Page 11 of Grumpy Glitter Christmas
The hallway was beautiful—original crown molding, marble tiles, evidence of the building’s elegant bones. But it was also clearly unused. Dust gathered in the corners. The air smelled stale.
They stopped at a pair of massive oak double doors, easily ten feet tall, with ornate brass handles that had tarnished with age.
“This room hasn’t been used for events since 1999,” Grant said, pulling a different set of keys from his jacket pocket. “My father closed it after... complications.”
“Which is exactly why it’s perfect for a revival story,” Meena said with enthusiasm. “Historic space brought back to life for a community celebration. The narrative practically writes itself.”
Grant fit the key into the old lock. It turned with a reluctant groan, the sound of metal that hadn’t moved in years.
The doors swung open.
Felicity stepped inside, and her breath caught.
The ballroom was enormous.
Soaring ceilings stretched at least twenty feet above her head. Three massive crystal chandeliers hung dark and silent, their bulbs long burned out, but their structure still elegant and commanding. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the entire eastern wall, tall and graceful, though their glass was so dirty the winter sunlight barely penetrated. The floors were original hardwood, wide planks that had once been polished to a mirror shine but were now dull with decades of dust and neglect.
Elaborate crown molding traced the perimeter of the ceiling, and ornate ceiling medallions surrounded each chandelier. At the far end of the room, a small stage with a proscenium arch suggested a space once filled with music and dancing.
It was beautiful.
It was also clearly catastrophically abandoned.
Dust covered every surface in a thick gray blanket. Cobwebs draped the corners like forgotten party streamers. The windows,for all their grandeur, were single-pane and clearly leaking cold air—Felicity could feel the draft from where she stood.
And then she exhaled, and her breath came out in a visible puff of white fog.
It was freezing in here.
Meena walked around the room taking photos with her phone, her eyes bright with possibility.
“The bones are perfect,” she said. “This is exactly what we need. Character. History. A story.” She turned to Felicity. “What do you think? Can you work with this?”
Grant’s expression tightened. “Meena, we’ve discussed the issues. The heating is nonfunctional, the electrical can’t handle modern loads, the windows leak, and the floors need complete refinishing. Any one of those would take weeks to address properly.
“But look at it!” Meena gestured expansively, turning in a slow circle. “These ceilings! The chandeliers! The windows! Can’t you just picture it? Lights glimmering, people dancing, moonlight shining in.” She spun to face Felicity, her eyes bright. “You see it, don’t you? Tell me you can picture how stunning this will be. Tell me you can make it work.”
Felicity stood in the center of the frozen, dusty ballroom, her mind racing.
This was impossible.
She had no idea how to fix industrial heating systems. She didn’t know anything about electrical codes or load capacities. Professional floor refinishing took weeks. This wasn’t decorating. This was structural engineering. This was construction management.
She thought of her bank account: thirty-seven dollars.
She thought of Mr. Henderson’s voice on the phone, less jovial each time: “Rent is due on the first, Felicity.”
She thought of Mark’s parting words: “You’re just too much.”
Grant was watching her, his expression carefully neutral, but she could read the subtext: See? It’s impossible. Even Meena will have to admit it.
And Meena was watching her too, with those sharp, assessing eyes. Waiting for her professional judgment. Trusting her expertise.
I’m counting on you, Meena had said yesterday.
Her hands were freezing. Her stomach was in knots.
But she was standing in the most beautiful room she’d ever seen. Underneath all the dust and cold and neglect was a space that had once been filled with music and laughter and celebration. A space with soaring ceilings and crystal chandeliers and windows that had once caught the light and made it dance.
