would be right. But she wasn’t. And that made the whole situation wrong.
“Give it here,” ChiChi squawked, grabbing the laser pointer and fiddling with the dial. “I’ll make it work.”
A fine beam danced around the room, catching Mr. Puffin’s attention. The furry noble fir with claws ignored Lucinda’s cry and leaped off her lap, racing across the room and chasing the light as it went from red to green to yellow. By the time it cycled to white, the poor cat had run into three walls, crawled up—and down—Gabe’s leg, and knocked over the entire Crock-Pot of hot buttered wine.
“Nonna,” Gabe hollered. Pricilla was already reaching for a towel, and Holly was chasing Mr. Puffins to avoid another disaster.
ChiChi looked up and, oblivious to the chaos, handed the laser pen to Gabe. “Be a dear, and place this inside of the star. I think it will add just the right amount of magic.”
Gabe ran a hand down his face. “Nonna, I swear to—”
“I think that sounds lovely, ChiChi.” Regan brushed her fingers lightly across Gabe’s knuckles. “Don’t you, Gabe?”
He shot her a look that said he thought quite the opposite but took the pen anyway. And ChiChi was right. Once placed inside the star, the whole room glowed with golden haloes, and it was pretty damn magical.
“Now, Gabe, make yourself useful and help Holly with her teeth. We have business to discuss with our marketing goddess.”
Holly hugged each granny, pet Mr. Puffins, who, tail standing on end, was crouched behind the tree staring up at the golden twinkles on the ceiling, and took Gabe by the hand. Regan could barely breathe as she watched the two of them disappear into the bathroom.
“Yes, quite the sight,” ChiChi said, placing a shaky hand on Regan’s shoulder. “Brings a tear to my eye.”
“Enough of the hallmark moment,” Lucinda said. “We’ve got a problem and you, being our secret weapon, are going to help us fix it. Now sit.”
Once again, Regan found herself seated in a tiny chair, staring up at a trio of grannies in Christmas garb—ChiChi’s more couture than cliché. All in their glasses and all looking down at Regan in a way that made her nervous.
“We heard from Gail at the market that Suzanne asked her to take Monday morning off and babysit little Mariella,” Lucinda said, snatching up Mr. Puffins and reshaping the pipe cleaners to look more like a cone than a square.
“I assume Mariella is her granddaughter,” Regan ventured, when the ladies went quiet.
“Suzanne is Gail’s daughter-in-law. And since she was born with a corkscrew lodged firmly up her hind quarters—”
“Suzanne never asks Gail to sit,” ChiChi interrupted Lucinda, sending her a reprimanding glance over the top of her glasses. “But her own mother is in Hawaii. Usually she would just cancel whatever plans she had rather than ask her mother-in-law.”
“So it got us thinking,” Pricilla whispered, leaning down, Crock-Pot in hand, as if the information she was about to impart was a matter of national security. “What could be so important that she would ask a favor of Gail?”
“Then I saw Penny at the vet when I was picking up Mr. Puffins’s insulin shots, and she said her granddaughter asked her to sit her two youngest on the same day and for the same amount of time.”
“And this is evening news material, why?” Regan asked, noticing how all six eyes went wide in disbelief.
“Because they’re a part of the yoga pants posse,” all three ladies yelled at once.
“And they are having a mandatory PTA meeting Monday morning at nine,” Gabe said from the doorway. When everyone stared at him mutely, he just shrugged. “Jordan is still on the board and needed the time off. I gave it to her. What?” he said, when ChiChi looked ready to spit.
“They knew that Mr. Puffins had an appointment at the Paws and Claws Day Spa,” Lucinda snapped, gripping Mr. Puffins’s costume and sending pipe cleaners everywhere.
“I have two hundred minicakes to make for a wedding, and ChiChi is supposed to be in San Francisco with Abby meeting with the new marketing company Gabe found.” Pricilla patted Regan on the knee. “Sorry, dear, that was insensitive of me.”
Regan shrugged. Hospitality may not be her dream industry, but it beat working with Abigail. And she was good at it.
In fact, today had marked the end of her first week at the Napa Grand, the end of the wine seller’s convention, and the end of cleaning toilets. It had also been her first