Page 46 of Grumpy Glitter Christmas
Felicity stood in the lobby, staring at the massive silver monstrosity while it emitted a grinding sound that suggested imminent mechanical death.
“That’s not good,” Meena said, appearing at her elbow with coffee. She’d been stopping by daily to check progress, her corporate efficiency a strange comfort. “Do we have a backup?”
“The backup is not having a cocoa fountain.” Felicity crouched down to examine the motor. “But this was supposed to be a signature element. The ‘Chocolate Vesuvius Experience’. Lots of people are talking about it.”
“Can you fix it?”
“I’m a decorator, not a mechanical engineer.”
“I can give it a try. I minored in mechanical engineering.”
Both women looked up. Grant stood a few feet away, holding what appeared to be a small toolkit.
“You’re a mechanical engineer?” Felicity couldn’t hide her surprise.
“Not really, but I know enough to be dangerous.” He knelt beside the fountain, opening his toolkit with practiced ease. “May I?”
Felicity stepped back, watching as he removed a panel and peered inside. His movements were confident, methodical. This was a side of him she’d never seen—not the careful bank manager, but someone who understood how things worked, how to fix them.
“The main gear is stripped,” he said after a moment. “The motor’s running but not engaging the pump. It’s fixable, but I’ll need a replacement part.”
“How long?”
“If I can find the part locally, a few hours. If I have to order it, maybe two days.”
“We don’t have two days.”
“I know.” He looked up at her, and for the first time since Tuesday, they held eye contact for more than a second. “Let me make some calls. I’ll fix this.”
“Why?” The question came out before she could stop it. “Why do you care?”
Something shifted in his expression. “Because this matters to you. And because...” He stopped, seemed to reconsider. “Because I want this gala to succeed. For both of us.”
He stood, pulling out his phone. “I’ll call the restaurant supply company in Burlington. They might have the part.”
He walked away, already dialing, leaving Felicity staring after him with a confusing tangle of gratitude and frustration and something she absolutely could not afford to feel.
“He’s trying,” Meena said quietly beside her.
“I know.”
“Are you going to let him?”
“I don’t know.” Felicity turned away from where Grant was pacing near his office, phone pressed to his ear. “I can’t think about that right now. I have a gala to save.”
By Thursday evening, Felicity was running on coffee and sheer stubborn will.
The chandelier installation had taken twice as long as expected. One of the rental company’s trucks had gotten stuck in early snow, delaying the chair delivery by four hours. The caterer had called with seventeen questions that somehow all required immediate answers. And the Methodist choir director had sent a tersely worded email threatening to pull out entirely if they were expected to “share the stage with amateurs.”
Felicity had handled all of it with grim efficiency, moving from crisis to crisis with her bright, professional smile firmly in place. She’d soothed the choir director, coordinated the chair delivery, and made fourteen decisions about appetizer presentations without breaking stride.
She was exhausted. She was stressed. But she was proving—to herself, to everyone—that she could do this.
“You need to eat something.” Jade appeared in the ballroom doorway with a paper bag. “And before you say you don’t have time, I’m not leaving until you consume actual food.”
Felicity wanted to protest, but the smell of fresh bread was overwhelming. She sat on the edge of the stage and accepted the sandwich Jade handed her.
“How are you holding up?” Jade asked, sitting beside her.
