Page 118 of Babies for the Christmas Grump
But of course, that’s not how life works.
“Okay, Sunny. You’ve got this,” I mutter to myself, shaking my head as I turn back toward the hotel.
The last thing I need is a moment of peace. I need to keep moving. I need to make sure everything goes perfectly tonight.Because if the gala goes south, I don’t even want to think about what’ll happen to this place.
The Garland Rose can’t afford to fail. Not now.
Back inside, the warm, cinnamon-scented air hits me like a hug, and for half a second, I think I can escape into the Christmas magic. But then Chef Andre is at my side again, clipboard in hand, as if I’m his personal project.
“Where’s the holly? The table needs more sparkle!” he practically demands, eyes wide and serious.
Oh, right. Sparkle.
I give him a thumbs-up, then take off in search of someone, anyone, who can help me at this point. I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to do with holly, but I figure I can fake it.
I’m good at faking it. I’ll keep smiling, nodding, and running around until no one notices I have no idea what I’m doing.
I’m not cut out for this. But here I am, running around, the one responsible for this entire hotel, and a soon-to-be mother, while trying to ignore the nausea that keeps creeping up behind me as an uninvited guest.
By the time I make my way back to the lobby, I’m starting to feel like a walking disaster. The decorations are gorgeous, but there’s no time to admire them. There’s more than enough on my to-do list.
The musicians we hired in place of the DJ are tuning up, the bartenders are rehearsing their cocktail list, and the staff are running in all directions.
I spy Eli in the corner, directing the waitstaff, and I make a beeline toward him. If anyone knows where the last-minute panic will hit, it’s him. He’s the one who gets it done.
“Eli! Do you have the final seating chart? We need to check the VIPs—” I start, but he holds up a hand, giving me a reassuring smile.
“Already done. And I’ve got the cranberry sauce handled,” he says, raising an eyebrow as if he’s in on some secret.
My stomach clenches again, but I try to keep it together. “You’re a lifesaver, Eli. Seriously. You’re like the calm in the storm.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
His grin is wide and wry, and it reminds me of the reason I love this place. The people here are why I can keep going, even if everything else is falling apart.
I manage a half-smile before I turn and head for the back hall, determined to check on one more thing before I lose my mind completely—a last-minute check on the tablecloths.
But as soon as I step into the back hall, I’m greeted by a scene straight out of a Christmas-themed disaster movie.
Two of the bartenders are standing over a giant ice sculpture that’s started to melt, sending water flooding across the floor.
There’s a pile of crumpled napkins and spilled champagne bottles near the wall, and I almost trip over a stray chair leg in my haste to get closer.
“What the hell happened here?” I demand, squinting at the scene.
Dex looks up from behind the ice sculpture, his face pale but oddly calm. “Uh, the ice sculpture… um… melted.”
I blink at him. “I can see that. Why is it melting on the floor?”
“It… wasn’t supposed to do that,” he says, with a helpless shrug.
I stand there, staring at the watery mess. I’m so tired. So done with this day already. And then, of course, my stomach decides now is the perfect time to give a little warning signal.
I clutch my stomach, trying not to double over in front of everyone.
“But… I’ll handle it,” Dex insists. “Don’t you worry about a thing, Sunny.”
I want to argue, to tell him that I am worried about everything, but my body has other ideas. The nausea surges again, and I feel my face go pale.
