Page 26 of Grumpy Glitter Christmas
“People are going to talk about this. For years. ‘Remember when they brought in that tree that was too big and it attacked the bank manager?’ That’s a story. That’s a memory. That’s...” She gestured at the imperfect, beautiful, ridiculous tree. “That’s what Christmas is supposed to be.”
Grant was quiet for a long moment. Then, so quietly she almost missed it: “You might be right.”
Felicity felt something warm bloom in her chest. It wasn’t victory, exactly. It was something smaller and more fragile. It was the feeling of being heard.
The bell above the door chimed, and an elderly woman entered, stamping snow from her boots. Julia Patterson, who came in every month to deposit her social security check. She stopped just inside the door, her eyes widening as she took in the partially decorated lobby.
“Oh my goodness,” she breathed. “Is that a Christmas tree?”
She was looking at the magnificent, too-tall Douglas Fir still standing awkwardly in the corner, undecorated and slightly crooked but undeniably present.
“Yes, ma’am,” Felicity said, moving forward with a warm smile. “We’re getting the bank ready for the holidays.”
“Well, it’s about time!” Mrs. Patterson beamed. “This place has been gloomier than a funeral parlor for years. No offense, Mr. Whitaker.”
Grant cleared his throat. “None taken.”
“It’s so wonderful to see the bank getting into the Christmas spirit,” Mrs. Patterson continued, making her way to the teller window but still craning her neck to look at the decorations. “The whole town’s been buzzing about the gala. My bridge club is already planning our outfits.”
Felicity felt a warm flush of pride. “Wait until you see it all decorated,” she said. “This is just the beginning.”
Felicity hadn't realized how long a twelve-foot tree would take to transform from a bare, slightly crooked giant into something magical. Every strand of lights had to be perfectly spaced, every ornament strategically placed to balance the tree's lopsided top.
Grant retreated to his office.
The afternoon brought a steady stream of customers, and each one stopped to admire the tree. Their awed reactions—the whispered "oh my goodness" from Beatrice Palmer, the way old Mr. Kennedy pulled out his phone for a photo—filled Felicity with a quiet, glowing pride. This was why she did what she did.
Finally, she placed the final ornament and stepped back to admire her work, then checked her phone. Four-thirty.
She’d been so focused on the tree that she’d completely lost track of time. The ballroom was still an untouched disaster, and Leo had been clear, the industrial heaters needed to run for at least a week before the event to properly dry out the space and get the temperature stable.
They needed to start placing the equipment and cleaning tonight.
She pulled out her phone and texted Jade:
Are you free tonight? Emergency ballroom cleaning. Pizza provided. Please say yes.
The response came almost immediately:
I’ll bring the good scrub brushes. What time?
6pm
Grant had emerged from his office and was watching her with that expression that meant he was already calculating the logistical nightmare she was about to propose.
“We need to start cleaning the ballroom tonight,” she said.
His eyebrows rose. “Tonight? Your schedule says this week.”
“Leo said the heaters need a week to run, and I don’t want to risk leaving things to the last minute.”
She texted Leo:
Can you bring the heaters and equipment tonight? Need them running by tomorrow morning. Will have space cleaned and ready.
His reply came a moment later:
Can do. See you at 6:30
