Chapter 10 #2
They fell into a rhythm. Felicity would select an ornament, consider its placement, and hand it to Grant, who would climb the ladder and hang it where she directed.
Sometimes she’d make him adjust it three times before she was satisfied.
Sometimes she’d declare it perfect immediately.
He quickly learned to predict which ornaments would require adjustment—the larger ones, the ones with more visual weight.
She appreciated symmetry but not uniformity, balance but not rigidity.
Working with her was like learning a new language. One he was surprised to discover he wanted to speak.
“A little to the left,” she said, tilting her head. “No, your left. There. Perfect.”
He climbed down, and she was already selecting the next ornament—a delicate crystal snowflake. Their fingers brushed as he took it from her, and he felt the now-familiar jolt of awareness. Small, electric, impossible to ignore.
“This is kind of nice,” she said quietly. “Working together. Without crisis or chaos or Brice delivering trees that don’t fit.”
“The tree fit,” he said.
“Barely.”
“Adequate clearance is still clearance.”
She laughed at that, soft and genuine, and the sound did something alarming to his cardiovascular system.
They worked in comfortable silence after that, the only sounds being the soft music from her phone and the occasional clink of ornaments.
The ballroom filled with warm, golden light as more of the tree came to life.
The windows had gone dark outside, the world narrowing to just this room, this tree, this moment.
“Last one,” Felicity said, holding up a silver star. “For the top.”
Grant climbed the ladder one more time, reaching up to secure the star on the highest point. Below him, Felicity steadied the ladder, and he was acutely aware of her hands on the metal, of her presence, of the fact that she was watching him.
“How does it look?” he asked.
“Perfect.” Her voice was soft. “Absolutely perfect.”
He climbed down, and they stood together at the base of the ladder, looking up at what they’d created. The tree was a symphony of light and crystal, elegant and magical, exactly what this space needed.
“We should plug it in,” Felicity said. “See the full effect.”
She’d already set up the power connections—of course she had, because despite the chaos, she always had a system. She crossed to the wall and flipped the switch.
The tree bloomed with light.
Hundreds of tiny bulbs glowed to life, their warmth reflecting off crystal ornaments and silver ribbons, casting dancing patterns across the polished floor and up the walls.
The chandeliers overhead caught the light and threw it back in sparkling cascades.
The entire ballroom seemed to shimmer, transformed from an empty historic space into something out of a dream.
Felicity let out a soft, satisfied sigh. “Oh.”
Grant couldn’t take his eyes off her. The way the light caught in her hair, turning it to gold. The pure joy on her face. The small, tired smile that transformed her entire expression.
“You did it,” he said.
She turned to look at him, and her smile widened. “We did it.”
They stood there, surrounded by light and possibility, and Grant felt something fundamental shift inside him. This wasn’t just about the bank anymore. It wasn’t about maintaining his father’s legacy or surviving corporate oversight or checking boxes on a project timeline.
This was about her. About the way she’d brought color and life and hope back to a place that had forgotten how to celebrate.
About the way she made him want to be less careful, less controlled.
About the way she looked at him now, in the glow of the tree they’d decorated together, like he was someone worth knowing.
“You smiled,” she said softly.
He hadn’t realized. But she was right—he could feel it, the unfamiliar pull of his own expression. “Did I?”
“A real one. Not the polite customer service smile. An actual, genuine smile.” She stepped closer, tilting her head. “It’s nice. You should do it more often.”
“Perhaps I need more reasons to.”
“Perhaps you’ve been surrounded by reasons and just haven’t been looking.”
She was close now. Close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her blue eyes, could smell that citrus scent that clung to her, could count the faint freckles across her nose. Close enough that if he just leaned forward slightly, if he just closed the distance between them...
His hand came up seemingly of its own accord and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her cheek, and he felt her breath catch.
“Felicity,” he said, her name rough in his throat.
“Grant,” she whispered back.
Her eyes fluttered closed. She swayed toward him, the smallest movement, but it was invitation and permission and everything he hadn’t known he’d been waiting for.
He lowered his head. She rose on her toes. The world narrowed to the inch of space between them, to the warmth of her breath, to the thundering of his own heart.
His thumb brushed her jaw. Her hand came up to rest on his chest, right over his heart.
One more second. One more breath.
“Well, don’t let us interrupt!”
The voice boomed through the ballroom like a foghorn, shattering the moment into a thousand pieces.
Grant and Felicity sprang apart as if electrocuted. His hand fell away from her face. She stumbled back a step, her eyes wide with shock.
Ida Murray stood in the doorway of the ballroom, Ruth Dyer beside her, both bundled in winter coats and carrying thermoses. They must have come through the front entrance—the one Grant had left unlocked for his final lockup. The one he’d completely forgotten about.
Ida’s grin was absolutely triumphant. “We saw the lights on and thought you two might want some cocoa. The bank lobby door is unlocked, so we figured it was okay to come in. But it looks like we’re interrupting something far more interesting than tree decorating.”
Ruth had her hand over her mouth, her eyes dancing with barely suppressed laughter. “Oh my. Oh dear.”
Grant felt heat creep up his neck—actual, genuine mortification. He was thirty-five years old, a respected bank manager, and he was blushing like a teenager caught by his parents.
Felicity had turned a shade of red that rivaled the ornaments on the tree. “Ida. Ruth. We were just... finishing the tree.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Ida said, her tone absolutely dripping with skepticism. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
“Ida,” Ruth said, nudging her friend. “Leave them alone.”
“I’m not doing anything! I’m just observing that these two young people were engaged in some very focused tree-finishing activities.
” She walked further into the ballroom, Ruth following with an apologetic expression.
“Though I have to say, it’s about time. Ruth and I have been watching you two dance around each other for two weeks now.
The whole town has bets going on when you’d finally—”
“Ida!” Ruth’s voice was sharp.
“What? It’s true!”
Grant found his voice, though it came out strangled. “We should probably... I need to lock up. The building.”
“Of course,” Felicity said quickly, not meeting his eyes. “I was just finishing, anyway. I should go. It’s late. I need to—” She was already gathering her things, shoving items into her tote bag with more force than necessary.
“No rush, dear,” Ida said, settling onto a folding chair someone had left in the ballroom as if she planned to stay awhile. “We brought plenty of cocoa. We can all sit and chat about—”
“I really need to go,” Felicity interrupted, her voice tight. She grabbed her coat, her shoes—still not looking at Grant. “Thank you for... for your help with the tree. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She was out the door before he could respond, practically fleeing through the ballroom’s exterior exit. He heard her car start moments later, the engine noise fading as she drove away.
Grant stood in the ballroom, surrounded by the light and beauty they’d created together, with two elderly women who were looking at him with expressions of gleeful interest.
“Well,” Ida said, taking a sip from her thermos. “That went well.”
Ruth shot her friend a look. “Ida Murray, you have the worst timing in the history of timing.”
“I have excellent timing! If we’d come five minutes later, who knows what we would have walked in on!”
“That’s the point,” Ruth said. “We should have come five minutes later.”
Grant closed his eyes, counted to ten, and tried to remember when exactly his carefully controlled life had spiraled so completely out of his grasp.
“I need to lock up,” he repeated, his voice flat. “If you ladies don’t mind.”
“Of course, dear,” Ruth said, standing and ushering Ida toward the door. “We’ll just be going. But Grant?”
He looked at her.
“She’s lovely. Don’t let this—,” she gestured vaguely “—scare you off.”
After they left, Grant stood alone in the ballroom. The tree glowed, beautiful and perfect, exactly what this space needed.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
A text from Victoria: See you tomorrow!
Grant looked at the text. Then at the tree. Then at the exterior door through which Felicity had fled.
Tomorrow Victoria would arrive. Tomorrow he’d have to face both of them—the past he’d carefully left behind and the future he was terrified to reach for.
Seven days until the gala.
Everything was falling apart and coming together simultaneously, and Grant Whitaker had absolutely no idea how to regain control.