The Christmas Grinch - Rebel Hart Page 0,28
into a queen in her emerald sequin embroidered gown. It hung from her shoulders and luscious chest like a glove, and the color glowed against her tan freckled skin and red hair. Her matching eyes had their usual captivating spark, but with something extra that evening.
“Wow,” I muttered under my breath.
She stepped forward and smiled. “Good evening, sir. Is this okay? I’m not over or under dressed or anything?”
I held her hand high and turned her around once in front of me. “It’s perfect. You know, it’s a shame the store won’t be doing this annual display anymore.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying. But wait. Why are you saying it now?”
“Because for next year’s display I think all we would have needed to do was put you in the window, and it would have been our best one yet.”
Her smile spread wider as her cheeks blushed.
“We should get going,” I said, clearing my throat.
She walked ahead of me a few steps, giving me some much needed time to recompose myself before facing her again.
As promised, the Gala was bigger and better than every year before with every chandelier in our family’s manor polished to sparkling perfection to match the china, champagne flutes, and golden trays of food. Everything had a shimmer of splendor, including the immaculately decked out guests and all the decorations. An entire choir had been hired to sing throughout the evening along with a string quartet.
I watched Hazel take it all in like a child seeing snow for the first time - her eyes wide, her lips parted. She was enthralled, like I knew she would be.
“Chris!” she gasped, clutching my arm. “Look! There are turtle doves! Real live actual turtle doves!” She pointed to the golden cages suspended around the room from the vaulted ceiling.
“There’s almost nothing my mother would deem ‘too much’ for this thing. And...speak of the devil.”
My mom’s face lit up, as much as it ever would, when she spotted me from the other side of the room. A gold fountain trickled behind her as she waved and glided over.
“Son, so good to see you,” she said, leaning in to kiss both of my cheeks. “And who is this vision on your arm?”
“Who me?” Hazel laughed nervously.
“Mom, this is Hazel Malone. Hazel, this is my mother...Evelyn.”
She took Hazel by both hands and kissed her cheeks as well. “Hazel, how lovely to meet you. How is it that you and my son know each other?”
“Oh, well...it’s kind of an interesting story actually…”
“She’s a writer doing a piece on the annual display at the store,” I offered before she could say too much. Our relationship was a little hard to explain, and I knew my mother didn’t really want to hear the whole thing anyway.
“A writer? How fascinating,” she replied in a dry tone. “Do enjoy yourselves, darling. I am sure we will have plenty of time to catch up through the evening.”
She fluttered off after spotting someone else she was eager to greet, which would be an endless rotation for her throughout the evening...never having a real substantial talk with anyone the whole night or speaking to any one person for longer than a minute or two. I always thought it looked exhausting.
“Did I do something to scare her off?” Hazel frowned.
“Oh, no. That’s Evelyn. A quick hello is all that woman can manage to offer anyone. Ah, but here’s the real man of the hour. Hazel, meet my father...Jack Palmer.”
“Son!” He approached me with a hug, looking handsome in his tux...even if his hair was going salt and pepper - that somehow only added to his charm. “How are things at the store? Your mother has restricted me from calling and asking five times a day. She keeps telling me you’ll call me if you need anything.”
“It’s all going well enough,” I smiled tightly. “Dad, this is Hazel Malone. That writer from NonPareil.”
His eyes lit up as he kissed the top of her hand. “Hazel, my god. You are stunning. My sincerest apologies for pawning you off on this grouch for the feature. It seemed once I waited a year or two too long before going into retirement, I couldn’t wait a second more.”
“Mr. Palmer!” she beamed. “No apology needed. I hope retirement is treating you well. But you are right. He is a grouch. I was asking to meet with you instead within five minutes of our interview.”
“Smart girl. I would have been more interesting to talk to for the piece,” he winked.