Page 31 of Grump Hard
Marge scoots farther down the table, chin tucked to her chest as she sorts gumdrops by color.
“I think we’ll be fine on that,” I murmur, nodding toward the structure. “If you’ll get to work on that, I’ll help Holly with the icing and…” I turn to her. “And what else?”
“If you’d start cutting two-inch by half-inch strips for the shutters, that would be fantastic.” Her warm, affectionate smile makes my chest feel tight.
But it’s a good tight, the kind I haven’t felt in far too long.
“I have an extra paring knife in my supply bag,” she adds, starting toward her icing station.
I nod. “All right. Let’s get to work.”
Silence settles over our table as we lock in our assigned tasks. Paulie has the main floor walls restored in just a few minutes, and Holly moves in, securing the joints with icing. Once I’ve finished cutting the shutters, I follow with a second batch of the homemade vanilla mixture, applying a thin coat to the cracked cookies with a pastry brush. Soon, Paulie’s moved on to mending the second floor while Holly and I attach the shutters around the windows.
“A little higher on the left corner,” she murmurs, nudging the cookie in my hand up with her tube of piping.
I shift it.
“Now a little lower,” she says. “Split the difference.” I do, and she breathes, “Perfect.”
And it is perfect.
She’s perfect. Now that Gingerbread Storm Marge has been contained, Holly guides the ship with the skill of a Navy Captain and a charismatic Cruise Ship Director combined. She keeps everyone on task and making steady progress, while cracking jokes and offering words of encouragement. She lifts the mood, inspires the troops, and draws us all into the tractor beam of her infectious energy.
She’s not just your average town sweetheart.
She’s a force of nature, of creation, of hope and light, and I instantly decide I need to hire a “Holly” to elevate the culture at Ratcliffe Global. We’ve always been focused, professional, and effective, but how much more effective would we be if there were someone like Holly around, inspiring hope and leading with joy?
But, of course, there’s no one exactly like Holly.
She really is one of a kind…
Soon, Paulie is singing along with the music, changing the lyrics to personal attacks on the mayor that have all of us laughing, and Timmy is twitching with happy excitement as he enacts his decorative vision for the front porch. Even Marge is beaming with pride as she globs store-bought icing over the landscape surrounding the structure.
“You know,” Holly murmurs, as she works in behind me, adding chocolate shingles to the roof as I fix the cookie slats into place, “when I woke up this morning, ‘gingerbread disaster recovery with a guy who hates Christmas’ wasn’t on my bingo card.”
“Your bingo card has very specific squares.” I shrug as I slot the last piece of roof onto the tower room. “And I don’t hate Christmas.”
She hums doubtfully. “You sure about that?”
“I don’t,” I say, before adding in a softer voice, “At least not this Christmas. You’ve made it…better.”
“Aw, Grumpy, thank you. That’s very sweet,” she says, pausing in her shingle-application to shoot me a grin that has my ribs tightening up again. “Maybe the sweetest thing ever. I guess I should blackmail people more often.”
I narrow my eyes in a mock glare. “Or you could quit while you’re ahead. Next time, you might blackmail someone with even less of a sense of humor.”
“Impossible,” she deadpans.
My lips hook up on one side. “Touché.”
She winks. “I like your sense of humor. It’s bone dry and well-structured, like a fine champagne.”
“Hate to interrupt the flirting,” Paulie says behind us, “but we have three minutes to get this bad boy finalized and dusted with powdered sugar snow. How long until the shingles are done?”
“One minute,” Holly says, fingers flying. “How about you, Timmy? Is the walkway almost done?”
“I’m done! Just now, all done!” the boy shouts with his full chest, finally seeming to have found his voice.
I look down, genuinely impressed. “Incredible work, Timmy. You have a future in design. No doubt about it.”
