Page 45 of Grumpy Glitter Christmas
“Lilies are possible, but they’re significantly more expensive. About forty percent more than the roses.”
Forty percent. Felicity felt her stomach clench. That would blow the floral budget completely. But red roses would ruin the aesthetic she’d spent two weeks planning.
“What about white hydrangeas?” Grant’s voice came from behind her. She turned to find him standing in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral. “My mother used to grow them. They’re hardy and elegant.”
The florist brightened. “Hydrangeas! Yes, I have those. They’d actually be slightly less expensive than the roses, and with the right arrangement?—”
“Show me pictures,” Felicity said.
Ten minutes later, the crisis was resolved. The florist left with an updated order, and Felicity was left alone with Grant in the ballroom.
“Thank you,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes. “That was helpful.”
“Felicity, please. Can we talk about?—”
“The linens are being delivered in twenty minutes. I need to be there to sign for them.” She gathered her things. “Excuse me.”
She left him standing in the empty ballroom, and she hated how much it hurt to walk away.
Wednesday afternoon brought the volunteer coordination meeting, which was less a meeting and more a controlled chaos event.
Twelve people had shown up to help with table setup, each with their own opinions about optimal table placement, traffic flow, and whether the stage should be centered or offset. Felicity had created detailed diagrams, assigned specific tasks, and prepared a timeline.
Within fifteen minutes, everything had devolved into a debate about whether round tables or rectangular tables created better “feng shui.”
“The chi needs to flow,” insisted Martha Henderson, gesturing expansively. “Round tables allow for energy circulation.”
“We’re not setting up a meditation center, Martha,” countered Tom Davidson. “We’re setting up for a formal dinner. Rectangular tables maximize seating.”
“The order specifically states round tables,” Felicity said, pulling out her diagram. “Ten-tops, arranged in a pattern thatallows for optimal sight lines to the stage and efficient server access?—”
“But have you considered the symbolic significance?” Martha interrupted. “Circles represent unity and?—”
“The tables are round,” Grant’s voice cut through the chatter. He stood in the ballroom doorway, his presence immediately commanding attention. “Ms. Adams has created a comprehensive plan that accounts for capacity, safety regulations, and aesthetic cohesion. I suggest we follow it.”
The volunteers quieted, looking between Grant and Felicity.
“Of course,” Martha said, somewhat deflated. “Round tables are fine.”
After they dispersed to their assigned tasks, Felicity found Grant still standing by the door.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “Again.”
“I know you didn’t need me to intervene. You had it under control.” His voice was careful. “But I wanted to help.”
“I appreciate it.” She turned back to her clipboard. “The linens need to be pressed, and the chargers need to be polished. If you’ll excuse me?—”
“Felicity, please. I need to explain about Victoria. About what I said?—”
“There’s nothing to explain. You were honest. I appreciate honesty.” Her smile was bright and brittle. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”
She walked past him, close enough to catch the faint scent of his cologne, but far enough to avoid any accidental touch.
Behind her, she heard him sigh—a sound of frustration and something that might have been pain.
Good, she thought, and immediately felt terrible for thinking it.
Thursday morning, the cocoa fountain started making alarming noises.
