Page 1 of Grumpy Glitter Christmas
CHAPTER ONE
Felicity Adams had built her entire business around the most wonderful time of the year, which explained why she was hauling three loaves of rosemary bread and a crocheted afghan toward Sugar Pine Sweets instead of carrying a paycheck like a sensible person.
The grateful clients meant well—Mrs. Henderson’s bread was legendary, and the afghan would keep her cozy through the winter—but cozy didn’t pay the rent.
The bell jingled as she pushed in, juggling her load.
Behind the counter, Jade Bennett looked up from a flour cloud, eyebrows raised. “Another successful transaction, I see.”
Felicity dumped her haul onto the counter. Bread teetered. The afghan slumped in a rainbow heap. Glitter still clung to her cheek, sparkling in the newly installed overhead lighting.
“Martha-Mae Higgins is thrilled with her holiday mantelpiece. In return, I’ve been compensated with carbs and one bunker-grade blanket. Who needs cash when you can have artisanal insulation?”
Jade tapped the crust of a loaf. “Her sourdough starter is no joke.”
“Neither is my landlord,” Felicity muttered, unwrapping her scarf. “I tried to pay rent in brioche last month. He was… unpersuaded.” She flopped against the counter with a theatrical groan. “Face it. I’m running the coziest bankruptcy in Vermont.”
From a corner table, town senior busybody Ida Murray snapped, “That’s a lot of bread for one person, dear.”
Her lifelong partner in crime, Ruth Dyer, added, “But the afghan is lovely.”
“It’s my ‘Blankets Don’t Pay The Rent’ line,” Felicity said, giving them a weak wave. “Perfect for when you want to feel festive while living in your parents’ garage because you can’t pay the rent.”
Ida broke the peppermint stick in half with a loud snap. “Nonsense. Your work is beautiful. Martha-Mae’s just a cheapskate. You’ll find clients who want to pay full price.”
Felicity managed a smile that didn’t quite touch her eyes and turned back to Jade. “See? My business model is town gossip now.”
Jade slid her a cocoa dotted with tiny marshmallows. “Drink. On the house.”
Felicity wrapped cold fingers around the mug. “I could pay you with a gently used afghan?”
“Drink,” Jade ordered.
They shared a grin, comfortable in their old rhythm: Jade with her neat, edible art; Felicity with her glitter explosions. Opposites, but perfectly matched.
Still, the words tumbled out before Felicity could stop them. “I just need one break. One real paycheck. Something that proves I’m not just the town’s glitter clown.”
Her chest pinched. Her ex-fiancé had once told her she was “too much.” Too much sparkle, too much optimism, too much everything. Two years later, she was still trying to prove that “toomuch” could be an asset. So far, her résumé included a pantry of jam and a closet that looked like a yarn store sneezed in it.
“Your work is serious,” Jade said firmly. “The library, the fall festival?—”
“They paid me in encyclopedias, Jade. Encyclopedias.”
The bell above the door chimed, ushering in a gust of snow and a presence that altered the bakery’s cozy equilibrium.
A woman stood framed in the doorway, small and sharp-edged in a camel-colored coat that probably cost more than Felicity’s winter wardrobe. Her heels were slim stilettos that clicked like sleigh bells on the floor. Sleek ponytail. Leather portfolio. Eyes that scanned the room with the efficiency of a barcode reader. She looked like a human espresso shot—concentrated, bracing, impossible to ignore.
Her gaze landed on Felicity with unnerving accuracy.
“Excuse me,” she said, her voice crisp but not unkind. “I’m looking for Felicity Adams.”
Ida and Ruth froze mid-breath. Ruth’s needles stopped clacking. Ida leaned forward, stage-whispering, “She’s the one who’s been snooping around your office.”
Meena’s eyes flicked toward the pair, her brows tightening in the faintest frown, as if she’d just confirmed what she already suspected—every small town came with its resident gossip mill, and she’d just identified them.
“That’s me,” Felicity said, standing straighter, wishing cocoa stains didn’t decorate her sweater.
The woman strode forward, hand extended. “Meena Patel. Strategic Branding and Community Outreach, Sterling-Midland Financial Group.”
