Page 42 of Grumpy Glitter Christmas
The bell over the door of Sugar Pine Sweets gave a tired little jingle. The night outside was black and cold, with a sharp wind that promised to turn the flurries into serious, sticking snow. Inside, the bakery was a haven of warmth and light, smelling of cinnamon, cooling bread, and Jade’s unwavering sanity. It smelled like home.
Jade was behind the counter, wiping it down for the last time, her dark hair pulled back in a messy bun. The “CLOSED” sign was flipped, but she’d left the door unlocked—she’d gotten Fee’s text and knew she was coming. She looked up as Felicity entered, her end-of-day smile faltering when she saw her friend’s face.
“Okay,” Jade said, immediately abandoning the counter and rounding it to pull Felicity into a hug. “Tell me everything.”
Felicity let herself be held for a moment, breathing in the familiar scent of vanilla and sugar that clung to Jade’s apron. Then she pulled back and slumped onto one of the counter stools.
“Last night, Grant and I almost kissed.”
Jade’s eyes went wide. “What?”
“We were decorating the ballroom tree. Just the two of us. It was late, and it was quiet, and the lights were so beautiful, and he...” Felicity’s voice caught. “He looked at me like I mattered, Jade. He smiled—a real smile, not the polite bank manager smile—and he touched my face and we were this close.” She held up her thumb and finger an inch apart. “And then Ida and Ruth burst in with thermoses of cocoa and ruined everything.”
“Oh, my.” Jade was already moving to the espresso machine, preparing emergency cocoa with the urgency of a trauma surgeon. “Okay. Okay. That’s... that’s huge. And then what happened?”
“Then today I met his ex-girlfriend.”
Jade froze mid-scoop. “His what?”
“Victoria. She showed up at the bank this morning to ‘tour the project.’ She’s everything you’d imagine—polished, perfect, probably alphabetizes her spice rack. She looked at everything I’ve done and called it childish.”
The last word came out small and broken.
Jade abandoned the cocoa preparation and came to sit on the stool next to Felicity, giving her full attention. “She said what?”
“‘It’s all a bit childish, isn’t it? In a sweet way, of course.’” Felicity’s voice was bitter. “It’s the same thing Mark said when he broke up with me. That all my sparkle was ‘a little childish.’ That I was too much.”
“Mark was an idiot.”
“Maybe he was right, though. Maybe they’re both right.” Felicity felt tears prick her eyes. “Because it gets worse. I overheard them talking. Grant and Victoria. She was in the ballroom—our ballroom, where we decorated the tree together—and she was criticizing everything. Calling it amateur. Saying I didn’t have professional expertise.”
“And what did Grant say?”
Felicity’s voice cracked. “He said the project had been ‘challenging.’ That he’d been ‘managing expectations.’ Like I’m some problem he’s been trying to contain this whole time.”
“Fee—”
“He didn’t defend me, Jade. Not once. Victoria kept going on about how it was all too much, too emotional, not professional enough. And he just... agreed. Said maybe I wasn’t ready for something this serious.” The tears finally spilled over. “Last night he was about to kiss me. Today he stood there while his perfect ex-girlfriend confirmed every insecurity I’ve ever had about myself.”
Jade’s expression shifted from sympathetic to furious. “That absolute?—”
“And then she said it to my face. Right there in the lobby, while Grant just stood there. Called everything childish while he said nothing.” Felicity wiped her eyes angrily. “I’ve been working myself to death for two weeks. Staying until midnight, coming in at dawn, and he thinks I’m not professional enough. He thinks I’m not serious enough.”
She pulled out her wallet and opened it, showing Jade the pitiful contents. “You know what’s really pathetic? I have thirty-seven dollars to my name. This whole business is held together with craft glue and hope. My landlord is getting less jovial with every phone call about rent.”
She gestured vaguely at her coat. “Last month I accepted a hand-knitted scarf as payment for a five-hundred-dollar job because I was too afraid to demand actual money. Because I’m afraid people will say no. Afraid they’ll confirm what Mark said, what Victoria said, what Grant apparently thinks—that I’m just playing at being professional.”
Jade was quiet for a long moment, just looking at her. Then she stood, finished making the cocoa, and set a huge mug in front of Felicity, piled high with whipped cream.
“Drink,” she ordered. “And then listen to me.”
Felicity took a sip. The cocoa was perfect—rich and sweet and warm.
“Grant Whitaker is an idiot,” Jade said flatly. “A brilliant, emotionally constipated idiot who can calculate risk assessments in his sleep but apparently can’t see what’s right in front of him.”
“But—”
“No, listen.” Jade’s voice was firm. “I’ve been in that bank. I’ve seen what you’ve done. You took a cold, sterile building that felt like a mausoleum and made it feel like a home. You made people excited about going to a bank, Fee. Do you know how impossible that is?”
