Page 7 of Grinch Girl

Diane snapped her fingers. “I have the perfect name for a dating show with a holiday twist:Single Bells.”

My mouth fell open. “That’s amazing!”

“We should do this!” she announced. “At this point, what can it hurt?”

Nice. If Diane was firmly in, it was unlikely that the others would reject the idea.

If only…

I sighed and said the thing that had kept circling in my head overnight. “I really wish we had the Christmas Village, though. It would be the perfect place to film, and if tourists do come, at least they’d have a central place to go.” But the lack of the Christmas Village wasn’t something I could fix.

Carol stood up. “I have some news on that front. Exciting news!” She winked at me. “I thought I was going to have the big reveal today, but between Jane’s idea and my news, the rest of you are getting a one-two punch.”

She took a deep breath. “I found a donor. Someone to contribute the full amount of money needed to build the Christmas Village. And not just like it’s been the last few years. To build it back to the level it was at fifteen years ago: the ice rink, the carnival games, a space for live music, the big central tree, the food and drink stalls—everything!”

The group gasped in unison. “Really?” Jim sputtered. “How can that even be done in time?”

“Money talks,” Carol said cheerfully. “Loudly. The donor has arranged for construction to begin today, and most of the build can be done by December 3. I’ve already called all of my contacts, looking for vendors to fill the stalls. I’ve called the highschool, asking for teenagers to work.” She clasped her hands together, eyes shining. “Sal over at the tree lot has found the best tree! It’s twenty-five feet tall.”

She beamed at me. “Might that not be a fun date for your contestants, Jane? To decorate the tree at the center of the square?”

I pictured it. Daters flirting or bickering as they strung lights and hung ornaments. Oh yeah. Super great. Just like a Hallmark Christmas movie. Except…

“Do we even need to do the dating show web series thing now if we have the Christmas Village?” Michael voiced what I was thinking.

“I think we do,” Carol said firmly. “The Christmas Village will be great, but we’ve already missed the long Thanksgiving weekend for tourists, and we’ve had no marketing or PR yet. What good is a gorgeous Christmas Village if we don’t have anyone come to spend money?”

Diane got to her feet, looking positively weepy. “This is wonderful! Wednesday we had no ideas and no hope. Today we have a two-pronged attack to save everything.”

Carol grabbed a notebook and pen. “We have no time to spare. I need help with the Christmas Village. Jim, Diane, Michael—let’s get to work.” She looked up at me. “You and Sean start finding people for the web series and outlining a schedule.” She squinted at a clock on the wall. “Let’s meet back here at four to discuss progress.”

Jim raised his hand again. “Carol, wait. Who is this big donor? How did this happen?”

She simply smiled, a tinseled Cheshire cat. “You’ll find out at four!”

Chapter Three

Two days beforeshe passed, I’d brought Greta her morning coffee from Carol’s, our typical routine. But she wasn’t sitting on the sofa as usual, waiting for me to discuss which shop shifts I’d cover or what groceries she needed or chortling over a juicy bit of gossip from her group of lifelong friends.

Instead, she sat at the kitchen table with a purposeful set to her shoulders. Just the sight of her there was enough for my mouth to go dry. We had a history at that kitchen table, Greta and me. The hard conversations happened there.

“What’s wrong?” I said immediately, squeezing the coffee cups so hard that liquid threated to spill from the plastic-covered tops.

“Nothing,” she said implacably. “I just wanted to have a little chat with you about your future.”

“My future?” Blinking, I plopped down across from her and handed over her half-decaf with cream.

“Time is passing, Jane,” she said. One of the things I loved about Greta was that she was always blunt. Few people manage to intertwine kindness with unwavering directness, but that was one of her gifts. “I’m worried you’re going to wake up one day and realize it’s passed you by. It’s time for you to make a plan.”

Now, of course, I realized that Greta knew her health was declining much more rapidly than expected. This “little chat” had been her way of propelling me to a life without her.

But in the moment, I felt a flare of temper in my gut. How, exactly, was I supposed to be planning for a better future whenalmost every minute of every day was spoken for by work or by caring for her?

I didn’t say anything aloud, but she knew me so well. She read my exasperation in the angle of my jaw on my next sip of coffee. “Don’t get defensive,” she said gently. “I just want you to have a life that you’re proud of. I wantmorefor you.”

My jaw relaxed. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

She lifted her hand and began counting off on her fingers. “Work that’s more meaningful to you than a paycheck. A community of friends or a place you’re happy to be.” She waggled her eyebrows. “A relationship with a nice man, perhaps.”

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