Chapter 5 #2
“You’re impossible,” she whispered, shaking her head. “You are a black hole of joy.”
He stiffened. “I am a bank manager, Ms. Adams. My job is to mitigate risk, not to cultivate… whimsy.”
The word ‘whimsy’ was delivered with the same distaste one might use for ‘fungal infection.’
Before Felicity could respond, the door to the bank opened, and Meena Patel swept in like a highly caffeinated force of nature.
“Grant! Felicity! Perfect, you’re both here.
” She was carrying her ever-present leather portfolio and radiating the kind of energy that suggested she’d already had three espressos and conquered a small nation before nine AM.
“I just got off a call with corporate and they’re very excited about the progress.
But we need to move forward on the venue assessment—have you shown Felicity the ballroom yet? ”
Felicity blinked. “The ballroom?”
Grant straightened slightly. “Ah, right.” He turned to Meena. “So you still want to proceed with that space?”
Meena’s eyes narrowed. “Of course. Why wouldn’t we?”
Grant sighed and then turned to Felicity. “The ballroom is a bit worn, Meena wants to use it as the actual Gala venue. I was going to take you through it after we established the lobby parameters.”
“The lobby is just the warm-up and greeting space,” Meena said briskly. “The ballroom is where everything happens—the dinner, the auction, the dancing. It’s the centerpiece.” She looked at Felicity. “You’ve never seen it?”
“No, I—”
“Perfect! Let’s go look at it right now.” Meena was already moving toward the large double doors. “I have twenty minutes before my next call. Come on, both of you. I want Felicity’s immediate, honest assessment.”
Grant and Felicity exchanged a brief glance—his unreadable, hers confused—before following Meena.
They walked through to the other side of the lobby in a strange procession: Meena leading with purposeful clicks of her heels, Grant following with the resigned posture of a man being led to an execution, and Felicity bringing up the rear, her mind whirling with questions.
Past Mrs. Finch, who watched them with undisguised curiosity. Past Ida and Ruth, who exchanged knowing looks. Past the vault, through a back corridor Felicity hadn’t known existed.
The hallway was beautiful—original crown molding, marble tiles, evidence of the building’s elegant bones. But it was also clearly unused. Dust gathered in the corners. The air smelled stale.
They stopped at a pair of massive oak double doors, easily ten feet tall, with ornate brass handles that had tarnished with age.
“This room hasn’t been used for events since 1999,” Grant said, pulling a different set of keys from his jacket pocket. “My father closed it after... complications.”
“Which is exactly why it’s perfect for a revival story,” Meena said with enthusiasm. “Historic space brought back to life for a community celebration. The narrative practically writes itself.”
Grant fit the key into the old lock. It turned with a reluctant groan, the sound of metal that hadn’t moved in years.
The doors swung open.
Felicity stepped inside, and her breath caught.
The ballroom was enormous.
Soaring ceilings stretched at least twenty feet above her head.
Three massive crystal chandeliers hung dark and silent, their bulbs long burned out, but their structure still elegant and commanding.
Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the entire eastern wall, tall and graceful, though their glass was so dirty the winter sunlight barely penetrated.
The floors were original hardwood, wide planks that had once been polished to a mirror shine but were now dull with decades of dust and neglect.
Elaborate crown molding traced the perimeter of the ceiling, and ornate ceiling medallions surrounded each chandelier. At the far end of the room, a small stage with a proscenium arch suggested a space once filled with music and dancing.
It was beautiful.
It was also clearly catastrophically abandoned.
Dust covered every surface in a thick gray blanket. Cobwebs draped the corners like forgotten party streamers. The windows, for all their grandeur, were single-pane and clearly leaking cold air—Felicity could feel the draft from where she stood.
And then she exhaled, and her breath came out in a visible puff of white fog.
It was freezing in here.
Meena walked around the room taking photos with her phone, her eyes bright with possibility.
“The bones are perfect,” she said. “This is exactly what we need. Character. History. A story.” She turned to Felicity. “What do you think? Can you work with this?”
Grant’s expression tightened. “Meena, we’ve discussed the issues. The heating is nonfunctional, the electrical can’t handle modern loads, the windows leak, and the floors need complete refinishing. Any one of those would take weeks to address properly.
“But look at it!” Meena gestured expansively, turning in a slow circle.
“These ceilings! The chandeliers! The windows! Can’t you just picture it?
Lights glimmering, people dancing, moonlight shining in.
” She spun to face Felicity, her eyes bright.
“You see it, don’t you? Tell me you can picture how stunning this will be. Tell me you can make it work.”
Felicity stood in the center of the frozen, dusty ballroom, her mind racing.
This was impossible.
She had no idea how to fix industrial heating systems. She didn’t know anything about electrical codes or load capacities. Professional floor refinishing took weeks. This wasn’t decorating. This was structural engineering. This was construction management.
She thought of her bank account: thirty-seven dollars.
She thought of Mr. Henderson’s voice on the phone, less jovial each time: “Rent is due on the first, Felicity.”
She thought of Mark’s parting words: “You’re just too much.”
Grant was watching her, his expression carefully neutral, but she could read the subtext: See? It’s impossible. Even Meena will have to admit it.
And Meena was watching her too, with those sharp, assessing eyes. Waiting for her professional judgment. Trusting her expertise.
I’m counting on you, Meena had said yesterday.
Her hands were freezing. Her stomach was in knots.
But she was standing in the most beautiful room she’d ever seen.
Underneath all the dust and cold and neglect was a space that had once been filled with music and laughter and celebration.
A space with soaring ceilings and crystal chandeliers and windows that had once caught the light and made it dance.
She lifted her chin.
“I can make this work.”
Grant’s eyebrows rose. “Ms. Adams—”
“Not by myself,” she said quickly, her mind already working through the problems. “But luckily I have a lot of contacts that can help at a moment’s notice.”
Meena’s face lit up. “I knew it. Tell me.”
Felicity walked toward the center of the room, her boots leaving tracks in the dust.
“Leo Carter. He owns the reindeer farm, but he’s also a great carpenter and handyman. He kept the elementary school running when the boiler died in the middle of February. He rebuilt the church organ when everyone said it was beyond repair. He’s rebuilding Sugar Pine Sweets.”
She gestured to the surrounding space.
“If anyone can figure out temporary heating and safe electrical loads for this space, it’s Leo. He understands old buildings. He knows how to work with what you have instead of requiring everything to be perfect.”
Grant opened his mouth, likely to object, but Meena cut him off.
“Temporary heating. I love it. What about the windows? The floor?”
Felicity walked to the windows, examining them more closely.
“The windows leak, but if we can get heating in here, we compensate. Heavy drapes—floor to ceiling white silk, maybe—to create insulation and add to the aesthetic. Weatherstripping. The cold becomes part of the atmosphere instead of a problem.”
She turned to look at the floor.
“The floor doesn’t need to be refinished to perfection. It needs to be clean and safe. We can rent industrial buffers, do a deep clean, one coat of sealant. People will be dancing—they won’t be analyzing the finish.”
“Ms. Adams, you’re talking about thousands of dollars in contractor fees, equipment rental—” Grant started.
“Which is why I have a contractor budget,” Meena interrupted. “That’s what it’s for, Grant. Use it.”
She walked over to Felicity, her excitement palpable.
“Paint me a picture. What do you see?”
Felicity took a breath. This was it. This was where she either sold her vision or lost the job.
She walked to the center of the ballroom and turned slowly, letting herself see not what was, but what could be.
“Imagine those chandeliers lit,” she said, her voice growing stronger. “Not with the original bulbs—we might need to rewire for that. But we could wrap them with thousands of tiny white lights, creating globes of light. More lights strung from the ceiling beams in swoops, like a canopy of stars.”
She gestured to the walls.
“Ice-blue uplighting along the perimeter, turning these cream walls into something ethereal. Like we’re inside a glacier, but warm.”
She walked toward the windows.
“These windows, dressed in white silk that puddles on the floor. Sheer panels underneath so the light can filter through, soft and diffused. At night, they’ll glow from the lights inside. The whole room will feel like it’s glowing from within.”
She turned back to them, her voice filling with genuine emotion.
“Round tables with white linens. Silver and crystal centerpieces—simple, elegant. White hydrangeas. Candlelight. And of course a tall Blue Spruce decorated in all white and silver with blue lighting.”
She looked at Meena, then at Grant.
“A White Winter Wonderland. Not cute. Not childish. Sophisticated. Timeless. Elegant.”
Her voice softened.
“This room has history. It has dignity. Your grandfather hosted galas here, Grant. We’re not just decorating a space—we’re bringing it back to life. We’re honoring what it was and showing what it can be again.”
Silence fell in the dusty ballroom.
Meena was staring at Felicity with an expression of pure, delighted satisfaction. “That,” she said, “is exactly what I wanted to hear. That’s the story. That’s the brand.” She turned to Grant. “Do you see? This is why I hired her.”
Grant was looking at Felicity with an expression she couldn’t quite read. Not hostility. Not dismissal. Something closer to... surprise.
“The timeline is extremely tight,” he said, but his voice had lost some of its edge.
“Which is why we start immediately,” Meena said briskly. She checked her watch. “Felicity, I need you to get your engineer in here today for an assessment. Grant, I need you to have the contractor budget ready to approve as soon as we have numbers. We have three weeks. It’s tight, but it’s doable.”
She looked between them.
“This is going to be the flagship event for the Hometown Heart campaign. Corporate is watching. The board is watching. Local media will be covering it. This needs to be perfect—not structurally perfect,” she added, glancing at Grant, “but emotionally perfect. It needs to make people feel something.”
She smiled at Felicity.
“Which is exactly what you do best. So.” She clapped her hands together once, a decisive sound that echoed in the empty space. “Let’s make some magic happen. I need updates by end of day. Both of you.”
She pulled out her phone, scrolling through notes.
“Oh, and we’ll need space for a silent auction.
Corporate loves that fundraiser angle—very classy, very community engagement.
I’m reaching out to local businesses for donations this week.
High-end items, gift certificates, experiences.
You’ll just need to create an elegant display area. ”
She glanced around the ballroom. “Maybe along the west wall? And we’ll need bid sheets, a checkout table, the whole setup.”
Grant’s jaw tightened. “That’s a significant additional logistical component.”
“It’s a standard feature of any serious gala,” Meena said breezily.
“Don’t worry, I’ll handle soliciting the donations.
You two just handle making it look amazing.
” She made a note on her phone. “I’ll send you the list of confirmed items as they come in.
Should have most of it finalized two weeks out. ”
She was already walking toward the doors, already mentally on to her next meeting.
“Oh, and Felicity?” She paused at the threshold. “Trust your instincts. They’re good.”
And then she was gone, her heels clicking away down the corridor, leaving Grant and Felicity standing in the frozen ballroom.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Grant exhaled slowly. “You realize what you’ve just committed to.”
“A complete restoration of a historic ballroom in fourteen days with temporary systems and a shoestring budget as well as decorating the bank lobby?” Felicity’s voice was light, but her hands were shaking slightly. “Yeah. I’m aware.”
“If Leo can’t make this work—”
“Then I’ll tell Meena we need to scale back. But I think he can.” She pulled out her phone. “I need to call him. Now.”
Grant nodded. “I’ll pull the building schematics. He’ll need to see the existing systems before he can propose solutions.”
It was the most constructive thing he’d said to her all morning.
Felicity looked at him, really looked at him, and saw something she hadn’t expected: he was nervous. Not about her failing. About the room. About his father’s legacy space being used again.
“We’ll be careful with it,” she said softly. “I promise.”
Something flickered in his eyes. “I know you will.”
They stood there for another moment, the weight of the task settling over them both.
Then Felicity turned and walked toward the doors, already dialing Leo’s number.
“Leo? It’s Felicity. I need you. Emergency restoration project at the bank. How soon can you get here?”