Page 31 of Grumpy Glitter Christmas
The door opened, and Meena swept in with a wheeled cart stacked with boxes. “First batch! Grant, I need your signature on the intake forms. Felicity, this is just the start—I’ve got meetings scheduled with three more businesses this week. But these should give people an idea of what to expect at the gala.”
They began unloading. A weekend getaway package. A handmade quilt with an intricate snowflake pattern. Gift certificates to local businesses.
Then Meena pulled out a taxidermy squirrel wearing a tiny Santa hat.
Silence.
“Is that...” Felicity began.
“A red squirrel,” Meena confirmed. “Donated by Harold Gunderson. Quote, ‘a fine example of traditional Vermont taxidermy artistry.’”
Grant stared at it. “We cannot auction roadkill.”
“It’s not roadkill. It’s ethically sourced.”
“What does that even mean?”
Felicity had her hand over her mouth, clearly suppressing laughter. “It’s... rustic. Very authentic Vermont.” She picked it up, examining it seriously. “This could be a conversation starter. We’ll put it at the end—the quirky closer. People will love it.”
“People will question our judgment.”
“People will laugh. And then they’ll bid on it because it’s ridiculous and memorable.” She set it down gently at the far end. “Trust me. This will get talked about more than the quilt.”
Grant looked from the squirrel to Felicity to Meena, both entirely too pleased. “I’m documenting this decision. When the health department shuts us down, I want proof I objected.”
“Duly noted,” Felicity said, making an exaggerated checkmark in the air.
They spent the next hour organizing the preview display. Each item was logged, numbered, and arranged with small signs that read, “Gala Auction Preview.” Felicity had created elegant placards explaining that this was just a sampling, with more items to be revealed on gala night.
“It’s smart,” Meena said, taking photos for social media. “Creates buzz, gets people talking about what else might be available. FOMO marketing at its finest.”
Grant found himself falling into the rhythm of it—the methodical cataloging, the spatial problem-solving. It wasn’t unlike his usual work, just with more festive subject matter and a significantly higher probability of encountering deceased wildlife.
What surprised him was how natural it felt working alongside Felicity. She’d ask his opinion on placement, he’d offer suggestions about traffic flow. He’d point out they needed bid sheets; she already had them prepared. They moved around each other with an ease that shouldn’t have been possible after only a week.
“You’re good at this,” he said.
She looked up, surprised. “At what?”
“Organization. Logistics. You have a system.” He gestured at the tables. “It’s effective.”
A genuine smile spread across her face. “Was that a compliment, Mr. Whitaker?”
“It was an observation.”
“An approving observation?”
“An accurate one.”
“I’ll take it.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re not bad at this either. The spatial reasoning stuff.”
“I’m a bank manager. It’s part of the job.”
“Not really. Most bank managers don’t help set up auction displays on Saturdays.”
“Most bank managers don’t have you working in their building.”
The words came out before he could stop them. Felicity’s cheeks flushed, and she looked away, suddenly focused on straightening an already-straight sign.
