Page 17 of Babies for the Christmas Grump
And then, finally, she nods. “Fine,” she says, as if she’s still not entirely convinced, “but we’re going to find a way. And when it works, you’ll owe me an apology.”
I can’t help the corner of my mouth twitching upward.
“That’s a dangerous assumption,” I say, watching her carefully. “But I’ll consider it.”
We stand there in the stillness, neither of us moving. The tension is undeniable.
We’ll see who’s right.
CHAPTER FIVE
Sunny
November 23rd
I’ve decided.
If this hotel is going down, it’s going downfestively.
There’s a lot to handle. The whole place is falling apart. The finances are grim. The pipes are leaking, the heating system’s a joke, and the floors creak louder than a haunted house.
But you know what? Screw it. It’s basically the festive season. I’m going to do what I can to make Aunt Evie proud. And even if it all goes wrong, then at least I’ll give it a send-off worthy of a holiday movie.
I’m not saying it’s ideal. But it’s the best I’ve got.
Fueled by way too much caffeine and the toxic level of panic that’s been my constant companion since I inherited this place, I dive into the project headfirst.
The first big event is going to be my Tinsel and Toddy kickoff night in the lobby: live music, festive drinks, and a local artisan pop-up selling overpriced handmade ornaments.
It’s genius.
Right?
It’s somethingIwould want to attend, which is a start.
I’ve already pulled out my phone, painstakingly clicking through my Pinterest board labeled Holiday Hotel Revival, because, yes, I’ve become that person, and I’ve got a vision.
Glittering fairy lights, a hot toddy bar, maybe even a DIY station where people can make their own little reindeer ornaments out of twigs and too much hot glue.
I get distracted for a second by the perfect snow globe centerpiece on someone’s Pinterest board and immediately make a mental note to grab one of those from somewhere.
This is going to be the thing that either saves me or breaks me.
“Dex!” I call, rushing out from my little corner office where I’ve surrounded myself with lists, half-empty coffee cups, and way too many open tabs. “I need your help.”
He pops his head around the doorframe, wearing his usual I’ve seen it all and I still can’t be bothered to care look.
He’s wearing a velvet blazer that’s somehow even more glamorous than my entire wardrobe, and he’s cradling a mug of some liquid. Probably a spiced latte, because he’s basically the definition of cosmic barista.
“Did you say help?” He raises an eyebrow. “I thought you were just, y’know, winging it on your own. Decided to throw a party for your feelings and maybe get the hotel up and running with zero expertise?”
“Exactly,” I say, far too enthusiastically for someone whose life is a dumpster fire of spreadsheets and stress. “That’s exactly the vibe. But I really need your touch on this. I need someone who understands fun and who can, like, actually help make it look cute. You know, like how you can make a hay bale look chic?”
He gives me a skeptical look, eyeing my overstuffed Pinterest board. “Are you sure you’re not just throwing glitter on this dumpster fire and calling it a revival?”
“You are going to make it fabulous,” I reply, with the kind of desperate enthusiasm only a caffeine-addled mind can conjure. “Please, Dex. I need to distract the guests from the fact that half of the lights are flickering and we’re low on linens. Plus, it’s Christmas! Who can say no to a ‘Tinsel and Toddy’ kickoff?”
His eyes narrow suspiciously as if I’ve asked him to organize a parade float out of spaghetti. “What exactly is a ‘Tinsel and Toddy’ kickoff?”
