Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Grant was standing at Mrs. Finch’s teller station, reviewing the quarterly audit checklist, when the bell over the entrance chimed.
He glanced up reflexively, then paused.
A broad-shouldered man in a flannel jacket was holding the door open for a woman Grant vaguely recognized—she ran the bakery on Main Street, he thought. She was juggling a white bakery box and unwinding a bright red scarf.
“Thank you, Leo,” she was saying. “I still think you should have let me drive. Your truck has no heat.”
“Truck has heat,” the man said, his voice carrying that easy, good-natured tone of someone used to outdoor work. “You’re just cold-blooded.”
His sandy-brown hair was tousled, probably from the wind, and he had the relaxed posture of someone equally comfortable with animals and machinery.
Grant straightened, the audit checklist forgotten. Leo Carter, presumably. Felicity had mentioned him briefly—something about fixing the elementary school boiler and the bakery. The reindeer farm owner, if Grant remembered correctly.
The woman spotted him and smiled brightly. “Mr. Whitaker! We’re here for the ballroom assessment. I’m Jade—Jade Bennett, from Sugar Pine Sweets. I brought cookies. Gingerbread, still warm.”
He’d walked past her bakery countless times, though he’d never been inside. He’d noticed the recent upgrade. The place had been practically falling apart, and now it was always brimming with customers, and the windows were decorated with an enthusiasm that bordered on aggressive cheer.
Mrs. Finch’s eyes narrowed at the bakery box as if it contained a live explosive.
Grant’s gaze flicked to the Bench of Unsolicited Commentary. Empty, mercifully. Ida and Ruth had apparently found other entertainment for the late afternoon. Small blessings.
“Ms. Bennett.” He nodded at her, then extended a hand to Leo. “Mr. Carter. Grant Whitaker.”
Leo’s handshake was brief, firm, the grip of someone who worked with his hands. “Just Leo. Heard you’ve got a challenging space.”
“That’s one word for it.” Grant gestured toward the back corridor. “Ms. Adams is already in the ballroom. This way.”
As they walked through the lobby, Jade moved closer to him, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Is Felicity panicking? She’s been texting me in all caps for the past hour.”
“She seemed... concerned about Mr. Carter’s delayed arrival,” Grant said diplomatically.
“Leo doesn’t panic, which means he also doesn’t rush,” Jade said. “But when he shows up, he always has answers.” She glanced at the man walking ahead of them, his work boots leaving faint prints on the polished marble. “Even if those answers are sometimes ‘this is impossible and you’re all crazy.’”
“Let’s hope for different answers today,” Grant muttered.
They walked through the back corridor in a strange procession.
Grant led, hyper-aware of these strangers casually walking through what should be the most formal bank wing.
Leo followed with an easy, unhurried stride—not slow, just deliberate, like someone who’d learned not to waste energy.
And Jade brought up the rear, still clutching her bakery box and looking around with wide eyes.
“My aunt Mabel said there was a room like this, but I thought it was just a rumor,” she murmured.
“It’s been closed for a while,” Grant said. And now he was about to open it for a decorator, a baker, and a reindeer farmer.
He pushed the doors open. They groaned on their hinges, same as always.
Felicity spun around from where she’d been standing near the windows, her phone clutched in her hand. Relief washed over her face so completely that Grant felt an unexpected pang of something—sympathy, maybe, or recognition of how much pressure she was under.
“Leo! Thank goodness.” She rushed forward, and her hand briefly touched Leo’s arm in gratitude. “I was worried you couldn’t make it.”
“Was finishing up at the farm,” Leo said, his warm brown eyes crinkling slightly. “Came as soon as Ben could cover.”
Jade was already moving toward Felicity, setting down the cookie box on a dusty windowsill and pulling her friend into a quick, fierce hug. “We’re here. It’s going to be fine.”
Grant stood in the doorway, watching the three of them come together—Felicity’s anxiety visibly easing, Jade’s hand on her shoulder, Leo’s solid, reassuring presence.
They moved like people who’d known each other for years, comfortable in each other’s space, offering support as naturally as breathing.
Grant felt something uncomfortable twist in his chest. Not jealousy, exactly. More like... recognition of something he didn’t have. When was the last time someone had touched his arm like that? When was the last time someone had driven across town just to support him through a difficult moment?
College, probably. Before his father died. Before the weight of the Whitaker name had settled on his shoulders like concrete.
Leo said nothing for a long moment. He simply walked into the center of the room, his gaze moving methodically across the space.
He pulled a small flashlight from his jacket pocket and examined the chandeliers without comment.
Then he crouched to inspect the floorboards, running his hand over the wood with surprising gentleness.
Grant found himself watching with reluctant respect. Leo moved with the economy of someone who understood how things worked—not just mechanically, but structurally. He wasn’t performing an assessment, he was having a conversation with the building.
Jade moved closer to Felicity, hugging herself against the cold. “Your breath is fogging,” she whispered.
“Heating failed fifteen years ago,” Grant supplied, watching Leo work.
Leo stood and walked to the far wall. “Original radiators?”
“Yes.”
“Still connected to the main system?”
Grant paused, genuinely uncertain. “I... believe so. They were never removed, just shut off when the boiler failed.”
Leo nodded and continued his methodical examination. He tested the windows, measured the frames with a tape measure he’d produced from somewhere, and took notes in a small pad. Every movement was economical, purposeful.
When Leo walked to the electrical panel near the stage and pulled out a voltage tester, Grant felt a flicker of surprise. A reindeer farmer with a voltage tester. This town continued to defy his expectations.
“Is he always this quiet?” Jade whispered to Felicity.
“He’s thinking,” Felicity whispered back. “That’s a good sign.”
Finally, Leo closed the electrical panel and turned to face them. His expression was thoughtful but not grim.
“Okay,” he said. “Here’s what I see.”
Grant braced himself for the verdict: impossible, not feasible, too expensive, too risky.
But Leo walked to the center of the room and began to speak with quiet confidence.
“Heating: The boiler’s done, and replacing it isn’t happening in your timeline. But those radiators are still connected—I can see the pipes. What you need are industrial space heaters. The kind construction crews use in winter. They’ll get this space warm enough.”
Grant blinked. That was... actually a reasonable solution.
Leo continued, outlining costs, timelines, specifications. “You’ll want to start heating the space about a week before the event. Not just for comfort—you need to dry out the moisture that’s built up in here. Get the wood acclimated. Run them continuously.”
Every answer was practical, measured, achievable. When he explained that the electrical system could handle low-wattage LEDs, Grant felt his skepticism warring with reluctant relief.
“What’s your lighting plan?” Leo asked Felicity.
“Thousands of white fairy lights. Wrapped around the chandeliers, strung from the ceiling beams. Ice-blue battery-powered uplights along the walls.”
Leo nodded. “That’ll work. Fairy lights barely draw anything. Battery uplights don’t touch your electrical at all. You’re well within safe limits.”
Grant found himself reassessing. Not the ballroom—he’d always known the bones were good. But Felicity. She hadn’t made just a wild promise to Meena. She’d actually thought this through. She’d brought in someone who knew what he was doing. She had a real plan.
When Leo crouched to examine the floor—running his hand over the wood, tapping it with his knuckles, testing for give—Grant watched with growing respect. This wasn’t just a handyman doing a favor. Leo knew what he was looking at.
“Floor’s solid,” Leo said, standing. “Original hardwood, probably oak. No rot, no major damage. You don’t need refinishing—you need a deep clean and a seal coat.”
He explained about industrial buffers and fast-drying sealant, about floor drains and drying times. Everything he said made sense. Everything was achievable.
“You’ll need at least three or four people for the cleaning,” Leo said. “Figure two full days minimum.”
“I’ll do it,” Felicity said immediately.
“I’ll help,” Jade added just as quickly. She looked at Felicity with fierce loyalty. “You decorated my entire bakery for free. You spent three days making it look like a gingerbread house exploded in the best possible way. I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me—”
“Friends don’t let friends scrub historic ballrooms alone,” Jade interrupted. “I’m helping. End of discussion.”
“Bottom line,” Leo said, turning to Grant. “About four thousand total for equipment rental and materials. Labor’s just sweat equity.”
Four thousand. Grant had been bracing for Leo to say fifteen, maybe twenty thousand. Four thousand was... nothing. A rounding error in the contractor budget.
“That’s within the contractor budget,” he heard himself say. “Meena authorized fifteen thousand for venue preparation. Four thousand is... reasonable.”
Felicity stared at him, her blue eyes wide with shock and hope. “Seriously?”
“Corporate allocated the funds,” he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral even as relief flooded through him. “It would be irresponsible not to use them if there’s a viable solution.”