Page 18 of Grumpy Glitter Christmas
She opened the box, and the smell hit him immediately. Sugar, ginger, vanilla, butter. His stomach responded with an embarrassing growl.
But his suit. The crumbs. The gray wool cost more than most people’s monthly car payments.
“That’s very kind,” he said carefully, “but I have a meeting in—” he checked his watch, “—seven minutes. Perhaps another time.”
“Of course.” Jade’s smile didn’t dim. She was either genuinely unbothered by his refusal or too polite to show disappointment. “Well, they’ll be at the bakery if you change your mind. Buy one, get the second free for anyone working on Gala prep.”
She and Felicity headed for the door, already back to their planning.
“—Saturday we can start mapping out the lighting?—”
“—Leo said he’d check on equipment delivery personally?—”
Their voices faded as the door closed behind them, and Grant was left standing in his silent, pristine lobby.
Mrs. Finch was watching him from her station, her expression inscrutable.
“That went better than expected,” she said, which for Mrs. Finch was practically effusive praise.
Grant just nodded and headed back toward his office.
Through the window, he could see Felicity and Jade getting into Felicity’s car, still talking animatedly. Jade’s hand reached over to squeeze Felicity’s shoulder—a gesture of support so natural it was clearly habitual. Leo’s truck pulled up alongside them, and he rolled down his window to say something that made both women laugh.
Friends. Real friends. The kind who showed up for each other without being asked, who offered help without expecting anything in return, who squeezed shoulders and brought cookiesand drove across town in trucks with no heat just to provide moral support.
Grant sat at his desk and pulled up the contractor budget spreadsheet.
His office was quiet, orderly, exactly as it should be. No laughter, no overlapping conversations, no easy camaraderie. Just him and his perfectly organized files and his expensive, crumb-free suit.
Leo’s words echoed in his head: Sometimes people rise to what you expect of them.
Grant had spent sixteen years expecting the worst. Expecting failure, expecting risk, expecting disappointment. Protecting his father’s legacy by keeping everything frozen in time, locked away, safe from change.
What if he tried something different?
What if he expected—just this once—to be surprised?
He looked at the budget spreadsheet, then at the faint shimmer of glitter still visible on the corner of his desk, catching the late afternoon light like a small, defiant star.
Against all logic and professional judgment, he approved the full four-thousand-dollar equipment order.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Felicity’s office was less an office and more a glorified closet that happened to have a window. It sat above the hardware store on Main Street, accessed by a narrow staircase that smelled perpetually of sawdust and WD-40. The space was barely large enough for her salvaged desk, a rickety folding chair, and the impressive arsenal of her trade: three industrial glue guns, bins of ribbon sorted by color and width, fabric swatches pinned to every available wall surface, and a precarious tower of storage tubs labeled things like “Backup Glitter (Emergency Use Only)” and “Pine Cones - Assorted.”
But it had a window. A big, beautiful window that looked out over the town square, offering a perfect view of the First Bank of Frost Pine Ridge.
Felicity sat at her desk, the morning sun streaming through the glass, and stared down at her planner. It was a thick, well-loved thing, its cover decorated with stickers she’d collected over the years—a glittery unicorn, a motivational quote about sparkle being a state of mind, and a coffee stain that looked vaguely like a Christmas tree if you squinted. She’d already gone through twohighlighters and a full pack of sticky notes, and she wasn’t done yet.
The gala was in three weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours, not that she was counting obsessively or anything.
She opened to a fresh page and wrote in her neatest handwriting:
Frost Pine Ridge Winter Gala - Master Timeline
Then she stared at the blank space below it, took a deep breath, and began.
Week 1: Foundation (Days 1-7)
