Page 14 of Grumpy Glitter Christmas
“Leo? It’s Felicity. I need you. Emergency restoration project at the bank. How soon can you get here?”
CHAPTER SIX
Grant was standing at Mrs. Finch’s teller station, reviewing the quarterly audit checklist, when the bell over the entrance chimed.
He glanced up reflexively, then paused.
A broad-shouldered man in a flannel jacket was holding the door open for a woman Grant vaguely recognized—she ran the bakery on Main Street, he thought. She was juggling a white bakery box and unwinding a bright red scarf.
“Thank you, Leo,” she was saying. “I still think you should have let me drive. Your truck has no heat.”
“Truck has heat,” the man said, his voice carrying that easy, good-natured tone of someone used to outdoor work. “You’re just cold-blooded.”
His sandy-brown hair was tousled, probably from the wind, and he had the relaxed posture of someone equally comfortable with animals and machinery.
Grant straightened, the audit checklist forgotten. Leo Carter, presumably. Felicity had mentioned him briefly—something about fixing the elementary school boiler and the bakery. The reindeer farm owner, if Grant remembered correctly.
The woman spotted him and smiled brightly. “Mr. Whitaker! We’re here for the ballroom assessment. I’m Jade—Jade Bennett, from Sugar Pine Sweets. I brought cookies. Gingerbread, still warm.”
He’d walked past her bakery countless times, though he’d never been inside. He’d noticed the recent upgrade. The place had been practically falling apart, and now it was always brimming with customers, and the windows were decorated with an enthusiasm that bordered on aggressive cheer.
Mrs. Finch’s eyes narrowed at the bakery box as if it contained a live explosive.
Grant’s gaze flicked to the Bench of Unsolicited Commentary. Empty, mercifully. Ida and Ruth had apparently found other entertainment for the late afternoon. Small blessings.
“Ms. Bennett.” He nodded at her, then extended a hand to Leo. “Mr. Carter. Grant Whitaker.”
Leo’s handshake was brief, firm, the grip of someone who worked with his hands. “Just Leo. Heard you’ve got a challenging space.”
“That’s one word for it.” Grant gestured toward the back corridor. “Ms. Adams is already in the ballroom. This way.”
As they walked through the lobby, Jade moved closer to him, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Is Felicity panicking? She’s been texting me in all caps for the past hour.”
“She seemed... concerned about Mr. Carter’s delayed arrival,” Grant said diplomatically.
“Leo doesn’t panic, which means he also doesn’t rush,” Jade said. “But when he shows up, he always has answers.” She glanced at the man walking ahead of them, his work boots leaving faint prints on the polished marble. “Even if those answers are sometimes ‘this is impossible and you’re all crazy.’”
“Let’s hope for different answers today,” Grant muttered.
They walked through the back corridor in a strange procession. Grant led, hyper-aware of these strangers casually walking through what should be the most formal bank wing. Leo followed with an easy, unhurried stride—not slow, just deliberate, like someone who’d learned not to waste energy. And Jade brought up the rear, still clutching her bakery box and looking around with wide eyes.
“My aunt Mabel said there was a room like this, but I thought it was just a rumor,” she murmured.
“It’s been closed for a while,” Grant said. And now he was about to open it for a decorator, a baker, and a reindeer farmer.
He pushed the doors open. They groaned on their hinges, same as always.
Felicity spun around from where she’d been standing near the windows, her phone clutched in her hand. Relief washed over her face so completely that Grant felt an unexpected pang of something—sympathy, maybe, or recognition of how much pressure she was under.
“Leo! Thank goodness.” She rushed forward, and her hand briefly touched Leo’s arm in gratitude. “I was worried you couldn’t make it.”
“Was finishing up at the farm,” Leo said, his warm brown eyes crinkling slightly. “Came as soon as Ben could cover.”
Jade was already moving toward Felicity, setting down the cookie box on a dusty windowsill and pulling her friend into a quick, fierce hug. “We’re here. It’s going to be fine.”
Grant stood in the doorway, watching the three of them come together—Felicity’s anxiety visibly easing, Jade’s hand on her shoulder, Leo’s solid, reassuring presence. They moved like people who’d known each other for years, comfortable in each other’s space, offering support as naturally as breathing.
Grant felt something uncomfortable twist in his chest. Not jealousy, exactly. More like... recognition of something he didn’thave. When was the last time someone had touched his arm like that? When was the last time someone had driven across town just to support him through a difficult moment?
