Page 59 of A Cozy Kind of Christmas

A legitimate ballroom?

“So, should I just bring everything through the front?” Marissa hesitated. She didn’t want to mess this up. She’d never had a client with a ballroom before. “Is it okay to leave my car there? I mean, am I going to be blocking anyone?”

“It’s fine. It’s fine.” The employee waved her off and left.

Marissa stood in the doorway, wondering if it really was okay to use the main entrance.

She stared at her snow-caked boots. They had been a Christmas present from Mom and Dad last year, black mid-calf boots in her favorite buffalo plaid with soft fur lining.

The boots were cute but also practical. They were perfect to wear over skinny jeans on occasions like this because not only did they keep her feet warm, but they also provided excellent traction.

At the moment, they were covered with snow.

She stomped on an expensive mat, repositioned the box, and stepped inside.

The interior of the estate was even more impressive.

Cathedral ceilings seemed to stretch to the sky.

The lodge theme continued into the foyer with its wrought-iron chandelier, circular staircase, and intentionally distressed hardwood floors.

I should have charged them more, Marissa thought as she headed toward the ballroom.

And I probably should have dressed up. She was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that she hadn’t bothered to do more than wash her face and tie her curly hair into a ponytail before leaving the house earlier.

It’s a perfect look for a caterer. No one is going to be looking at you anyway—it’s all about the food.

Marissa squared her shoulders and continued down the hallway until it spilled into the ballroom.

She uttered a little gasp under her breath as her eyes grew wide, sweeping from one end of the ornamented room to the other.

“Ballroom” was an accurate description. Exposed wood beam ceilings ran the length of the impressive room.

A grand piano sat in front of floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the snowy grounds encompassing the property and the Deschutes in the distance.

The aroma of woodsmoke drifted from the stone fireplace on the far side of the room, where long tables draped in white tablecloths had been set up.

A trio of carolers dressed in Victorian costumes was warming up in front of the roaring fire while a team of florists put the finishing touches on bouquets placed at each of the high-top tables positioned throughout the room. Staff scurried in every direction.

Marissa froze for a minute.

She assumed the tables near the fireplace must be for the food, but she didn’t want to start setting up only to have to redo everything again.

Her stomach bubbled with panic.

She couldn’t blow this. Everything was riding on tonight.

Marissa sucked in a breath. Her arm felt twitchy, probably from balancing the box. She scanned the room again and noticed a bartender unloading crates of wine at another section of tables near the piano.

Maybe he’ll know where I’m supposed to go.

A text dinged on her phone.

She knew she should ignore it but yanked her phone free from her pocket with one hand, glancing at a text from her younger cousin Olivia.

Did you hear? Passport to the Holidays—the community scavenger hunt is offering a $50,000 prize this year! Cha-ching! Get a team together stat!

Fifty thousand dollars?

Marissa gasped, staring at her screen. She didn’t notice movement in her periphery. Suddenly, someone slammed into her, knocked her off her feet, and sent her and the board flying.

Marissa hit the gleaming hardwood floor with a thud.

She watched in horror as triangles of cheddar, rye crackers, and honey-roasted almonds rained down around her.

The sound of the board bouncing on the floor made her nauseous.

There was nothing she could do to salvage it.

The board spun like a top, sending the last ingredients she’d assembled scattering in every direction.

No!

A man appeared above her. He was about her age with dark hair, equally dark eyes, and a tightly shaven beard. He was dressed in a red suit with a ridiculous Rudolph tie, complete with a flashing red light for a nose. “You should watch where you’re going,” he said, extending a hand.

Marissa massaged the side of her hip and stared at the splatters of Dijon mustard and peach preserves on her jeans. “You bumped into me.”

“Sorry.” He kept his hand out.

She ignored his offer of help and pushed herself to stand. She didn’t have time to make small talk with… the magician? Comedian? Whatever entertainment role he had been hired for.

A shot of pain pierced from her hip to her ankle. “You ruined my board.”

“It’s just some cheese and crackers. It’s hardly a crime scene, is it?” His dark eyes twinkled mischievously. He was clearly enjoying this.

“Just cheese and crackers?” she sputtered. Marissa could hear the irritation in her tone, but she didn’t care. It might be a joke to him, but her entire livelihood was riding on tonight. “Do you have any idea how much time I spent arranging that board? It was the showpiece for the grazing table.”

“Grazing table? Seriously? Please tell me that’s not a thing. A grazing table?” His brow arched as he cracked a wide smile.

“You have some nerve.” Marissa glared at him. “You’re making fun of me? And yet you’re dressed like a clown for a kids’ party?”

That made him laugh harder. He pressed a button on his tie with a sly grin. Rudolph’s nose blinked to life like a beacon in a snowstorm. “A kids’ party clown, oh yeah, that’s me.”

She tugged a piece of a cracker from her ponytail. “I don’t have time to do this. I need to clean this up and figure out what I’m going to do about the charcuterie board you destroyed.”

He held his hands out to pacify her. “It’s not a big deal.

One of the staff members can help clean up.

I’m sure there are extra crackers in the kitchen.

What?” He paused and frowned. “You don’t need to glare at me like your head is about to explode.

It’s just appetizers, right? We’re not doing brain surgery here. ”

Marissa dabbed pesto from the side of her cheek.

She clenched her jaw. Blood rushed through her ears.

Who was this guy? “I don’t need your help.

You’ve done enough. I’ll take care of cleaning up, but first, I need to find one of the Graffs to explain that the grazing table is going to be one board short. ”

“Lucky you.” A smug smile tugged at his lips. “You’re looking at one of them.”

“At who?”

“A Graff.” He offered his hand for a third time. “William Graff. Nice to meet you, Grazing Table.”