Page 20 of Grumpy Glitter Christmas
Dress rehearsal (???)
Day 14: The Gala
She added sub-tasks in different colored pens. Green for completed items. Yellow for in-progress. Red for “why in the world did I agree to this.” There was a lot of red.
She looked out the window at the bank. From this angle, she could see through the large front windows into the lobby. Even from here, she could see through the large front windows into the lobby. The bank looked exactly as it always had—pristine marble floors, somber teller counters, that one sad ficus in the corner that seemed to embody Grant’s entire approach to joy. Beige. Orderly. Lifeless.
The empty corner where the tree would go looked particularly forlorn, just a taped-off square on the floor.
It looked like a blank canvas. Like a sentence waiting to be written. Like her entire career, if she was being honest with herself—full of potential, waiting for someone to believe it was worth the investment.
“Okay, Sparkle & Spruce,” she whispered to the empty room. “Time to be legitimate.”
She surveyed the supplies she’d need for today—spools of ribbon, boxes of battery-operated candles, zip ties, floral wire, her good scissors—and began the precarious process of cramming them all into her tote. The bag bulged alarmingly, but after some strategic rearranging (and sitting on it to compress the contents), she managed to zip it mostly closed.
“This is fine,” she told herself, hefting the overstuffed bag onto her shoulder. It weighed approximately forty pounds. “This is totally professional.”
She took one last look at her tiny office—her unprofitable, impractical, ridiculous little office—and felt a surge of fierce affection for it.
“Two weeks,” she said aloud. “We can do this.”
She walked down the creaky stairs, out onto Main Street, and headed toward the bank, her breath forming small clouds in thecold morning air. Snow from last night dusted the sidewalk, and the string lights crisscrossed above the square twinkled in the bright winter sun.
It was going to be a good day. She could feel it.
Or at least, it was going to be a productive day. That was close enough.
The bell over the bank’s entrance gave its polite little jingle as Felicity pushed through the heavy glass door, staggering slightly under the weight of her overstuffed tote bag. The zipper had given up somewhere between her office and here, and a spool of gold ribbon was making a slow escape attempt.
The lobby was quiet—just the soft hum of computers, the muted conversation of a teller helping a customer, and the conspicuous sound of Ida and Ruth settling onto their customary bench with an air of people who had front-row tickets to a very interesting show.
Grant was standing near the teller counter, reviewing something on a tablet with Mrs. Finch. He looked up as Felicity entered, his expression neutral but his eyes tracking her movement across the marble floor.
“Ms. Adams,” he said, his tone formal. “You’re early.”
“I have a schedule to keep,” she said brightly, parking her cart near the half-decorated Christmas tree corner. She pulled out her planner and opened it with a flourish, angling it so he could see the color-coded chaos. “Week One, Day One: Complete lobby garlands, install support brackets for tree, coordinate final lighting scheme, and confirm entertainment schedule.”
Grant stepped closer, his gaze scanning the meticulous pages. His eyebrows rose incrementally—a seismic shift for him, practically a standing ovation. “This is... actually quite thorough.”
Felicity blinked. “Did you just compliment my organizational skills?”
“I said it was thorough,” he corrected, his tone measured. “I didn’t say it was realistic.”
She snapped the planner shut, clutching it to her chest like a shield. “It’s realistic if we both commit to making it happen. Two weeks, Grant. Fourteen days. That’s what we have.”
He looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded once, sharp and decisive. “Then we’d better not waste time.”
It wasn’t exactly a rousing declaration of partnership, but coming from Grant Whitaker, it felt like one.
