flexed her stockinged toes. The audacity.

The kettle clicked itself off, causing Casey, who had been watching with her mouth agape, to jump. Is this a prank? But who would do that to her? Her social circle was somewhat diminished these days, so the list of potential prankers was short. Certainly not Nigel, and she couldn't imagine any of the staff setting her up. And if it was a prank, how on earth had they managed to fill the department with all that food? Steam rolled off great joints of meat, and platters of roasted vegetables ran along the tops of sideboards as though they'd been stolen from a carvery.

What should she do? The woman was a few years older than her and from what she could see they looked evenly weighted; Casey could probably take her. But for all she knew, the woman could have a gun under that coat, and her brother would never forgive her if she wound up dead for Christmas. They were the only family they had-the only ones they had contact with at least. No, there was only one thing for it.

She picked up the office phone and pressed the button marked "The Fuzz." There was no point in calling 999 when she could see the station from her window. It answered after three rings.

"Weaverston Police Station, how can I help you?"

"Hello, Berty." She could hear him chewing. She checked her watch, 8:59 p.m.; it was probably a digestive biscuit that he was dunking into his tea to keep him going until his cheese and marmite sandwich at ten p.m.

"Casey," he replied jovially. "Everything all right over there? Nigel called earlier, asked us to keep an eye out for you."

She rolled her eyes, smiling. Typical Nigel.

"I think I've got an intruder," she said, casting her eyes back to the second-floor screens, which showed the bookshop, café, and furniture department. Casey scrutinized the rest of the cameras for accomplices but saw none. Meanwhile, the woman now had what looked like a charcuterie board across her lap from which she was spearing cornichons with a cocktail stick and popping them into her mouth.

"Good lord!" Berty exclaimed. Daytime shoplifters were two a penny, but nighttime intruders were a rarity. "You think you've got an intruder, or you know you have?"

"Ummm, I know I have?"

Berty's voice switched instantly from casual to business. "Okay, sit tight, and I'll get someone over to you. Are you safe?"

"Yes, I'm in the office." His change of tone unnerved her, and for the first time she felt a frisson of fear about the woman's intentions.

"That's good. Lock the door until we get there. Can you see the intruder?"

"Yes, she's in the furniture department."

"And what is she currently doing?"

"Piling salami onto tiny crackers."

A hesitation on the line. "Come again?"

"She's having a sort of 'bring your own picnic' down there. She brought her own drinks cabinet. And a lot of food. Like a lot. A restaurant's worth."

"Are you having me on?" Berty's voice was stern.

Casey shook her head and then remembered that Berty couldn't see her. "I promise you, it's not a joke. I've never seen this woman before. She doesn't look dangerous, but then people probably thought that about Bonnie Parker. You can never tell, can you."

"No, you're quite right, I don't want you taking any chances. Can you unlock the deliveries entrance from there?"

"Yes." There was a control panel for unlocking the staff entrance and the steel shutters to the loading bay.

"Okay. Look out for my colleagues on the cameras and wait till they give the signal to open up."

"Got it. Thanks, Berty." As she deadbolted the office door she couldn't help feeling a little excitement. She felt a small bit like Nancy Drew. Nigel would lose his shit when he discovered there'd been a break-in the one night he took off sick. Keeping half an eye on the woman, who had begun guzzling down oysters, Casey reached for her notebook and began to jot notes: A Foodhall Heist, I Know What You Did Last Christmas, Death Comes to Retail . . .


Six minutes later, two coppers came into view on the external camera inside the goods yard. A set of large iron gates at the entrance to the yard were habitually left open to save the delivery drivers having to get down from their cabs to key in the code.

One of the officers looked up into the camera above the staff door. He pushed the brim of his cap up with his forefinger and gave her a knock-'em-dead smile, then followed it with a goofy thumbs-up, which made her laugh. She hadn't expected her knight-in-stab-proof-vest to be a hottie.

She buzzed the officers in and quickly ruffled her shaggy pixie cut, tucking her hair behind her ears. Her uniform of black elasticated-waist slacks, white shirt, and navy-blue Coopers & Co. pullover was not exactly fashion-forward. She found herself swiping rose-tinted lip balm over her lips. "What am I doing?" she chastised herself. Two years of self-imposed celibacy had apparently made her giddy as a teenage girl at a convent school when faced with a handsome officer of the law.