official day as the newly promoted Manager of Special Events and VIP Coordinator.
After convincing Mr. Bonnet that ChiChi was getting up in years and that the holidays were especially difficult because it reminded her that none of her grandchildren were married, he had laughed off the situation, explaining that his own wife had threatened to find his daughter-in-law a lover if their son didn’t give her grandchildren soon.
Jordan, impressed with Regan’s people skills, had immediately assigned her to handle any and all needs of “The Bonjour Group,” as they had been deemed.
Before the Ms. Clauses could accuse another innocent Frenchman of crimes against the town, Regan had emptied out one of the dining halls, arranged the tables in intimate seatings for six, and provided all-you-can-guzzle complimentary beverage service and free Wi-Fi. She’d single-handedly turned what could have been a scheduling disaster into a successful networking luncheon. And Jordan had quickly promoted her from housekeeping to events coordinator.
“They are trying to pin the Randolph disaster on us, use it as a way to get us impeached so they can take over the musical. So we have to make a unified front. Prove to them that we are not a bunch of old biddies. That we still know what’s best for this community,” ChiChi said. “And I just know that once that board sees your ideas on the town’s new image, their faith in us will be restored and that Isabel Stark will have to find herself a new committee to hijack.”
Regan loved the idea of sabotaging Isabel’s plans. But that these ladies were expecting her alone to sway the board was a lot of pressure. If she made a mistake, even a small one—like, say, getting caught replacing Randolph—and let her Mrs. Clauses down, she would feel horrible. Not that it mattered. There was no way she could make that meeting. She had work.
Regan opened her mouth to apologize when she found it suddenly full of popcorn. A heaping handful. Afraid that if she opened it again she might wind up with a mouthful of yarn since they were running low on snacks, she took her time chewing.
“I already talked to Marc and he said you can start late and make up whatever time you missed at the end of your shift,” ChiChi said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
“And I’ll bring Holly back to the bakery with me. It will give us a chance to talk about what kind of tea party she wants for her birthday,” Pricilla added.
On special occasions, Pricilla’s Patisserie doubled as a tearoom that had become the crème de la crème of birthday party locations for little girls in a three-county radius. Regan had looked into it as a solution to their short-on-space living situation.
Martha Stewart had listed Pricilla’s Official Teas as one of the premiere places to host a child’s party on the West Coast. It was all about decadence, elegance, and etiquette. It was everything that Holly could dream of. It also had a ridiculous wait list and would take Regan two months to pay for the two-hour party.
“Oh, Pricilla, thank you for the offer, but there is just no way—”
And in went a gingerbread man, his wife, and three children. Regan’s mouth was so full that her eyes watered.
“Now, seeing as the arrangement was struck between your daughter and myself, as long as you feel safe having Holly with me is all that matters,” Pricilla said, dusting the ginger crumbs from her cardigan sweater, which boasted beavers with antlers.
Holly came out of the bedroom in her footie pajamas and climbed on Regan’s lap. “Grandma Pricilla and me made an arrangement. I promised to help with the cakes for that wedding, and she promised to host my party in her shop.”
“You did?” Regan asked, finding it difficult to speak through the gingerbread and tears in her throat.
Holly nodded and snuggled against her chest. She held her daughter close, expressing with her eyes what she could never get across without bursting into tears. The women exchanged a knowing glance, and Gabe came behind her to rest a supportive hand on her shoulder.
“We thought the Saturday before Christmas would be best, since after Christmas people tend to get busy. All that’s left to do is choose the menu and decorations. Oh, and you can pick up the invitations at my shop on your way to get your new couch Sunday.”
“Couch? What couch?” Regan slapped her hands over her mouth when Pricilla pulled a chunk of