Page 8 of Merry with a Grumpy Boss

“Did our mutual friend here write that little speech for you?”

Monty’s face scrunched in confusion. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Never mind.” Haywood wandered away, examining the contents of each shelf.

“Has there been a change to the plans?” Monty asked her. “I’ve instructed the students to meet here after school on Friday to help assemble the stalls in preparation for the festival.”

“That will be fine. Walt and the crew are bringing the frames over first, but they’ll need help putting everything together.” She patted his shoulder. “The weatherman is predicting clear skies and a balmy 62 degrees. Turnout should be excellent.”

“What is this?” Monty whispered, his gaze jumping between Ginger and Haywood. “The air is alive with static electricity, and although I have tried, our chemical reaction was insufficient to power even a nightlight. The zip-zap between you two could keep the town’s Christmas lights ablaze until Valentine’s Day.”

“You didn’t try very hard, Fremont, because—if I’m not mistaken—you have been keeping company with Michael Landoll.”

“I am an equal-opportunity lover.” He looked at her with bedroom eyes. “Life is too short not to love when love comes along. Now fly away, little Christmas cardinal. Love is waiting.”

Ginger hurried out of the shop, desperately hoping Haywood hadn’t overheard Monty’s ridiculous claims.

“Leaving so soon?” He dallied behind her, forcing her to hold the door open longer than necessary.

When they were on the sidewalk, he waited expectantly. “Where to next? I’m sure you have a slew of testimonials lined up to convince me the festival must go on.”

The Grinch was back. Ginger’s heart dropped with a heavy thud.

“I’ll admit I had an ulterior motive for introducing you around town,” she admitted, “but no one has been coached on what to say. There’s no need. The Jingle Bell festival is good in a hundred different ways. It’s a Love Beach tradition, the first big event of the season. It brings people together, and gives local merchants a chance to showcase their businesses. Arthur came up with the idea of sponsoring our non-profits so the festival was about more than making money.”

“It’s all about the money.” His brows dipped in consternation. “The non-profits participate specifically to tap into the cashflow.”

“Yes, but…” She was losing her patience. “Have you ever worked with a non-profit? Benefitted from the services offered by a non-profit? Had your life saved or changed or turned around by a non-profit? These organizations aren’t raising money for an exotic vacation or six-figure sportscar. The funding they bring in provides job skills, housing, food, medical care. Without these community agencies, there would be kids left unsupervised after school while their single parents work a second job. Animals euthanized at kill shelters. Seniors left isolated because they can no longer drive or have limited mobility. Natural habitats and wildlife endangered by pollution and destruction to the natural resources they need to survive. Who do you think pays for these things?”

By now, she was shouting, chest heaving, tears perilously close.

“Apparently, inyourworld, it’s more important to impress people with a big fancy party than putting all those resources to some actual good. Maybe that’s how the Charleston Holloways do things, but in Love Beach, we know what’s really important in life.”

Haywood stared at her, eyes dark with shock, his own breath coming fast.

“I’ll take you back to the office.” She jerked Max’s leash, prompting the dog to whine. “I promise this is the last personal conversation we’ll have. I’ll keep it professional at the office, don’t worry.”

“No.” Haywood stood rooted to the sidewalk. “You’re exactly right. I’m clueless about all of this. Community. Connection. Philanthropy. In my world, it’s all about appearances and social climbing. Myfiancéeslept with mybrotheron Christmas Eve. Maybe it was the other way around: my brother slept with my fiancée. The point is, I can’t even count on my family to have my back. Yet here you are, going to battle for your neighbors and friends. Arthur Calhoun risked his business. Marietta and Walt have been loyal employees for more than four decades. Margo’s vow to become my faithful wife didn’t even last three months.”

Haywood’s admission caused her anger to deflate like a balloon pricked by a pin. She could not imagine living in a world where loyalty, especially from family, was non-existent and promises were so easily broken.

“Is this because it’s Christmas?” He looked around, taking in the festive lights, red bows, and evergreen boughs adorning the lamp posts and store fronts.

“No. This is Love Beach year-round.” Something passed between them, an awareness of shared vulnerability. “You just happened to come at the happiest time of the year.”

“I’d like to learn more, Ginger.” For a minute, it seemed like Haywood wanted to take her hand, but he let his arm fall back to his side. “Dayton Calhoun brought me in to investigate options. He wants to preserve the design company. He understood how important it was to his uncle and Love Beach. He understood; I did not. But I’m starting to see it’s more than a business.”

“Wow. The plan worked.” Ginger laughed softly. “My friends won’t believe it.”

“You had a plan?”

“No, it was The Plan.” She shook her head, denying his unspoken request to explain.

“If you are this creative and resourceful and dedicated when it comes to preserving the festival, I want you on my team to save Calhoun Designs.”

“We should get back to the office.” She tugged Max, gently this time.

“I have a better idea.” He pulled the leash out of her hand, bending next to the dog to release the clasp holding the Santa cap in place. Ruffling the mutt’s fur, he stood. “Let’s grab carryout somewhere and visit the animal shelter. You said the manager is a friend of yours?”

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