Page 60 of Grumpy Glitter Christmas
“A few weeks ago, a woman walked into this bank with a portfolio, a tote bag that was actively leaking glitter, and a vision I couldn’t understand.” A ripple of laughter. People were starting to figure out where this was going. “She wanted to decorate. She wanted lights, and garlands, and joy. She wanted to fill this serious, professional space with chaos and color and life.”
Felicity’s hand had moved to cover her mouth. He could see the shine of tears in her eyes even from across the room.
“And I fought her,” Grant said, his voice rough with emotion. “Every step of the way. Every decoration, every idea, every spark of joy she tried to bring through these doors—I resisted. Because I was afraid. I was afraid that mess meant failure. That chaos meant loss of control. That sparkle somehow diminished the seriousness of what we do here.”
He stepped out from behind the podium, no longer needing its shelter.
“I was wrong.”
The room was dead silent now. Even the waiters had stopped circulating.
“Felicity Adams didn’t bring chaos to this bank. She brought it back to life. She reminded me—reminded all of us—that my father’s legacy wasn’t about maintaining silence and order. It was about connection. About community. About creating a space where people felt welcome, valued, celebrated.”
His eyes never left Felicity’s face. A tear slid down her cheek, but she wasn’t looking away.
“This gala—this beautiful, perfect, slightly chaotic evening—is her vision. The decorations, the warmth, the joy you’re feeling right now—that’s all her. She took a dusty, forgotten ballroom and turned it into magic. She took a grumpy, rigid bank manager and...” His voice cracked slightly. “And she showed him what it means to be alive again.”
Ida made a sound that was half sob, half cackle. Ruth was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
“I’m supposed to thank the volunteers who made this evening possible,” Grant continued. “And I do. Every single person who contributed their time, their donations, their talents—thank you. This town’s generosity never ceases to amaze me.”
He took a breath, gathering his courage for the final leap.
“But there’s one person who deserves more than thanks. Felicity, this gala wouldn’t exist without you. This bank wouldn’t be what it’s becoming without you. And I...” He swallowed hard. “I wouldn’t be the man I want to be without you.”
The crowd was collectively holding its breath. Someone—probably Ida—made an encouraging noise.
“I know I hurt you. I know I said things that confirmed your worst fears about yourself. I know I let my own fear make me cruel.” His voice was raw now, all pretense of professional distance gone. “And I know I don’t deserve a second chance. But I’m asking for one anyway.”
Felicity’s hand had dropped from her mouth. She stood frozen, her expression a war between hope and self-protection.
“You asked me once what I wanted,” Grant said, speaking directly to her now, the crowd forgotten. “I told you about my father’s legacy. About duty and responsibility and maintaining standards. But that wasn’t the answer. It was just the fear talking.”
He stepped down from the stage, moving toward her through the parted crowd. People shifted to let him pass, creating a clear path between them.
“What I want is you,” he said, his voice carrying in the silent room. “I want your chaos and your sparkle. I want your lists and your glitter explosions. I want the way you turn disasters into adventures and make everything around you brighter. I want your impossible optimism and your stubborn belief that joy matters.”
He stopped a few feet from her, close enough to see the silver flecks in her earrings catching the light, close enough to smell her perfume, close enough to hope.
“I want you, Felicity Adams. Even though—especially because—you’re nothing like me. You’re loud where I’m quiet. You’re color where I’m beige. You’re everything I didn’t know I needed until you crashed into my life with a tote bag full of contraband glitter.”
A watery laugh escaped her, somewhere between a sob and genuine amusement.
“I don’t know if you can forgive me,” Grant said, his voice dropping to something quieter, more intimate, though the whole town was watching. “I don’t know if I deserve that chance. But I’m asking anyway. Because you taught me that sometimes the biggest risk is not taking one at all.”
He held out his hand, palm up. An offering. An invitation. A question.
“So here I am, in front of everyone, making a complete fool of myself. And I’m asking: will you give me a chance to prove that I can be the man you deserve? That I can embrace the chaos? That I can learn to shine?”
The silence stretched. Endless. Agonizing.
Felicity just stood there, staring at him, tears streaming down her face, her Christmas Catastrophe forgotten on the bar behind her.
Grant’s heart hammered. She was going to say no. She was going to turn and walk away, and he’d just made a complete fool of himself in front of the entire town, and?—
She took a step forward.
Then another.
