Page 42 of Grinch Girl

I leaned back against the sofa cushions and sighed. Did everyone feel like some days were just too much to face? The same work, the same people, the same ups, downs, and disappointments. Did everyone sometimes want to just stay home and hide under a blanket? I never gave in to it, but oh, the urge was strong sometimes.

Blowing out a long breath, I rotated my sore neck and shoulders. I needed Advil, and oh God, would I love some coffee. But I’d been so crazy the past couple of weeks that my grocery situation was dire. I’d have to deal with a glass of tap water and a handful of semi-stale dry cereal for breakfast.

Knuckles on the door. Very light tapping.

I froze on the couch. No way in hell was I opening that door. My eyes and nose were swollen and red, and I’d slept in the same clothes I’d worn the night before. My skin was sour from the sweat that came from anxiety nightmares, and I couldn’t even think about the state of my breath.

After a moment, I heard a scratching sound as though paper was being dragged down my door. Then, footsteps walking away and a following thud, like a door had been shut. Nate returning to his own apartment.

Vaulting silently off my couch, I tiptoed to the door so that I wouldn’t wake up Bruce, and opened it two inches. On the doorstop was a vision of heaven. A large coffee from Carol’s diner and two takeout containers, one that smelled like pancakes and bacon.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, my empty stomach roaring in joy. I carried the unexpected delivery into the living room. Bruce lifted his head at the scent of bacon. His vision had returnedovernight and now his gaze was fixated on the white takeout container. “We’ll share,” I assured him.

The second container was full of over-easy eggs and breakfast potatoes. With a small, handwritten note:Morning, J-Bird. Try the hot sauce on this. If you dare.

It’s odd how you can feel yourself brightening. The remaining pricks of the headache faded at my temples. My lungs felt full of clean air. My cheeks plumped in a smile as I inhaled the scent of the coffee. Bruce pushed his nose against my calf muscle, his patented “give me that bacon” move.

And, quite abruptly, the day didn’t seem like too much to face anymore.

Chapter Thirteen

“An emergency councilmeeting? At eight a.m. on a Sunday morning?” Entering ourSingle Bellsstaging area in the Christmas Village, I glared at Carol even as she handed me a hot cup of coffee. “Some of us work nights, you know.” My bartending shift hadn’t ended until after midnight, and I’d been very annoyed to wake up to Carol’s 911 text message at six.

Diane hid a yawn behind her hand. “Put your bark away, Jane. You know Carol wouldn’t call us all together if it wasn’t important.”

DidI know that? Carol had gotten so insane about the Christmas Village, we could be meeting to discuss hot dog inventory.

Michael arrived, carrying two bakery boxes of donuts. At least I’d get another free breakfast out of the deal. “So what’s up, Carol?” Michael said, with a much friendlier tone than I’d offered.

Carol’s gaze was on the door. It opened again, and she nodded. “Good, we’re all here now.” Frowning, I turned around, and my mood took another hit. Carol had been waiting for Bella to arrive. Why was Bella attending council meetings? She shouldn’t be here. Even if she was technically half owner of the liquor store, and our Christmas Village donor.

“Good morning, everyone,” Bella said, smiling at us all. Michael straightened and beamed back at her.

Carol cleared her throat importantly. “I’ve been running numbers and extrapolating, based on precedent of prior years. Between the Christmas Village and the additional touristpopulation brought in by interest inSingle Bells, I would estimate that if the trend holds, we’re on track to survive the winter.”

Diane nodded slowly. “I would agree. I’ve seen a big spike in revenue at the bakery, the thrift shop, and the Lady. If the same numbers continue to the end of the month, all three businesses will survive until tourist season picks up again in the warmer months.”

Michael and Jim confirmed similar results.

“This sounds like good news,” I snapped. “Not something that requires an emergency meeting.”

Carol gave me a long-suffering sigh and opened a laptop. “If, Jane. The key word isif.Ifthe trend holds.Ifthe same numbers continue.”

Why would she think they wouldn’t? “I checked the reporting dashboard of the web series this morning,” I said. “We have seven thousand more viewers than we did last week. Wouldn’t that indicate that we’ll have even more idiots flocking to town than before?”

Carol’s lips tightened. “Yes. But if those ‘idiots’ come to the Christmas Village for thirty minutes to gawk atSingle Bellsand then leave to stay at the Vienna resort or eat in Wontana instead of staying in Falworth to spend their money, we’re in trouble.”

A tiny wrinkle appeared between Bella’s eyes. “Why would they do that?”

Carol swiveled her laptop to face us. “Because the other towns have noticed their tourism revenue dipping and they’re fighting back!”

It took me a minute to realize what she was showing us. It was the webpage where viewers accessedSingle Bells. I never visited this page; I just looked at the administrative dashboard where we uploaded video and checked our viewership numbers.

Below the video window where viewers would click play to watch the episodes, there was a huge flashing ad banner. It alternately showed unflattering still images fromSingle Bells, then flashed to professional photos of Wontana’s ice rink and the Vienna resort’s Christmas décor.

The ad slogan read:Come for the trash, stay for the flash!

“What happens when you click on the ad?” Michael demanded.

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