Page 32 of Grumpy Glitter Christmas
The moment stretched, warm and uncomfortable. Grant became aware of how close they were standing, of the faint citrus scent of her perfume, of the way the morning light caught in her hair.
The door opened aggressively.
Mrs. Patterson bustled in, followed by four other women. “Grant! We’ve come to see the tree properly! The girls wouldn’t believe me when I described it.” She gestured to her companions. “This is Dorothy, Helen, Margaret, and Susan. The Frost Pine Bridge Club.”
“Welcome,” Felicity said warmly. “Please look around. And this—” she gestured to the new display tables “—is a preview of some of the auction items. There will be many more at the gala itself.”
“An auction!” Dorothy examined the quilt with interest. “Oh, this is lovely. Who made this?”
“The craft guild. It’s a one-of-a-kind piece.”
The women circled the lobby, admiring the tree, examining the auction preview, taking photos. They stopped at the taxidermy squirrel, and just as Felicity predicted, it generated delighted laughter.
“Harold’s work?” Mrs. Patterson asked knowingly.
“Indeed,” Grant said.
“That man.” But she was smiling. “Well, it’s certainly memorable.”
“The ballroom is what I’m most excited about,” Helen said. “Nobody’s been in there since the incident of ’99!”
“There was no incident,” Grant said wearily. “There was a minor plumbing malfunction.”
“Can we peek?” Mrs. Patterson asked hopefully.
“Not until the gala,” Felicity said firmly. “That’s going to be the big reveal. The whole space transformed. You’ll have to wait like everyone else.”
“Oh, you’re cruel!” But Mrs. Patterson was grinning. “Fine. Keep your secrets. We’ve already bought our tickets, anyway. The entire bridge club. Eight tickets total!”
After they left, more groups came through—the Elm Street Book Club, the Ladies’ Auxiliary from the Methodist church. All wanting to see the decorations. All examining the auction preview with interest. All excited about the mystery of the ballroom.
All purchasing tickets.
By noon when the bank closed, Grant tallied they’d sold more tickets in three hours than in the entire previous week.
“Did you see their faces?” Felicity said, locking the front door. “The anticipation about the ballroom is perfect. Nobody can see it now—it’s locked up, the heaters are running, it’s this mystery space. On gala night, when those doors open...” She made an expansive gesture. “It’s going to be stunning.”
“The ticket sales are promising.” He checked his phone. “Sixty-three percent capacity.”
“That’s amazing! We might sell out.”
“That would simplify the catering calculations.”
She laughed. “Only you would think about catering calculations right now.”
“Someone has to.”
“I know. That’s what makes us a good team.”
Team. The word settled between them, casual and weighty. They were a team. Somewhere between the tree disaster and the ballroom cleaning, they’d become partners.
The realization should have concerned him. Instead, it felt inevitable.
Leo appeared from the corridor that led to the ballroom, work boots tracking snow. “Just stopped by to check the heater readings. Everything’s running smoothly—the ballroom’s coming up to temperature right on schedule.”
“And the floor?” Grant asked.
“Drying perfectly. And the big tree’s scheduled for Monday delivery.” Leo nodded with satisfaction. “You won’t be disappointed. Fourteen-footer, full and balanced. Blue Spruce to go with Felicity’s vision.”
