Page 36 of Babies for the Christmas Grump
Decor: Hundreds of candles, each one flickering like the promise of something better. Glittering garlands draped over every surface.
A ceiling installation of faux snowflakes. Delicate and beautiful, a little magical, hanging low enough to create a canopy of winter wonder. People will feel like they’ve stepped into a holiday dream.
Food: Chef Andre’s gingerbread towers. Because if there’s one thing this place is known for, it’s food that brings back memories.
Mini Beef Wellingtons, because it’s fancy but still cozy.
Boozy eggnog shots. Because why not?
Music: A live jazz trio, so the entire evening is filled with a soft, elegant soundtrack of classic Christmas covers.
No loudspeakers, no cheesy tunes. Just smooth jazz. The kind of music that makes people feel like they’ve stepped into the pages of a magazine.
Marketing: This needs exposure. And lots of it. I’m going to invite the local press, some social media influencers to spread the word, and, hell, even the mayor.
I’m not playing small anymore. If we’re doing this, we’re going big.
My mind spins as I write down even more details, all the ideas flooding in faster than I can keep up with.
The gala will be a celebration ofeverything. Of the hotel, of Evie’s legacy, of Christmas, of all the things I’ve been afraid of. It’ll be everything this hotel needs to show it’s not dead, not yet.
But as the adrenaline starts to wear off, I feel a heavy pressure settle over me.
The scale of it. The risks. The hotel is on thin ice financially; I can’t deny that. Every penny is stretched. And this gala? It’s a gamble.
Ryder will hate it. He’ll see it as another reckless idea. Impractical, unnecessary. He’ll point out the numbers, tell me the hotel needs stability, not a flashy event.
But Ican’tlet this slip through my fingers.
If I pull this off, it will show everyone that The Garland Rose still has life, that I can make something of it. And if it fails? Well, then I’ll know I gave it everything I had.
I stop and rub my eyes, already feeling the heaviness of what I’m about to undertake. But this isn’t just about saving a hotel.
It’s about proving this to myself that I’m more than the girl who was handed this mess. That I’m capable of pulling something great out of chaos.
I may have no clue what I’m doing, but I’m damn sure going to do it anyway.
The evening slips into an unexpected quiet.
After hours of phone calls, emails, and frantic brainstorming, I find myself curling up on the couch in my room, too wound up to sleep but too tired to do anything else.
The lockbox and its contents are scattered across the desk, still taunting me with its mysteries, but I push it aside for the moment.
I need a break—a distraction. So, I grab the remote, scroll through the hotel’s old DVD collection—because of course there’s a Christmas Classics section—and I spot the movie.
Snowed in With Santa.
The one Ryder starred in. The one where he was the Christmas Prince. The one that made him a teen idol, apparently.
I shake my head, trying to make sense of it all.
For a second, I almost laugh. Me, sitting here, voluntarily watching the very movie that proves Ryder’s not just the uptight CFO I’ve been trying to deal with.
He’s that guy. The one who charmed his way into every living room on Christmas Eve twenty years ago, in a red velvet suit, probably making a dozen hearts skip in one go.
I press play.
And then, there he is. A scrawny, overenthusiastic young man with too much gel in his hair, flashing a smile that could melt the entire North Pole. He’s awkward. Endearing. And wow,socheesy.
